Something Got Into My Pants And Bit Me

I had this itch on my butt, so I looked in the mirror and I have all these bumps, especially one large one. They look like bug bites. Or spider bites. Ick. This was a very relaxing Christmas this year. We saw Gramma for a while. She wasn't her best today. She was sitting in her wheelchair in her room, and she looked up at Mom, and said, "You scare me.....................you scare me." She looks over at me, "She scares me." Mom was quite taken aback, as any daughter would be when her elderly mother says that she scares her. I thought it was about the funniest thing in the world. I couldn't stop laughing. The relaxers in Mom's hair are starting to wear off so her hair is somewhat curly. It reminds me of Janis Joplin's. I picked up a lock of hair, and directed to Gramma, "Does this scare you?" "Yes." I laughed more, and Dad's cracking up. Gramma of course doesn't understand why we're laughing, and I'm not sure that she really notices. We brought her salmon. She doesn't have much use of her arms when it comes to eating, or anything else for that matter, so she asked Mom to feed her. I guess the fear subsided. I was about to offer, but thought that Mom should feed her - have that bonding moment with her. I know mom's fed her many times before, but she doesn't see her enough, and when she does she keeps herself busy by talking to nurses, putting Gramma's clean clothes away and emptying the hamper full of dirty ones, watering her plants, doing everything except just sitting down with her. But then, many days Mom calls Gramma to see how she's doing and asks the nurses about her. I never seem to have the patience to talk with her on the phone. I tell myself that I'll go see her tomorrow. But as I learned, we don't have tomorrow.

I think it was yesterday that we watched this commercial about Crohn's. Mom said that her doctor told her that her ulcerative colitis will, or most likely will, turn into Crohn's, which is terminal. That's how my sister's uncle died (on her mother's side of the family). I pretty expected that, and I felt barely anything. I know that this disease will kill my mother, and I don't feel anything. What kind of person am I? Why have I not felt close to her at all for so many years? I think it really started when I was 14. Maybe that was it. I was still somewhat close to her when I was 13. Not really though. But 14 is when she got so depressed. Well, no, she got depressed before that too, because she was in the hospital. I had to take care of her so much when I was 14, and I resented that. I resented having to wake her up by yelling at her, and pulling the blankets off her to rouse her from her drunken coma. I resented when she asked me to pick out clothes for her to wear that day. I resented making her lunch and keep telling her to hurry up. I resented going to bed at night not knowing if my mother was going to be alive when I woke up the next morning. But I refused to stay up with her all night. She's not my responsibility. So, if she's not my responsibility, or parents aren't supposed to be their children's responsibility, then why do so many children take care of their parents? Because that's what you're supposed to do? Your parents take care of you when you come into the world, and you take care of your parents when they're going out? Or have I gotten used to death? It doesn't scare me. It doesn't scare me to think of loved ones dying. I know they will. So what's the use fighting it?

I just finished watching this Christmas romantic comedy. It was quite funny, up until the end. The mother's cancer came back and she didn't have much time left. She was there throughout the entire movie, and at the end it moved onto the next Christmas, and she was gone. It was like a Steel Magnolias cemetary scene moment, except Shirley MacLaine and Olympia Ducacus didn't come to the rescue to make me laugh again. That's what got me thinking about death. We went over to our neighbor's this evening to give her a gift Mom made, that turned out quite pretty. Her mother passed away about two weeks ago. I mentioned her in a previous post. She was fine one moment, and dead the next. She was 94, though.

Sometimes I don't want to die. I don't want to think about my own death - that I will someday be dead. Sometimes I can't wait to die and be rid of this world. I don't really know how I feel right now, as my fingers press the keys. I'm not scared, but I can wait.

"So this is Christmas, and what have we done? Another year over, a new one just begun."

Am I a prude?

Sometimes I think I'm going to grow into an old spinster. Sometimes I feel like an old spinster. I seem to find fault with any guy who isn't Diego, except for one, but I won't go there right now. And it's not like there's been that many in the past few years. Certainly not like when I was 17. There was a guy at this bar I went to, but decided I really wasn't that interested. He said something that put me off, and I don't even remember what it is. My sister said I should give him a try, but I'm just not interested. And we were all pretty schnockered. Especially my parents, of course. That's when I walked home from the casino, where the bar was. Selina said that I should give him a chance, and take alcohol into account.

Then there was Jason, that I used to work with. I had a huge crush on him and we flirted shamelessly in the office, but I was going out with Joe. We ran into each other at a speed dating event, of all things! Have I already told this story? Well, anyway, after some talking, I realized that he was totally self-absorbed and expected me to make all the effort, so I literally told him to fuck off and that was the end of that.

Last Saturday was my best friend's birthday party. The last of us were pretty drunk. An old flame of hers was there, and we talked a bit throughout the evening. One time we were alone in a room, and he tried to kiss me! It was like, "Whoa, buddy. Not so fast." It's not like Christina would care. She even said that maybe he and I would get really drunk and make out, but I like to think that I'm better than making out with this guy in my best friend's house at her birthday party. I like to think of it as self-respect, but maybe I'm being too prudish. I'm not attracted to him, and it turned me off that he would do that to a friend and old flame of his. He also currently lives on his parents' couch and he's in his 30's. That doesn't mean that I can't have a little fun with him, but I'm just not interested.

Now there's this guy who found me on FB, who was basically a fuck buddy in my college days at EdCC, Mike. Earlier this week he said he wanted to get together in the next few days to go to a movie and dinner, but then he never set up a time (typical male). So, I texted him asking him what he was up to. He said, "Too bad you don't have a car or I'd invite you over for movies." Somehow that put me off. Then I remembered that he lives an hour away, and that really put me off, that he expects I'm going to drive an hour to see him for some movies, and then drive home? It may be the next morning, but that's beside the point. I asked if he could meet half way to see a movie (like he suggested), but his roommate, Jen, rented a movie and got dinner, so he was busy. That also put me off. A while later he sent, "You should come down and give me a massage, lol. I could really use one." Now, I realize that this was a joke, but it still totally turned me off. Like I'm going to drive an hour to give your ass a massage? I'm also a bit nervous about seeing him because I'm a good 45-50 lbs heavier than the last time he saw me, and may be totally turned off by my fat.

Am I being too defensive? Will I become an old spinster who lives with her cats? Speaking of which, this is a picture of Pearl & Presley. I realized that I will probably have them until I'm in my mid-forties, which is a sobering thought. I don't really want to have more than two cats at once, so I won't be able to adopt any for probably 20 years. But I love them and will be happy with them. I just would like to save more kitties, but I have to think of the kitties I already have.

As I was just finishing this, Christina called to tell me she got officially engaged tonight. Now that I focus on being alone...I feel....lonely....

Tomorrow Never Happens, Part II

The reason why I titled my last blog "Tomorrow Never Happens" is that I wanted to communicate that we don't always have tomorrow, like I didn't with Debbie. I thought I had time. I thought she had time. Now she's gone. Many great people have said, "Live today like it will be your last. Someday it will be." How would you feel about yourself if you didn't wake up tomorrow? Would you be satisfied that your last day was productive, you felt emotion, you did something for yourself? Or would you be disappointed that you dragged yourself to a job that you loathed, laid on the couch and watch tv and ate a mediocre dinner? How did we get to a point when we don't have time to live? You don't need money to live, although it helps. By live, I mean experience.

I visited my gramma yesterday and she said, "When it was raining so much I thought of you."

"Why would you think of me?"

"I thought of you walking in the rain."

I gave a wry smile and said, "It's refreshing."

"Oh, I don't mind."

I encourage all people to take a walk in the rain, best in the woods, but even if you can go to a nearby park. Or just walk around the block. Go out and get a tattoo. I've like tattoos for as long as I can remember. I'm still fascinated by them. I have yet to make a consulting appointment with the artist I want to do my next tattoo; my Forever 27 tattoo. I have tomorrow, right? Sometimes, I waiver a bit. I wonder if I really want it. I definitely want to get another tattoo, but sometimes I wonder if I want it to symbolize the Forever 27 Club. Right now I do. Janis, Jimi, Jim, Brian, and Curt. Forever young and forever beautiful.

I watch the flame of the candle by my computer, casting its glow on my buddha statue candle holder. It was an inexpensive, unneeded object I bought at Cost Plus, but I love it. He's so serene. I think of women who set out on journeys, alone, not knowing exactly where they'll end up, and usually with very little money. I think it's very brave. A couple of them journeyed 30 years ago. I think the world was so different back then, that it can't be done like that now - just up and leave, unless you have money so you know you'll have shelter and food. But maybe I'm wrong. I know a girl who is a professional campaigner who moves from city to city with no "home base." She just goes where campainging needs to be done. Everything she owns fits in her car. She sleeps on an air bed. I think that would be hard, but an incredible experience - all the places she sees, the people she meets. She said that Seattle is one of her favorite places. Mine too.

