it's alive!...

...barely.

I have dived (oh, please let that be correct...I have doven, um, no) into water so deep and murky that I cannot see the surface. Okay, I'm being entirely too over-dramatic here. I could probably very easily keep my head above water, if only I stopped a moment to stand up and take a breath. However, I feel that I've been on a kind of drone-autopilot setting for the last couple of months. I am not happy with the situation and I'm thinking about ways to make some changes. Suggestions for someone who is entirely over-educated and under-experienced for just about anything are welcome. And, when I call for suggestions, I am looking for ways I can provide a tiny bit financially for our tiny family. I am used to making tiny, pretty-much-inconsequential amounts of money, but I do need to be able to make enough to pay for my vast amounts of highly-relevant-to-all-aspects-of-my-life education. (I kind of kid. I enjoyed my time in higher education. I just wonder, sometimes, if I should have done a lot very differently. Then, I remind myself that isn't even a choice, so I should focus on right now. Yes.)

I plan to be in a much different position next year and for many of the following years. I want to be able to embrace the ideas we've decided are best for our family, instead of freaking out and deciding to take on entirely too much of what I don't want because that is what's familiar to me. Ugh.

On the life learning front, by the end of this month, I will have much to share. October has been, and will continue to be, full of homeschool-group activities. Thanks be for our homeschooling group. We would not have traveled in this direction had we not found and been embraced by the group.

For the next many months, though, I'll be back to my old standby of counting down the days until I'm finished with my current obligations. In high school, my teachers would consult with me about how many days we had remaining of the year. I didn't mind the countdowns then. Now, though, I realize I'm not living life the way I want to be, I'm almost constantly focused on either tiny bits of the present or on our big dreams for the future. I'd like to be back in a place where I'm focusing on the big picture that represents right freaking now.

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I would add some music to this post, as I've had a bit of a soundtrack going through my head as I've whined and fretted, but I'm using not-my-computer and I can't get the audio to work, so I can't hear the songs first to confirm they're the ones I want. I'll include the songs later...maybe.

everybody's working for the weekend

I feel that for the past several months, I've been existing simply to reach Fridays. I think, Ah, Friday. We'll spend some quality family time together. We'll run some errands. I'll get stuff done and feel relaxed when the weekend comes to a close. So, yes, we do spend lots and lots of quality family time together (I desperately cling to that in these few months before our family dynamic shifts in a way I'm still not sure I'm comfortable with or ready for) and we do run a few errands, but I haven't felt relaxed at all in a very long time.

We somehow manage to wander around, doing little errands, but neglecting to go grocery shopping (which lead to me eating some very questionable left-over couscous for dinner last night). At the end of each weekend, I feel myself longing for just a bit more time.

A couple of weeks from now will mark the first time in two-and-a-half decades that I've gone a full year without being a full-time student. I took off one semester after Pic was born. The plan was for me to take an entire year, but I wasn't capable of taking a full year.

I need to be busy. I need to be doing. I worry about my inability to just chill out, to spend some quiet time figuring out what to do next, but bills keep coming and life keeps moving and I feel at a standstill. (I'm pretty sure I sound like I just contradicted myself there. It is definitely possible for me to be at a standstill in my life and feel not at all chill at the same time.)

When my hours aren't filled, I am at a loss about what I should do, so I shut down. Not good. (Probably also not good is my sleeping something of an average of four hours a night when I was a grad student/teacher, but I (barely) survived that.)

So, for now, I feel that I'm muddling my way through the week, hoping for the weekend when Cardo will be off and available for me to pester full-time for two whole days. I'm sure he truly relishes this.

In the past few days, I have been presented a couple of opportunities for the coming year. Neither are perfect as I'm imagining perfection to be, but they are something. I'm not sure where to go from here. I have no sense of direction and here I stand with no map. I don't even have a set of "turn left at the second dead tree" kind of directions.

Anyone interested in doling out advice that I might or might not use to act on? This would require some one-on-one time, but I feel that I need actual feedback because this floundering around lost stuff just isn't working for me.

[A lot of this is always brewing in my head, but I've especially been mulling over Coach J's "The Right 'Stuff'" since the moment I read it. I love when a piece of writing sticks with me and forces me to think.]

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Wow, I meant to write a post joking about Cinco de Mayo and the fact that Cardo is baffled that that's something "we"* celebrate here, but instead that gush of crap emerged instead. Sorry.