I wonder (which I do a lot, if you haven't noticed) how I can feel so much compassion for people, and want to do nice things for them because they're going through a rough time, but I have almost none for my mother. Maybe it's because I see her as so weak and I want her to be strong. Maybe it's residual feelings, or lack there of, from a long time ago. Feelings I thought were resolved. Maybe it's from resentment and frustration I feel now. Maybe I'm not as good as a person as I like to think I am. She just had oral surgery on Wednesday, and with other people I'd be waiting on them hand and foot, but with her I haven't done anything. I did wash half of the dishes last night (between commercials). I would love to get my life in complete order by the start of next quarter, but I would be happy with at least partly organized. I am working towards that, and actually making headway. I'm not just thinking about it. I finished the interrogatories. I sold some of my books from last quarter (for a whopping $7) and bought my books for next quarter (a meager $350). I also found all of my classes while I was at campus. I still volunteer for Volunteer Chore Services, although I fulfilled my requirement. Now I just need to write the paper and hand it in. Email it in, excuse me. It can really be a pain in the ass to clean her little apartment, because she has so much stuff, but I like helping someone who needs it. At least I can help one person. I just went out and turned off the light in the living room, where my mom sleeps (by her choice). She was asleep but I woke her up. She doesn't sleep very well, especially since the surgery.

I saw Dee today, mom's best friend who blew me off. Mom left something in her car and Dad and I went down to retrieve it. All she said to me is, "That was weird. I was looking out the window." because she met me at the door without me having to knock, which I'm actually grateful for. She didn't say hi, how are you, bye...I don't know if that's how she feels about me, or that she knows she's pretty much on my shit list and doesn't want to get into conversation. What a dick. Her husband's a dick too, so they're made for each other. Do you know what that wrinkled old ass said to me a while back when I told him I was going to major in liberal arts? He said, "That's a cop-out." And it was at a restaurant! I had to excuse myself to the restroom to cry. I know he said other derogatory comments about choosing to major in liberal studies, but I didn't pay all that much attention to them after he said I was copping out. That really hurt. Why do people have to be so mean?

Tomorrow Never Happens

My best friend's grandfather, my half-sister's cousin, my dad's best friend's father, my friend's mother, and now Debbie. They all passed away this month. Four of them in the past two weeks. Maybe even ten days. I used to work with Debbie at an environmental consulting firm. It sounds more glamorous than it is. She's the third woman I know of in her early to mid-fifties who passed away that worked there. It must be the coffee. I lost contact with Debbie. She was a good lady. Funny, but also quite the drama queen. Nearly every time we went out, which wasn't that many times, she cried. Alcohol does that to some people. That's part of the reason why I didn't always feel like going out with her. I'm such a drama queen myself. I should've shown a little more compassion. I'm sorry Debbie. She seemed to be such a tortured soul, maybe now she's at peace. Maybe I'm dramatizing her. I just had to put Flower down last Saturday; my cat I had since I was 8. I have fond memories of her, but she was also a tortured soul. Afraid of her own shadow. She grew so weak, and never strong to begin with. I just want to go back to sleep, but I have too much to do. I have to finish these fucking interrogatories for my lawyer. I was determined to have them done last Friday, and now it's Tuesday. I'm such a disappointment. I look down at my parents, never accomplished anything, so it seems, no degree in anything, my mother never bought a home until a few months ago when she bought Gramma's, and that's only because Gramma had to go on medicaid and couldn't have any assets to do so. Dad bought a house once when my sister was a baby, but his ex kicked him out and he never bought another one. They haven't accomplished really much of what society marks as accomplishments. A degree, a decent home, a good job, something to retire on...all things that I want to accomplish and they do also. Why is it whenever I start talking bad about my parents, I feel guilty and must say something good? Because they're my parents? No. Because they did the best they could and they always were there for me, unless they were the problem. Particularly Carmen. I started off about how I'm disappointed in myself. Or just feel that I'm a disappointment. I haven't finished the rogs, my room is a mess, I have laundry to do, I haven't taken a shower since Saturday, or gotten out of my pajamas since Sunday, I haven't even looked at scholarships, I never do anything around the house, I'm still fat and haven't done much about it, and twice in the past three days I forgot to take my meds. I'm really taking care of myself and my responsibilities. I was hoping this would turn into an eloquent, wise post with insight, but it turned into a bitch fest about myself and my grieving about Debbie. That part I wanted to include. The rest is just dribble.

"All I ever wanted was love and peace and harmony. Just to be, to live and shine, and when I'm ready I up and fly. And I can't remember none of those things I want to forget. It's the best satisfaction no less, ask if I'm free and I'll say 'Oh, yes.'" ~Macy Gray

A Tree Grows In The Forest

Have you ever followed a line of thought and come to a completely irrelevant, odd, ending? I don't know what started it, but I was just thinking what the very first woman thought when she had her first menstrual period. I imagine it terrified her. That would be quite a surprise - one day all this blood oozes from your twat. And then it happens again the next month! That's messed up. I think men should have periods too. Even though I'm a woman, the thought of tampons makes me cringe. But it's still pretty funny. A few weeks ago in women's studies I was telling the girls in my group that I read an article about a birth control pill coming out for men. They thought that was great. Sasha was so funny. "No. YOU get the pill!" I told them that the pill should make men gain weight like the female version does.

You know, I've actually been feeling pretty good lately. Maybe this Effexor stuff works. It's weird not to feel so sad, worthless, hopeless, and even suicidal all the time, despite that my circumstances haven't really changed any. In a way, part of me liked being depressed as a way to get attention. "Love me because I'm sad." I withdrew from my women's studies class. That did make me feel like a loser and a little bit of a failure. Not a complete failure. I wonder if I wrote this in my last blog. That teacher that I emailed with a lot, and then she stopped, and now she started again, so that makes me happy. I am so ready for this quarter to be over. Don't I sound like I'm 18 instead of 26? I have an exam that I should've been studying for since yesterday, and have yet to open the book. I was so exhausted yesterday. I couldn't sleep worth shit Thursday night, and last night before I went to bed I took two hydrocodone and two clonazepan and slept like a baby. Of course I slept until almost 1 pm. So, I'm disappointed in myself, but still not depressed.

Another thing, DSHS turned me down for the exemption to stay with my doctor, Rachel. I'm bummed out about it, but still not depressed. This happy go-lucky shit isn't working out for me. It doesn't feel normal. Oh! Because it's not! At least for me. But I suppose it's better than pondering the different ways to off myself, and feel like I'm drowning in this deep abyss all alone and that no matter what I do, or how hard I try, I will never get to where I want to be, never accomplish what I want to accomplish, because there will always be hurdles to overcome and emergencies to take care of that won't let me move forward. Ok, now I feel a little depressed. I probably sound like I'm high. I don't need drugs to get high. I'm crazy enough as it is.

Yesterday on my walk I thought of the old saying, "It's hard to see the forest through the trees." and what it meant. I came to the conclusion that the trees are different areas or events in your life that are happening right now that won't let you see the bigger picture - the forest. These are my trees:
- psych exam on Tuesday I need to majorly study for
- paper due in philosophy on Thursday that I haven't started
- Rx's I need to pick up
- Make a dr. appt., and go to the appt.
- fill out the interrogatories the paralegal sent me two weeks ago I haven't done
- finish putting stuff away in my room
- get things out of storage that I want to put in my room
- buy books for next quarter
- try to read at least a little for each class next quarter
- finish reading Diana
- read Resilience
- read True Compass
- read Seized
- read The Bell Jar
- get my computer fixed
- make an appt. for tattoo consult
- do ambulatory eeg monitoring

- fill in my volunteer hours for SU

- hopefully get a Rx for PT (my shoulder is actually doing much better)

- make the appts and go to them

I could go on, but I'll stop here. They are not in any particular order whatsoever. So, what am I doing sitting here wasting time? Because it's what I do best. I hate that about myself. So, with all these trees in front of me, how can I see the forest? Actually, I think I can. I know that the little things in life don't really matter. At least not in the long run. You need to be disciplined, but not too hard on yourself. Life is hard enough as it is. I'm not disciplined. Maybe you don't need to be disciplined. Well, I guess if you attend a university and have lots of homework, you should be disciplined about that. And if you want to actually exercise regularly, you need to be disciplined about that. It's also very helpful to manage time well and be organized, which also takes discipline. So yes, self discipline is good. Moving on, I think it's important to know where you're going in life, if you want to get someplace. If you don't care where you end up, then it's fruitless to care where you're going. Well, I should study a bit before I go to bed, which I could really do now (as I let out a yawn). It's 9:30. Pathetic.

"A tree never hits an automobile except in self defense." ~American Proverb

I have no title

I give up. I tossed in turned in bed for a few hours, took half a Seroquel and a hydrocodone, and I still can't sleep. I just hope that I'm not starting one of those periods that I can't sleep for days or weeks. I decided to withdraw from my women's studies class. It was a surprisingly hard decision. It made me feel like I was copping out and somewhat a failure. I also feel like if I managed my time a little better and put more effort into it, then I wouldn't have had to do this. And that I admitted that I couldn't rise above my circumstances. My parents really encouraged me to do it, and also from a surprising source, this girl in my philosophy class, Noor. She shared that she withdrew from a couple of classes herself. I found it surprising because she was so upset when she got a B on the midterm and an A- on our last paper. The dean of students suggested I take an incomplete, with the prof allowing, and finish the last of my work after the quarter is over. I already planned on doing so much during winter break, that I really couldn't stand the thought of adding the paper I need to do for WMST onto that. I already know I won't accomplish nearly what I want to, just by experience. Dr. Mower told me that I only needed to write the big paper and forget about the small assignments, but I just felt that I couldn't get it done, and I don't like the feeling that I didn't complete the whole course. I'll just apply myself that much harder next quarter and more diligently work around, over, under, and through obstacles that will arise. I'd only be kidding myself if I think that next quarter is going to go so much more smoothly than this quarter. Because I didn't want to focus on anything besides homework is why I abstained from writing in my blog for ten days. There is only two more days of classes, and a final paper due and an exam next week. In spite of how busy I was, this quarter seemed to take forever.

Queenie and Diego aren't doing well at all. They had to pawn their wedding rings - not cheap jewelry by any stretch of the imagination. Now Diego thinks they'll have to sell the Aviator. He already sold his Navigator months ago. Queenie is suffering, and I'm actually a bastard enough that I almost take joy in it. Not really though. I may get mad and vindictive, but I wouldn't wish what they're going through on anyone.

Carmen finally got back on her meds (now everyone take a collective sigh of relief), so she's acting normaler. However, she told me just the other day that she wants to get a new oven, which I would rather get a dishwasher, but ok, and what shows up at our door but an electric fireplace! Just what we need! I totally understand the need for your home to be your sanctuary, but you also need to be realistic and practical. We have no dishwasher and the oven is probably over 50 years old. I also liked having real fires in the fireplace, even if it's one of those duralogs or whatever they're called that burns clean. Aye, aye-aye!

Our Thanksgiving was very low key, and I think everyone really liked it that way. I didn't seriously look for someplace to volunteer until the night before, and by then it was too late. Whoops. So, we just stayed at home, watched football, I was fairly drunk by early afternoon, and they cooked. No other family, no one else for that matter, no chaos, no busy schedule, no stress. A good holiday. I feel like I should feel more guilty than I do about not seeing Gramma. It may be her last. Of course it could be all of our last.

A song: The Letter by Macy Gray

All I ever wanted was some love and peace and harmony
I could dance in the raw in the sun underneath the stars
When I walk over to my money tree ain't nobody there trying to take from me
When they ask "Are you truly free?" I'd say "Yes, truly"
But down here in reality everybody knows there ain't no such thing
And it's clear
It's obviously this is not the place I'm supposed to be
On and on and on I've searched
What I'm looking for is not here on earth
I can't stand, I can't take no more
So I know that I gotta go

So long everybody Mama don't be sad for me
Life was a heartache and now I am finally free
Don't know where I'm headed
Hope I see you someday soon
So long everybody
I have gone beyond the moon

All I ever wanted, love and the peace and the harmony
Just to be live and shine
When I get ready I up and fly
And I can't remember none of the things that I want to forget
It's the best, satisfaction no less
Ask if I'm free and I'll say "Oh yes"
But down here in reality everybody knows there ain't no such thing
And it's clear
It's obviously this is not the place I'm supposed to be
On and on and on I've searched
What I'm lookin for is not here on earth
I can't stand I can't take no more
So I know that I gotta go

So long everybody Mama don't be sad for me
Life was a heartache and now I am finally free
Don't know where I'm headed
Hope I see you someday soon
So long everybody
I have gone beyond the moon

Before I do
Just one more look at you
It's worth the stay
But I'll meet you later at that better place

So long everybody
Mama don't be sad for me
Life was a heartache and now I am finally free
Don't know where I'm headed
Hope I see you someday soon
So long everybody
I have gone beyond the moon

Solemn

As tired as I am, I'm determined to write tonight. I brought Sprite in, much to her dismay, as she hisses at even being brought into the house where the two vile little creatures live, Pearl and Presley. She now looks indignantly at me from the furthest most corner of my bed. Hayden came in with us, but I won't allow her in my room because she pees and the other night she vomited on my comforter while I slept. She can't help the peeing really because she's incontinent from a disorder called Pulled Tail Syndrome. It's just as it sounds. Before she came into my care, her tail was either pulled very hard by something or someone, or her tail got caught in something and she injured herself when trying to free herself. All of the nerves in her hind quarters were torn and she has no feeling back there. Poor thing. I thought about giving her up because it was becoming too hard to keep up with her, but couldn't bring myself to do it and now she spends most of her time outside. Somehow she is able to use the litter box, but not all of the time. Maybe the nerves are growing back together? She scratches at my bedroom door, whining to be let in.

I wasn't as productive as I should've been today, as seems to be what I usually say, but I'm proud of what I accomplished. I finally finished an essay, after hurdling some obstacles, for my philosophy class and emailed it to my teacher. I think I did well on it, but I don't know yet what he thinks. I emailed part of it to another professor, the Doctor, who claimed he couldn't be of any assistance and that he is an idiot. That seemed quite out of character for him. I hope to arrive early on Monday so I can prod him more for his strange response. I studied more psychology. It is so agonizingly slow. If I want to become a psychologist, I have many more psych textbooks to read, so I best get used to it. I talked to a friend of mine about my theory paper for women's studies. I know that he articulated some ingenious remarks and possibly a thesis, but I was too slow to type everything and didn't want to ask him to repeat himself. I half-hoped we would meet tonight to discuss my paper further since I'm really at a loss on it, but he seemed busy at home and didn't seem up to going out. I told him that I'm going to dinner at a friend's house in Everett (he lives near Everett), hoping that he would invite me over or to meet someplace up there, but he didn't pick up on the hint. You have to be more straightforward with men. I have much studying to do as it is, but I could also use a sounding board for my theory and it's much easier in person than over the phone. But, in person I feel more shy and my mind seems to go blank, so maybe over the phone is better.

I've given one of my teachers a lot of thought over the past couple weeks. She was very friendly and talkative at first, always replying to my emails, asking how I'm doing, reply when I ask her the same, and I hoped that it would blossom into a friendship. Now she rarely responds to my emails and we don't talk much anymore. I felt that we could really relate to one another, as her mother and my grandmother are in much the same condition and she has similar family problems to mine. I'm not sure if it had anything to do with something I said, or perhaps she felt that it was too close for a strictly teacher/student relationship. Or maybe she's much more wrapped up in her mother's affairs. She's someone I would like to be friends with, but I already knew I was probably hoping for too much.

Carmen finally started acting normal this afternoon. She receives her anti-depressants by mail and forgot to send in the paperwork so she's been off for two weeks. She's mostly acted like a whack job crying all the time, yelling and throwing tantrums, suffering from constant panic attacks, becoming hysterical at trivial matters...she started crying when telling me that an old friend of ours she ran into was praying for me. I told her she needs her medication. And she said that being so emotional had nothing to do with it! I know I become much more emotional and irritable when I don't take my anti-depressants. I hate that fact, but at least I don't deny it. Dad told me that she actually burst into tears when she saw Bev in the grocery store! Lovely. It was a long and tiring week.

I still think about the Queen often. Sometimes with anger, sometimes with resentment, sometimes with apathy, and even sometimes with care. I told Diego that if we did make up and at least were friends again, without benefits, that I couldn't stay at their house without being able to sleep in their bed. It just hurts too much. I lie awake for hours straining to hear the tiniest noise from their room. I would get up at all hours of the night to creep towards their room to make sure they weren't having sex. I probably sound like a deranged person. But, if you knew where I was coming from, you'd probably understand. I thought he would be mad at me because I know how much he wants us to at least be friends again; be talking again, but he wasn't at all and said he could completely understand how I felt. That made me happy and love him all the more. I miss him. Very few times I thought that maybe I should just let go and have nothing more to do with either one of them. That it would hurt at first but over time it would be better for all of us. But I can't bring myself to do it, and so far he hasn't been able to either. Queenie has said good-bye before, but we made up until now. I wonder if she has a hard time too. I don't think so. She writes in her facebook how happy she is and grateful she is for her husband and their marriage and she's just filled with so much gratitude. It makes me want to puke. Normally, she would puke at that kind of thing too. I miss her hugs and kisses, and her perfume when she would wrap her arms around me and hold me close. But she has Diego to hold close to her.