* We, as in our family, does not celebrate this commemoration of Mexico's defeat of the French at Puebla (a battle in a war Mexico lost, by the way). I didn't really know anything about this holiday until Cardo explained it to me. I have no idea what I thought it was about when I was younger.

new rules

I've been thinking that I'm being a little (very) pathetic. I have been cutting myself off from friends solely because of my own worries and doubts. I keep telling myself that I'll cut this behavior out posthaste, but, well, I haven't.

Here are my worries: I'm no longer in the position I was in in May and previously. I am not, at the moment, a student. I'm a mamma staying at home with the little one and that feels pretty much like it right now. My doubts and worries: the people I was friends with will no longer want to be friends because I no longer fit in with the group. Some are still students. Those who aren't, have gone on to become teachers (yes, just about everyone I know and love is a teacher or is studying to become one). What do I have to give to a friendship when I spend almost fifty hours a week raising a four-year-old and taking care of the apartment? I don't want others to become exasperated with me because all of my stories involve my kid. I'm worried that others will see me as something of a...I don't know the word. One who has given up? One who has failed to live up to her potential? (One who has never been sure of that 'potential' anyhow.) A quitter? There were a lot of factors that went into my decision to stay here for the year and not do the program in England. There are a lot of factors playing into our decisions about our family's future. However, under all of that, I am wondering if I can accept this as enough for me for right now. I so easily can see the good that other people do in anything they do, be it going to work outside of the home full-time, staying home to care for their children or their home or both full-time. Working from home. Anything others do, I can definitely get behind. I've never been a good moral supporter for myself, though. I tend to judge myself harshly, and then imagine that others are doing the same.

Geez, there's so much more I could say on this subject, but I won't. There're too many expectations that I may never live up to and I just can't stop imagining the rolled eyes from those who might think I'm throwing opportunities away. Like I have tried to imply, I really have no idea what others are thinking, but I worry about it nonetheless (which, Cardo would point out, is part of my problem...never worry about what others are thinking he tells me, but I don't have his quiet confidence).

So, off with the rambling and on with the rules:

-- I will be more available to my friends. I will be available by phone, although I much prefer to communicate through the interweb (hint, hint) or face-to-face, when I can be lured from my cave. (Of course, this means that I actually have to figure out the whole e-mail situation, yes?)

-- I will let go more easily and understand that people grow apart, that our life choices pull us in different directions and that every friendship is not meant to last forever.

-- I will date my husband, even if it's only once a month.

-- I will, eventually, ask for time for myself.

That's all for now. I don't like to make too many changes at once, else I'm overwhelmed.

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P.S. I've gone from incredible amounts of sleep to...zero. Insomnia hit hard last night and I haven't been to sleep. I'm sure that I'll read this over later and think, 'geez, I shouldn't be let near the computer in a insomnia-induced stupor,' but this has been on my mind for a while and I wanted to post it before I lost the nerve, again.

grand plan

I have too much stuff. I've always had too much stuff. I've always been labeled a 'pack rat.' Even when I gave away bags and bags of my belongings -- precious to me because of the memories I associated with them -- because I was tired of the supposed-to-be-lighthearted nickname, I was still know as a keeper, a collector, a pack rat.

Over the years, I've gone back and forth, trying to purge myself of as much stuff as I could comfortably part with and trying to accept that I am just a person with too much stuff.

I've gotten 'better' about my tendency to hold on to things (although you might not be able to tell by the state of my apartment). I've decided that instead of collecting everything, I'll choose certain things that I'll allow myself to collect. Books, definitely. Some magazines. I don't know what else?

Anyhow. The grand plan? Find one thing to give away, every day for thirty days. Why? Eh. I'm in a purging mood. I need a bit less stuff. I truly have things I haven't really done much more than glance at for years and years, so why hold onto it?

So, get ready for some crappy pictures (I'll just be using the camera on the computer), as I try to keep myself on track by logging my outgoing stuff.

I started doing this two days ago, so here's what I've put in the giveaway bag so far:


Halloween party invitations. We've never thrown a Halloween party, nor have we ever planned on throwing one. I'm pretty sure that Cardo bought these for me at some point because he knows I like Halloween. At some point (we've had these for years), Pic found and opened them. I'll put them in a bag and hope that someone browsing at Goodwill will be able to use them.