Now I'll finish my wine and try to fall asleep listening to the rain beat on the roof.

Tranquility

Staying in a cabin for a month or so on Lake Quinault with my books, my knitting, lots of wine, paper to write on, and maybe a kitty sounds blissful. Sit on the porch in a rocking chair gazing out at the lake thinking of nothing, for the whole day if I want. Eat dinner at the lodge. Take long succulent baths with lots of candles. Just be silent, and still. Walk in the woods when it's raining, feeling the security of the trees around me, breathing Mother Nature in. Skinny dip under a midnight moon. Read St. Thomas Aquinas and Immanuel Kant, Freud and Poe, Slyvia Plath and Jane Austen. Sit in front of a fire, a real fire, knitting a baby blanket with a kitty in my lap. Wonder through the cemetary thinking up stories for those who lived long ago, trying to find the oldest gravestone. No cell phone, no internet, no cable. But I don't have a month to go away. I can't swim by myself because of the seizures. The baby blanket I'd be knitting for someone else's baby. I don't have a car to get there, and no money to pay for it all. Just a pleasant daydream.

"I hope the leaving is joyful; and I hope never to return." ~Frida Kahlo

Well, that was strange

Friday I went to bed around 10 or 11, and woke up Saturday evening at 5:30. I thought it was either still Friday night or Saturday morning. Imagine my surprise. My shoulder, the one I dislocated, was killing me for hours. I only woke up for a few minutes at a time to carefully change position. Luckily, I didn't dislocate it again. I was very disoriented when I woke up, and it was much more difficult than it should be to even sit up. I asked my mom if I'd been up that day and she said no. I think it must've been a grand mal seizure. I was up for about five hours and then went back to bed at about 10:45 and slept for another 8-9 hours. I've been very tired today; very out of it. I tried reading Descartes this morning, but that didn't go too well. I would read a paragraph and my mind would be off someplace else. I took about a four hour nap this afternoon. This is not how I wanted to spend my weekend. I think it was Thursday I was trying to concentrate on my homework, and my mother kept interrupting me for one thing or another, and I finally said, "Mom! I'm trying to concentrate on homework!" She replied, "I know honey, and I admire you for it." Does she want me to fail?? I really want to finish the quarter, but I'm getting very behind in my women's studies class, and pretty far behind in my psych class, that I wonder if I should drop one....I don't want to, and I think I can do it, as long as the rest of the quarter goes smoothly and there are no emergencies or seizures or illnesses. Odds seem unlikely. I don't know what I'm going to do.

I talked to a friend Friday night I haven't spoken to for a few months. She has a beautiful 9 month old daughter, and she's expecting in May. Wow! They will be 15 months apart. She takes after her mother - her two younger sisters are 11 months apart. I'm happy for her, but it also makes me think of my own life and lack of children, and how almost all the women I know near my age have kids or are pregnant. Even my doctor is due in less than a month. I was going to make her a baby blanket, but I don't think that's going to happen any time soon. Maybe my dream the other night was a sort of psychic dream.

Have you ever noticed in fairy tales that the villain is almost always a woman and the hero is almost always a man? What's up with that? Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, The Sword In The Stone....and then there's the damsel in distress, except the last one. The villians in The Wizard Of Oz and Alice In Wonderland are also women, but at least the heroes are heroines.

"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." ~Douglas Adams

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

I just had the most wonderful and disheartening dream. I gave birth to a baby girl. My dad took me to this hospital where we waited in the waiting room because I knew it was close, but not quite time yet. I saw myself full and very pregnant. Sophia Loren was also there waiting for someone who was in a room. I actually made friends with her, and she taught me some Italian! I remember telling my dad that Obama had an office there, and they just remodeled it to also accomodate his family, such as adding a dining room and den so Malia and Sasha can watch tv and play games. Interestingly, it was just off the women's restroom. I never saw a prettier dining room. I remember that Gramma and her sister, Frances, were there. They were outside though, standing on the balcony in the rain. I went out to see them and I could see Gramma was crying. I went over to her to try to find out why, but the dream moved on. Freud might think that it symoblizes that they probably won't be here if I do have a baby. After that heart-dropping thought, it's finally time. A bunch of us gather in the room, including Loren, for me to give birth. I wasn't even having contractions. Dreams are great. The nurse took did an ultrasound, and showed me my baby. I found out it's a girl. Then after not much trying, she lays the baby on the bed. I cradled her head in my hand. I remember giving the name "Lora." I think there was more to that, but again, the dream moved on before that "scene" was over. I looked down at her in awe, filled with so much joy that I'm going to cry. But the tears don't come. I realize that it's all a dream. I'm in this limbo where I realize it's a dream, but I don't want to let go. I can still feel the weight and warmth of her head in my hand. I finally wake up from my dream feeling empty, very empty. I fight the urge to curl up on the recliner and watch "comfort" tv (like Golden Girls) to take my mind off of it and convince myself to go for a walk on this sunny morning. Hopefully it will fill the emptiness that fills me up.

Self-Inhibition

What leads to one inhibiting oneself from doing what she or he wants? The list seems too long to note all of them. Societal standards or acceptance, law, peer acceptance, religious acceptance seem to be major ones. But for the most part, those don't really apply to me. I don't mean to sound self-righteous. I learned that to fear what others think of yourself can push you down way too much. You have no mind of your own. For years I've talked about all these things I want to do - not so much what I want to accomplish, but daily tasks, such as exercising, reading, creating some variance of art, cooking, writing, gardening, as well as my education. I had dinner with a friend tonight who seems to be gifted, from my point-of-view (pov), to learning. He did so from before my age to where he is now, a practicing psychologist who is reading Proust in French (this is how he is learning French), decided to pick up someone else whose name escapes me at the moment, is reading another book he brought with him, dedicates himself to exercising and strengthening his body, is rewriting one book and writing another. I haven't covered everything, but that's a good glance at it. I want to learn a lot, but I don't feel I'm active enough in learning. Today was another disappointment in myself. I planned on spending half the day doing homework and half the day on my room, my space. I accomplished neither. I finished a one page paper I started last night and read a little bit more for my philosophy class. As far as my "sanctuary" goes, that was left in the cold. I also planned on seeing my grandmother, which I WILL do tomorrow. Maybe my self-inhibition comes from laziness and fatigue. Looking for excuses to procrastinate. Why? When I don't accomplish what I need to accomplish, then I can't do anything else, like finish the damn baby blanket for Paige. For years I've known where I want to be, but make no or very little progress in getting there. Not physically where I want to be, although that's not here either. I've analyzed my behavior and habits, and made numerous small and large goals for myself. Some I achieve, but there's a lot I don't. I'm not driven. That's the main thing. I know what I want to do, I am working on getting there, but I'm not driven to take the necessary steps to get there. WHY???? Maybe I'm somewhat driven. I'm motivated to finish this quarter. But I'm not putting in the effort necessary to accomplish that. Tomorrow I'll get up, hopefully go for a walk before my doctor's appointment at 11, see Gramma afterwards, hopefully get some homework done, go to psych, hopefully do some homework after that, but there's a very good chance I'll just go to bed. I've never been good at doing homework. I get distracted too easily counting flowers on the wall.

"In the contemplation of Beauty, we alone find it possible to attain that pleasurable, or excitement, of the soul, which we recognise as the Poetic Sentiment, and which is so easily distinguished from Truth, which is the satisfaction of the Reason, or from Passion, which is the excitement of the heart." Edgar Allan Poe

Another Brick In The Wall

I've given more thought to what I think should be taught in school. It's not trig and Greek history (unless one wants to take them of course). They don't really apply to the "real world." Of course, things may have changed a lot since I was in high school. Someone wrote that he or she thinks that self-defense should be taught in high school. That seems so obvious! I think it should be taught even in elementary school. If a kid knows what to do if s/he is abducted or someone tries to abduct them, it can save their life. Nutrition and exercise are a must. Not just the same old PE, but the importance of getting into a healthy lifestyle now that will keep you fit, and hopefully girls will learn they can be thin without going for days without eating (like I did in high school) or vomiting all they eat. Financial responsibility is also key. Learn how to save, keep your checking account balanced, and not let credit card debt get out of control. It can save them so much headache in the future. Part of being financially responsible is to be organized, which is something I've tried to achieve for years. Someone once said that successful people are organized people. I think it was MSN. I think another great help is learning how to create a resume. For anyone who has applied for a job knows it's an invaluable skill. A cooking class would be great. Teach kids the basics of cooking, like how to boil an egg. Something more than taking a box out of the freezer and putting it in the microwave. I also think that all kids should take a shop class. At one point or another, 99.9% of them will have a car. They should know how to take care of it, and be able to diagnose basic problems. I also think kids should have to take a social studies class throughout high school that includes assignments where they have to read articles from the paper. I didn't care about what was going on in the world until I was in my twenties, or even in my own town for that matter. I think it's important for people to actively learn about their world. After I started watching the news, I found it fascinating and made me a more conscientious and caring person. I'm sure it also comes with age. These are things that will actually help kids after high school! Maybe we can create more responsible, caring citizens! This will also be in my Neverland.

How do we get to Never Land?

For a long time I felt that people should have to take an aptitude test before becoming parents, but how to keep them from procreating in the mean time eluded me. I finally decided that at birth, all babies should undergo a procedure that can be reversed to inhibit them from procreating until they undergo such an aptitude test. Then, hopefully, only mentally, emotionally, physically, and financially stable and responsible, loving adults would bear children. Kind of like what people go through when they want to adopt. Maybe I'll call this place Neverland. I know someone already thought that one up, but I can't think up everything.

I volunteered for the first time for Volunteer Chore Services for my volunteer requirement for school. What is up with that anyway? I believe volunteering is a great service for oneself and the community, and teaches humility and compassion, but to require it of college students? To study as thoroughly as I need to, to retain at least a good part of what I read, and to spend as much time as I need to on writing assignments to produce my best work, I would need to spend at least 20 hours a week on homework, maybe more. I would like to read everything twice, but I just don't have that kind of time, despite that I don't have a job. And the students who do go to school full time and work? I did that once, but with my seizure disorder I don't know if I could do that again, not that I want to. As it is, I would like to take 4 classes a quarter, volunteer for gay rights, the elderly, planned parenthood or someplace similar to it, and someplace for animals, become more active such as exercising regularly and maybe take a yoga class, read books outside of school, spend time on a hobby, such as knitting, and still have a social life. Again, if I had the money, I would love to visit more museums and see all types of performing arts. Diego has 11 or 12 houses he needs to sell, but because he's so busy with his other companies, he doesn't actively market them. So, I was thinking of doing it for him, like posting them on craigslist and msn. If a house sells from my posting, then I would receive a fee of $500 or so. If I commute by bus everyday, then that adds on at least another 8 hours a week, and then the hours I actually spend in class....and they want to require us to volunteer? I have a hard enough time as it is right now just keeping up with school without all the other things I want to do. I thought we attended a university, not a high school. I also have my own ideas about what should be taught in high school, but I'll save that for another day. Maybe all universities are like that. Enough complaining.

So, we went to this lady's apartment, and it was...nothing like I've seen before. It was in dire condition. She lives in Section 8 housing, and the manager told her if she didn't get her apartment up to code that she will be evicted and will face permanent homelessness. She definitely had hoarder tendencies, but not like people on the show "Hoarders." Those are probably only extreme cases. I helped clean the kitchen. I have two things to say about that - old sour cream in the sink and chicken bones stuck to the counter. That is definitely not what I signed up for (and a selfish part of me thinks we should get double hours for that), but I felt good about myself that I helped a stranger who really needed it. To blow my own horn, I bet not many people are willing to spend their Saturday afternoons like that. If I knew how disgusting it was going to be, I'd do it again.

In my last entry, I wrote about the feeling of something always bearing down on me; making it impossible, or seem impossible, to move forward with life and do things that I want to do instead of taking care of "emergencies" that are part of life. As I read my psych book earlier, I came across this passage that gives little hope for a bright and happy future. I almost found it funny if it wasn't so sad. I actually have experienced all of these already.

"In later life, challenges arise: Income shrinks, work is often taken away, the body deteriorates, recall fades, energy wanes, family members and friends die or move away, and the great enemy, death, looms ever closer."

Really?

Monday I was so tired I could barely move. I got up, got ready, had bag in hand, and to my surprise these silent tears slipped down my cheeks. I hurried to my bedroom to regain composure, but they just kept coming faster and faster, more and more. I heard my voice ring in my head, "I CAN'T DO THIS!" I let that thought linger for a few moments. The happy Amanda said, "Buck up. Don't be a wimp." but her voice was small and forced. I felt so exhausted I couldn't think, except that I really needed to go to class. I still didn't feel ready for my exam. I think I'll do fine on it, but now it's become a foreboding entity that looms in my future. My imagination aggrandized it into something bigger than it is. The same could be said for the psychology exam, although now I feel much better about that. My dad offered me a ride to school and was waiting for me in the car. When the tears finally slowed, I went out to my mom and told her I didn't think I could go to school. Seeing the tears, she agreed. I called a friend to unload some of my grief and he told me to skip class. I felt more vindicated in my feelings. If someone tells me it's ok to do what I really want to do but I don't think I should, then it makes it ok in my mind. I immediately went back to bed. Carmen offered me her massage appointment, which I was very grateful for because my back and shoulder have been killing me this past week and a half. It felt blissful. My gramma's therapist is in the same building and her appointment was at the same time as mine. When I came out to the lobby she was sitting there, slouched in her wheel chair. Her hair sat flat and uncombed, she was shaking. She obviously fell drastically downhill since the last time I saw her. I felt awkward being with her. I didn't want to hug her because I still coughed a bit. Eventually my mom joined us. My gramma started talking about her shoes.

"I hate these shoes. That's why I never wear them." She wears those shoes every day and has for months.

"Mom, you've worn them everyday. You said you really liked those shoes. That's why I didn't return them." replies Carmen.

"I have not. I don't like them."

"Yes you have."

By this time my dad's joined us in the lobby waiting for the van to return Gramma to Richmond Beach Rehab.

"Ron, have I worn these shoes?"

"Yeah. You've wear them everyday."

"I do not. I have them because some people think I should."

"Ok Mom."

Mom goes to her therapy appointment (also in the same building) and Gramma's ride comes, so dad and I go home. I go back to bed for a while, too tired to even sit in front of the tv, before we pick up my mother and go out to eat. I tell them I want to go to El Puerto's. I only had one drink. It was a large margarita, but only one. After I ordered it I remember my friend's advice to stay away from alcohol for a while. Too late. I promise not to drink at my funeral (said by the great Frida Kahlo). When we're almost done, I see my ex-fiance, Joe, come in with his girlfriend. I quickly turn the other way and warn my parents. This may sound juvenile, but I didn't want to see Joe until I've slimmed BACK down to a size 6, with long, flowing hair, and just plain hot to say to him, "If you were better to me, this is what you could be married to" instead of an overweight, frumpy girl with braces, no make-up, and trying to grow out her hair that's at that awkward stage, and living with her parents. They left, which a sigh of relief escaped my lips, and then he came back a few minutes later. Apparently they ordered take-out. If he saw us, he didn't say anything, which I was thankful for. I went to bed about 7:30 and slept the night through. I couldn't believe how exhausted I was.

Diego left me a message Monday that he and Queenie have pretty much made up and they're good. I think he let her off way too easy. I admitted what we did was wrong, but I think going through someone else's email is worse, even if it's your husband's. He said she was sorry and felt bad. I think it's a load of crap. I know he feels guilty too. Somehow I don't. Maybe because I know she'll forgive him, even though he's her husband and was cheating on her, if you call emails cheating, but she'll blame most of it on me. It makes it easier to forgive him. I'm pissed she got away so easily with it. I also call her "the queen" because she always dictated our relationship. It didn't matter what we wanted. If we wanted something different from her, then she would end it, and we certainly didn't want that so we always played her way. I think about if she does forgive me, what I'll do. She invaded my privacy as much as his. She also treated me like crap. She said she wants us to basically be friends with benefits, but she treats her friends better than she treated me. I don't know if I can do it again. If she decides she wants to be friends, she'll most likely make me sleep in the guest room - she'll want nothing more than friendship. It rips at my heart everytime I slept at their house and I had to sleep in the guest room because she doesn't want to have a romantic relationship with me; just friends. Diego talked to her about just sleeping together in the same bed without sex, but she just got pissed. There were nights I would lay in bed with tears rolling down the sides of my face thinking about them in the next room holding each other. The thought of them having sex would practically send me into a panic attack. One morning after I had been up for a few hours, I could hear them in their bedroom. I was white with rage and a broken heart. Diego promised me he wouldn't fuck her while I was there. It just hurt too much. If I told her how I felt, she would've just gotten mad at me - it's her house and her husband and she'll do what she wants. I'm only a guest.

I get up early to go to my physical therapy appointment the next morning, yesterday. As I get ready, I feel the tears coming again. I let out a couple sobs in the shower, not knowing why. On my way to Everett I feel dizzy and at one point thought I was having an anxiety attack. Everything seemed surreal. After my soft tissue massage (2 massages in 2 days! woohoo!) I stand up from the table and feel very dizzy, like I just got off a tire swing where I spun really fast when I was a kid. I stand there for a couple minutes looking at the room move. As I drove home, I still felt dizzy (except things have stopped moving), so I decide to go to my doctor's. She doesn't have anything available so I go to the walk-in clinic. I give the receptionist my DSHS coupon, and she points out to me that it shows Community Health under HMO; not what I had before. They absolutely cannot see me until this is changed. Stressed and frustrated, I sit at a booth with someone in their billing department near the check-in counter. I told the receptionist that I came in for dizziness and fatige, and I've had a sore throat and a cough, though it improved, for 10 days. She calls a nurse to come out and see me for the dizziness who looks at my eyes and takes my pulse. I sit there with the billing clerk while she's on hold with DSHS.

Then I became extremely dizzy and light-headed. I think I'm going to pass out. I try to tell her, but my mouth refused to work. I slam my hands on the desk to get her attention. I feel a seizure coming on. I'm able to move to the floor, and my body starts convulsing. She gets a nurse who lays me down. After it stopped I look up and see about 10 people around me. When I'm able to talk I tell them that Rachel Hollister is my doctor. I want to see her, but she's with patients, and there's not anything she can do for me that they can't. I want to see her for emotional support. She's been my doctor for 10 years. Hot tears roll down my face. They help me into a wheel chair and roll me into an exam room where they helped me on the table and take my vital signs. Everything looks normal. They call my parents who had to walk from the house, but luckily it's not even a half mile away. After I give them blood and urine samples to ensure that nothing else is going on, and the doctor gives me a release for school, I'm able to go home. I watch some tv, despite my head pounding.

When I feel a little better, I call Dr. Mower to inform her what happened and I won't be in class that starts in half an hour and email my other teachers. I call DSHS to try to switch back to my old plan. Community Health has taken over that part of their medical plan and there's no way around it, but my doctor is able to sign up with them. I call the doctor's office and the receptionist leaves a message for the billing department to see if this is possible. I received a call this morning that it's not and I'll have to go someplace else. Luckily, yesterday I remembered that I never cancelled my insurance through SU, so I hope that the clinic accepts that. Yesterday afternoon I receive an email from Kathleen La Voy, an assistant dean at SU. She writes that my teachers are worried about me missing so much class and whether I'll be able to finish the quarter. I'm pissed. Why didn't they just come to me? I asked them to please help me with this. I didn't consent to them giving my information to someone I don't know at all for her to email me with my information and tell me that my teachers are worried about me finishing the quarter and I infer they think I should drop their classes even though I made it clear that I want to finish the quarter. All they had to do was tell me they think I should talk to her, and I would've been more than obliging. Now I think I overreacted, but I was totally exhausted and stressed as it was, so emotions got the best of me. I'm certain that Dr. Mower didn't contact her because she was actually still in class when La Voy emailed me and she said she would be more than willing to work with me to get through her class. I didn't think my psych teacher did because he already emailed me that when I return to school he will talk with me about the next steps to take. My philosophy teacher hadn't contacted me yet about my seizure. I ask Dr. La Voy where she got my information and said that teachers contact her when they're worried about a student and basically she wasn't going to tell me. I email Dr. Hudgins, the dean of students, that I already knew and liked, telling her my circumstances and that I was offended at the teacher's behavior that he didn't approach me first and involved someone outside without telling me so. All in all, I basically turned a mole hill into a mountain. I emailed my psych teacher if he shared my information with anyone. He told me that he in fact emailed La Voy because he was concerned about me. I let him know that I really didn't appreciate him not coming to me first and I would've talked with her if he just asked me to. Then I emailed Hudgins and told her that I accused the wrong teacher. It sucks to admit when you were wrong. I still haven't heard from my philosophy teacher though.

I hoped that I would make it to class today, but this morning I'm still totally exhausted, recovering from the seizure. I only get up to walk a few steps to the computer, but otherwise slept until 2:40. I get an email from my philosophy teacher that he sent to everyone regarding his policy on absences and late work. "If you have been absent lately, this doesn't apply to you personally." How can I not take it personally?? I start crying again, afraid that he will either severely lower my grade for my absences and late work because I had the flu and then a seizure. Medical conditions out of my control. I emailed him that I'm still recovering from the seizure and that I hope we can work together for me to finish the quarter. I still have yet to get a response. As I cried, I think about making it all go away - to go to sleep and never wake up. Everything in my life seems to go south. When I try to make it better, obstacles present themselves that either hinder my efforts or make it nearly impossible to move forward. Someone told me that it gets better. I hope she's right.

"But you also, judges of the court, must have good hopes towards death, and this one thing you must take as true-no evil can happen to a good man either living or dead, and his business is not neglected by the gods; nor has my business now come about of itself, but it is plain to me that to die now and to be free from trouble was better for me." Socrates speaking about his death sentence in Plato's Apology

Is it really better to have loved and lost?

It's a quarter after three and I just received a call from Diego. I figured it was one of his late night drunk calls, which I was right. Luckily I was still awake. However, I wasn't prepared for what he had to tell me. Since Queenie stopped talking to me, he and I carried on a close friendship - tell each other that we miss each other and love each other, and sometimes more...and he told me she's been reading our emails this whole time. That blew me away. No wonder he was drunk. What we did was wrong....but because she turned a cold shoulder to me she thought we'd stop loving each other? I was surprised that she could turn her feelings for me off so quickly. I guess it shows that they really weren't there to begin with. Just her little toy. I did talk to her for a minute, and asked her why she read through all of our emails. "I didn't think you would have anything to hide." Of course you and I know that's a bunch of bullshit. Then she added "Because he's my husband." I'd like to think that even if I suspected my husband was up to no good, that I would never invade his privacy like that. What did she think would happen? All three of us were in a romantic relationship, and she ends it on a dime. I take responsibility for half of that. I didn't want the relationship to end, but I had a major meltdown, causing all sorts of drama that she detests, and it wasn't my first or second, or even third one. She had enough. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I would hope that this woman that I love and was in love with, and who loved me (and I think at one point she was in love), would be more understanding. But maybe I'm asking too much. She "understood" too many times. If she really loved me, then how could she just turn it off like that? I was still mad at her for treating me the way she did, but I loved her and if she wanted me she could have me. I thought I didn't love her anymore, but since I'm crying I guess I do. I know she'll never forgive me. I'm also crying because I know I brought so much havoc into their lives. I got her a sweatshirt from SU, where she also went, that I guess I can take back on Monday.

Just when you think you've hit bottom, someone throws you a shovel.

Study Women

I just finished reading all of the assigned readings for my women's studies class...that I was supposed to have done Tuesday....now I need to write a 2 page paper, and I don't know what to write. I feel that it has to be especially good since it's almost 3 days late, and I want to take a perhaps more unique point-of-view and actually write something interesting than what's blatantly obvious. It's true I didn't attend class the whole past week, but there is the wonderful invention of email which eliminates that excuse. The Doctor said, "Anything worth doing, is worth doing poorly." It's more important to just turn it in than obsess over its perfection and delay its submission any longer. I wonder if I'm too soft on myself, or if I'm too hard on myself, or if I put the right amount of pressure on myself (Goldilocks syndrome?). This is something I've always wondered about me. I've always procrastinated. You put so much stress and pressure on yourself. Why does one fall into this habit? My mother is a big procrastinator, so perhaps I inherited it from her. I could've started this earlier, although my illness would've delayed it somewhat regardless. I'm finally on my way to recovery. I feel more human-like and less zombie-like. I want to do well in this class, in all my classes, but I seem to find ways to sabotage myself. I care about my teachers' opinion of me, especially if I like the teacher. I want them to think well of me instead of a lazy, irresponsible girl. Right now I'm procrastinating by writing in my blog obsessing over it instead of just writing the damn paper and emailing it to her. I over-analyze myself constantly, try to look at myself as if this girl is someone I know and I'm evaluating her. For years I tried to work on my negative habits and faults, but I seem to not make much headway. Part of becoming the woman I want to be is to actually take care of things as they arise instead of putting off dealing with it for as long as possible. It doesn't matter what it is. Become a responsible and efficient woman.

The two rules of procrastination: 1) Do it today. 2) Tomorrow will be today tomorrow. ~Author Unknown

In Sickness and In Health

A long day of mostly fog with a few sunbreaks finally falls to night. What I thought (or more hoped) was the common cold turns out to be the flu. Carmen told me first thing this morning that she talked with her sister's friend, trying to track Cecilia down, presumably to talk to her about Gramma. The friend spoke to Cecilia a couple months ago when she told her that her boyfriend hit her and she gave him all of her money (before he hit her). She hasn't heard from Cecilia since. Sounds like the set-up for a murder. I just said, "It sounds like something Cecilia would do." Mom also told me that she spoke with Gramma's case worker, and that because Gramma was lucid, understood the questions and gave sensical answers (if molesting a 90 year old woman makes sense), that it's very possible that someone molested my grandmother. I want to see her, but on the same hand I don't. Isn't that awful? I feel like I can't look at her the same way. It's not like she did anything - she's the victim. Even if this is part of her dementia, it's real to her.

I was able to study, and watched a few recorded episodes of Dr. Maddow interrupted by throbbing headaches. I read the news; Dow was up (when I last looked), and so is the death toll of American soldiers in Afghanistan. A while back I read a book written shortly after the Civil War in 1910 about how the ruling class effectually exploited the working class to do their dirty deeds for them. Most wars are based on territory, authority, and religion - they're really wars between the ruling classes, but most aristocrats found they could easily persuade the working class to go to war for them with the empty promises of glory and honor, offering them meager benefits when many of the young working class could choose that, or a dreary career working in a factory or mine, or today Walmart or Starbucks.

When reading about different cultures, and I live in an individualist culture, but it's mostly understood that individuals still conform to their surroundings or the group they identify themselves with, even though many people move from group to group where those in a collectivist culture stay in one group. So it seems that it would stand that most members of an individualist culture are still somewhat collectivist. The same cannot be said vice versa.

I found an old friend who always filled me with new information and insight. An interesting character to say the least. We talked of philosophy mostly, which I always enjoy. I understood Plato much more in the period of an hour than in the past six weeks.

I had an interesting dream the other night. I had to have open lung surgery, that was performed while I was still concious. The surgeon used an electric saw to cut down the middle of my breast plate and remove my left rib cage. That's the part I remember most vividly. I thought why I dreamed about needing surgery on my lung was because I was worried that I was smoking too much, even though very low compared to some people. I thought the removal of the rib cage was very symbolical of Adam & Eve, and that pertained to my women's studies class. But maybe I'm wrong. Now maybe some reading before I "ride the wooden shoe."

"Someone said, 'The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.' Precisely, and they are that which we know." ~T.S. Eliot

Pain

Does all of this pain mean something in the end? Do we go through this for a reason? Yes, there are pleasures in life, but it seems that the bad outweighs the good. Almost everyone I know has had a horrendous year. As it comes to an end, hope renews for the next year, but just because it's another year really doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean the bad will stop, the pain will stop. At times like these it's important to stop.......and reflect. What do I have to be thankful for? I have a roof over my head, and clothes to wear. I live with my parents, and as trying as that is (sometimes plain intolerable), I don't have to pay rent. I attend a university, thanks to my women ancestors. I've met new people, some I hope will stay in my life for a long time. If there's so much good, then why doesn't it feel like it? Why are some of the people closest to me going through so much pain and heartache? Because their lives were good for a while? Now it's paybacks for the years of comfort and security they enjoyed? Because they had so many years with their mother, that now it's time to watch her slip away before she slips away? Because they had so many years of good health, they have to nearly die? It would be nice if I knew that it would end, but it won't until I end. That's just part of life.

The Women

It's been an chaotic week, hence why I haven't posted a blog in four days. My mother told me that she wanted to kill herself, my grandmother might have been raped, I got a speeding ticket and my body is trying to come down with a cold, and as usual I have a ton of homework. This drawing is one of my favorite works by my favorite artist, Vincent van Gogh.

Wednesday morning I walked out to the patio to have a cigarette where my parents were already having one. I could see that Carmen was very upset and looked very worn down. She told me she woke up, saw the piles of paperwork that needed to be done, thought of everything else that needed to be done, tired of living in a house that looks the way it is, and felt the only way to escape it all is if she was no longer alive. She couldn't think of any reason why to not take the pills she set out that she knew would kill her. By that time she was crying and I was fighting back tears myself. I've thought in the past of what a relief it will be when she does die, but I didn't want it to happen like this. I know I sound like a horrible daughter, and maybe I am. I feel like I'll never be able to get out from under her until she herself is six feet under. But right then and there, I didn't want her to die, I didn't want her to kill herself. She said she really didn't think I would care if she did. I said things in the past that I know hurt her - some things she was never supposed to hear, like when I told a friend that I didn't think she would live another five years and I told Momma that she was my natural mother and Carmen is just my biological mother. I don't want to believe that this crazy person who never accomplished anything or did anything with her life, except raise me, is my real mother. She's illogical, irrational, and has no common sense. But since I was born, her life was about me and only me. She's done everything she can to give me every opportunity and was always there, usually when I didn't ask her to be, but there were a lot of times I'm glad she was. She kept repeating that she wasn't telling dad and me this to make us feel guilty, that she just needed to talk. I believe her. I felt guilty anyway, because I know I contributed to her depression. When I said those things, I was coming from an angry and resentful place. That's more of an excuse than a reason, isn't it? I told Diego what Carmen said and that I felt guilty for at least some of her depression, and he told me to not feel guilty. It's not my fault. "Your mother is a little nuts."

Wednesday night I studied and finished my assignment for women's studies (wmst), and was so proud of myself. I stayed up until 3 or so. I found it impossible to concentrate. Every time I sat down to read, my mind went in 100 different directions. I actually didn't get all that much studying done for my psychology exam. I thought about telling my wmst professor that I chose to study for that over doing her assignment, but I wanted to do it all, and I didn't want to turn in yet another late assignment. It's not her problem I can't concentrate, or that I had an exam that day. Then I totally misunderstood the article I wrote on and ended up not turning it in anyway. Thursday morning, after almost five hours of sleep, I hurried to my physical therapy appointment, and got a speeding ticket on the way of course. While the officer was writing my ticket, I burst into tears. I was still crying when I got to PT. My therapist, Rick, sat me down and asked me the problem. I told him about Carmen and the speeding ticket (I still haven't told my parents about that). He had me lay down on the table while he gave me a nice massage. I could see snot oozing out of my nose, dripping onto the support bar beneath my face. When he was done, I used the cloth I rest my face on to wipe my nose and the bar, and threw it in the hamper. I went into one of the rooms where I found some tissue to blow my nose. I looked in the mirror and I looked like I've been punched in both eyes, without the bruising. They were totally swollen. He didn't make me do exercises. I just had heat and electrical stimulation on my back. I did some studying on the bus on my way to school. After wmst, Dr. Mower and I walked out together. When I tried to tell her about Carmen, I started crying again, and told her about my speeding ticket, my lack of sleep and the exam I had after her class. She encouraged me to ask my psych teacher if I could take it at a later time. I knew I would do horribly on it, for lack of studying and I was completely exhausted. I didn't want to ask that of my teacher, but I want to get a good grade too. "It's ok to ask for help." She gave me a big hug, giving me strength, and I hugged her back. She has her own devils she's dealing with. My psych teacher told me that I could take the test on Tuesday with no penalty. "We're here to help you, not to beat you up." I wonder if it had anything to do with me crying so hard I could barely talk? I'm grateful that I have the teachers I do.

So now we come to yesterday, my deceased grandmother's birthday. Carmen gets a call early in the morning from one of the nurses where my gramma stays. She said Gramma said she was raped the night before. Wow! I had a doctor's appointment and I woke up with a sore throat (coincidentally one had nothing to do with the other), so I stayed home. I don't want to make my grandmother sick after she's been raped, especially since she's prone to pneumonia. Would that be double matricide? Driving my mother to suicide and killing her mother with a sore throat? My mother and I share the same doctor, so I tell her about mom's depression. She told me to call her psychiatrist and psychologist. Dr. Mower encouraged me to do the same. I get there a little late because I forgot to give myself time to take the back route. I'm on foot. The sidewalks are all torn up on the main street. It takes me 15 minutes instead of under 10. I'm so glad my doctor is so close. Because I'm late, my doctor sees another patient first. I end up waiting over an hour in the exam room. I wear a mask in case I have something contagious. Rachel is pregnant and I would feel horrible if I gave her anything. My back really hurts and I'm so tired I decide to dim the lights and lay down on the table. She walks in and says, "My chart says you're here for a follow up on your depression, but you're wearing a mask and laying on the table." My depression seems to be under control. This week was especially hard, so I feel run down, but not particularly sad or in despair.

I walk home, and feel totally exhausted. Dee calls, Carmen's best friend, probably wanting to know why Gramma is in the hospital, but I don't feel like talking to her. I decide to go to bed and wake up around 4. I eat a whole pint of tomato bisque with two breadsticks from Olive Garden. I keep telling myself I need to start on homework, but I'm just too tired. I go back to my room around 7 and check facebook. I hear my parents come in around 8, but I don't go out at first. I don't want to know. I eventually go to the living room and ask mom what happened. She said there was no bruising or signs of rape, but Gramma said he didn't actually penetrate her, that he laid on top of her and fondled her breasts and genitals. We don't know whether to believe it or not. We don't think she's lying, but she's talked stories before, like she and a Seahawks football player were lovers, and she and one of the male aides (who's younger than me) were going to get married. She fully believed in them. We don't know if they were dreams or what. But what if this did happen? Who would do this? Why didn't the aides see someone? Why didn't Gramma call for someone? The whole thing is very disturbing. Life is very disturbing.

"I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full." ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Loser

I'm so tired, all I want to do is sleep. My back is very sore and achy. I have a paper due in philosophy tomorrow. I also have an orthodontist appointment at 9. After class I will make my way over to Jackson and 23rd, wherever that is, for an orientation for the chore volunteer thing. I was going to go to Jesse's show tomorrow, but decided against it. I have no one to go with, and all of his other shows I've gone to, I've gone by myself. It makes me feel pathetic. I try to tell myself it's ok to go out alone and be alone, but I can't rid the feeling of being a loser when I do. I have an exam on Thursday in psychology that I really need to study for, otherwise I would consider going...alone...again. I worry how well I'm doing in women's studies. I thought it would be my easiest class, and I'm having the hardest time with it. Well, we'll see on Thursday.

The neuro-psych had nothing to tell me really. He just said to go forward with the outpatient eeg monitoring, and if nothing shows up on that, he gave me the name of another neuro-psych at Harborview. He works in the neurological vocational department, so since I'm not trying to find a job maybe that's why he referred me to a different doctor. I just hope that I can get on top of my school work this weekend so I can start fresh next week without all the stress. Right now I'm barely keeping up. I rarely remember what I read, which makes it difficult (more like impossible) to write about. I just realized that I have a paper I needed to turn into my phil. teacher. Different from the aforementioned one. AND we have a second paper, a "one-pager" due tomorrow. They're both one-pagers and then an essay I mentioned previously. Good times. I refuse to believe that I'm not cut out for this, partly because I don't seem to be cut out for anything else, but I'm feeling overwhelmed. A little defeated, like before. I just want to start this quarter over again. The happy Amanda says, "Everything will be fine. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You don't have anything to complain about. It's not like your life is any harder than anyone else's. Just buckle down and do it! Think happy thoughts!" The tired Amanda says, "Shove it, sunshine."

"I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once." ~Jennifer Yane

Sunday

My day started about 5:30 this morning. I woke up around 3:30 and couldn't go back to sleep. I got a lot done in my room - putting things away and organizing. I just returned home from a long studying binge. I spent most of my time at The Loft, a new restaurant in downtown Edmonds. It was my first visit. It has warm ambience to it. The food looks scrumptious. They're open late every night, so it will probably become a favorite studying spot. Many restaurants in Edmonds aren't very conducive to studying and a lot aren't open late, especially on a Sunday. Even Tully's closes early. I refuse to go to Starbucks. I think it's an abomination for such a commercialized business to sit in the heart of my little hometown, that more and more resembles the eastside with office buildings and condos.

I've thought about running for city council. When I was a teenager, and voiced the changes I didn't like the changes happening then, my friend Dixie said she would vote for me if I ran for mayor. Unfortunately, it's much more difficult to undo what's already been done. I also went to the Red Twig for the first time, a pleasant little coffee house (with good tea).

I joined a Yahoo group called WOWS, Women of West Seattle, recommended to me by a woman I teamed with for our canvassing Seattle neighborhoods. It's a lesbian group, but not like a personals type of thing. Women post events or even ask if other women want to get together for lunch. Not entirely sure about my sexuality, I thought it would be a good way to become more involved in the LGBT community. I feel like I have to choose between one or the other, which I know isn't true. I tell myself that I have the right to enjoy the company of both sexes, even at the same time if I want (; . I thought about telling her I'm straight, but I wouldn't be entirely truthful. I've had more sexual experiences with men than women, "Queenie" (or Momma I call her) the only woman I've been with. Speaking of which, she still isn't speaking to me. Diego and I reconnected. They're going through an excruciating time right now trying to hold onto their business, and their house, and not making any money. Even tho Momma isn't talking to me, I'd still give them the money if I had it. I wonder what my parents think since I haven't been down there in so many months. They haven't asked and I really don't want to talk about it. I don't think they do either. I wonder if that's a reason why she's keeping her distance, even tho she seemed a bit relieved when I told them - that they know now about the three of us.

I know this sounds very selfdeprecating and like self-pity, however, I wonder if there's anything about me that deters "friends." Momma I know why, although this is the longest I think we've gone without talking to each other since our relationship began. I reconnected with this family I grew up with, and at first we did a bunch of things together, and now no one will return calls or emails. I suggest we go out and never hear from them. My "mom" from that family is also Carmen. They are all very busy though, my younger "sisters" are all young, working mothers and Carmen goes to school and I think works full time. There is Dee, my mom's best friend. I used to call her mainly to talk about my mother. She helped me understand some things about her, and gave me insight, and I don't think anyone knows her as well. Then Dee wrote me an email that she didn't want me to call her anymore and to find someplace else to print any papers I needed to (now we have a printer). I only asked her twice to print a paper. So, she's pretty much a dick in my book. And I get to see her this Friday! My parents and I ran into her granddaughter at the casino I walked home from, and my mom thought it would be a great idea for us to get together. Of course Carmen has no idea what Dee said to me. I want mom to have a friend. She's so bad about not keeping in contact with people. She says she's too busy, but that's a load of crap. There will always be something that needs to be done, and it's not like she hardly spends every waking hour doing something. I called another friend, Michele, a couple times and never hear back from her. I texted another friend, Aaron, who hasn't responded. The only time I ever talk to Ginny is if I call her, and regardless of how many messages I leave her, I never get a call back. Then there's Jesse. We reconnected almost two years ago after no contact for four years or so, and he always promised me we would get together, but that hasn't happened yet. I think I was too eager at first and that turned him off. I had a huge crush on him way back and all those feelings came surging forth when I saw him again. He did invite me to a show he's doing (he's a musician) this Wednesday, however. All of his other friends will be there too, and his girlfriend I'm sure. I feel like I'm diseased. I'm very self-concious about my body and don't go out all that much, so other people may pick up on low self-esteem. Or maybe it's happening to make room for new friends.

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival." ~C.S. Lewis

Rain drops keep falling on my head...

The rain was too irresistable. It beckoned me to come out and play. I walked to a nearby park that's heavily wooded and there's a pond in the middle. It was beautiful and serene. As I walked down to the pond a great blue heron flew from its perch and across the pond. I had the park to myself, along with the ducks. I eventually took my coat off and left it on a bench as I watched for more herons, standing in the rain. I walked down a path I don't remember being there before. I hadn't been to that part of the park for quite a few years. I've only walked through it a couple times since I moved in with my parents, and it's been years since I've been there before that. It took me to Main Street, which is good to know. When I walked back, I decided to climb up this hill. It was all so beautiful. I don't know what else to call it. The rain felt so cleansing and refreshing. I stepped over logs and branches, looking at toadstools. I carried my coat in my arm the whole time. I wanted to take off my socks and shoes to feel the moist earth beneath my feet. I would go barefoot all the time if I could. I felt the strings of societal norm pulling at my conscience so I left them on. I went to the very top of the hill where I ran into fences and the backs of houses. I turned to walk down and noticed to my side a condom. Gross, yes, but reminded me of times that I had sex in the woods. I really wanted to make love in the woods, all wet and muddy.

Kind of like sex. Wet and muddy and dirty, and wonderful!

The feel of the rain is very sensual. I at least wanted to get naked and run through the woods! but I was afraid someone would be walking by or someone would see me from their house. That might be a little embarrassing. I finally returned to the main trail and strolled out of the park. I came to the street to turn on to take me home, but by that time it was really raining and I couldn't leave just yet, so I kept walking straight to go in the opposite entrance. I still had my coat in my hand and felt a little silly, but the rain felt so good and I didn't want to care what anybody else thought.

"Who is that strange girl walking in this horrible, wet weather carrying her coat in her arm?"

A bunch of cars passed me and I quickly ducked into the safety of the trees. This trail had lots of puddles. The first one I came across I took a running jump and landed right in the middle! Water shot up everywhere. My jeans were thoroughly soaked from my knees down. I did the same on the next one, and the next one, and the one after that. I don't even remember the last time I splashed in a puddle, or even if I ever splashed in a puddle. I was the girly girl type - dresses and patent leather shoes. Carmen didn't let me play, or even walk in the rain. I feel sorry for kids who never get to play in the rain.

What a pleasure of life!

I left the park and was really walking home this time. My soaked shirt clung to my body. I was thanking Mother Nature for Her tears that showered on me, but then I thought maybe it's not Her tears at all. Maybe it's Her sweat. If I had Her job, I'd be sweating too. I wished I thought to take off my bra. One piece of bondage I could relieve myself from that's unnoticeable from a distance. I think bras definitely have their purpose, but can feel like, well, bondage. As I approached the house, I zipped up my coat and pulled the hood over my head to avoid questions of why I was soaked to the bone. Once in my room, I peeled off layers of wet clothing and slipped into comfy pajamas, regardless that it wasn't even one. Only I know about my special walk in the rain.

"Rain showers my spirit and waters my soul." ~Emily Logan Decens