An activePAD thingie-ma-bob. Yeah. I've never even looked very closely at this thing, but I'm pretty sure that I get the general idea. We were given it before Pic was born and I really did think that I would use it with her, but, well, no. So, out it, and the three booklets that we got with it, goes. [Yeah, I suddenly had no idea what verb to use at the end of that sentence.]






Okay, so I shouldn't pick three things in one day, but I did. The first is a stress-squeezy thing I got while I was in high school (and very into the whole alien-life thing). It's still in the little mesh bag I got it in. I used to always carry this in my backpack. Then, we have a dusty, grey toothbrush. I once read this trend-tip in Seventeen (oh, the things I admit here) that said to use pliers to remove the bristles, place the handle in boiling water and then, when the handle was soft, shape it into a bracelet. Obviously, I never got past buying the toothbrush. And it has been with me for the past fifteen years. [This one went in the trash. I have enough household-cleaning toothbrushes.] Finally, something that I don't think was actually ever mine. I have no idea how I ended up with this lizard bead thing, so into the bag it goes.

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P. S. Yeah, the pictures. I know.

i may look like a kid...

...but I'm definitely not. The other day, at Costco, I got carded. Cardo was buying some riesling, his new favorite wine, but because I had used my Costco card at checkout, the cashier asked for my ID. As usual -- yes, this is a somewhat frequent occurence, although it's becoming less so -- Cardo joked with the cashier about how young I look and how people must think he's a dirty old man (his phrase). The cashier said I looked twenty and Cardo and I both immediately noted how at least I was looking in my twenties now. Then, the cashier admitted that she thought I was younger than that, but assured me that when I'm in my forties, I'll be loving this. I don't mind it now. If I stop to think about it, I find it amusing. I've found there's not much I can do about others' perceptions. Even when I trade my glasses for my contacts (which isn't that often anymore) and even when I dress up and wear makeup, people still think I'm much younger than I am. I don't see it. When I look in the mirror, I see how tired I look. How I look so much older than I did in my senior class high school picture (okay, so I was seventeen and looked about twelve). But, I'm so bad at guessing people's ages that I've just given up.

Yesterday, I was talking to my older sister and she said something about Rebecca Romijn, referring to her as a young woman (I had asked her if the stars of a new show were teenagers, and she told me they were young women). I told my sister I thought Romijn was in her forties (because I'm apparently clueless). Let me just pause a moment and say that I, by no means, think of forties as old. I would just describe a forty-year-old woman as 'a woman' and not 'a young woman.' Okay, then. Anyhow, my sister said Romijn was in her thirties, somewhere between my age and my sister's age.

And, wow, I thought, 'How close I am to being in my thirties.' I have this thought a lot. I'm not sure what to do with it. It's not like it really means anything significant, right? It just means my age will start with the number three instead of the number two. However, I do feel like it should mean something. Something like, I'll be a grown-up and I should have things in order, I should have things figured out. Perhaps I should. Perhaps I will. Perhaps that whole 'having things figured out' deal kind of scares me because it feels like settling or tying myself down or something. Finally, perhaps I should realize that I do have things figured out. I know where I am right now. I know where I want to be in a year and then five years after that and even five years after that.

Perhaps I'll focus both on that and on where I am right now: this place where I get to wake up every morning to Pic's demands that I get up let her watch a little tv because her room is clean; this place where Pic and I take long walks to the post office, the coffeehouse, the library, the park; this place where I get to spend this one last year with her before she's caught up in the whirlwind of school that, for some, lasts for decades once it's begun.

I've probably said this here before, but I'll say it again. Both in my life and here in the pond (ha!), I am trying to focus more on what's good, more on what I have right now. I often use this space to purge all the ugly going on in my head, but then it's out there infecting everyone else. I apologize for that. I'm not promising that I'll stop doing that, but I'll make a concerted effort to not do it so much. I'll also be making an effort to not mentally compare myself with everyone else and to not wallow in the results (because I can often only see the great parts of others' lives). And, if I stop putting so much energy into all that ugly, perhaps I'll be able to funnel that energy into reaching my goals. Duh, I know, but sometimes I need to write it out for myself to be able to really see it.

london calling…sorry, wrong number; or, involuntary self-reflection

(the second part of my title is a phrase i heard once in class. rather than question it, i smiled and wrote it down)

i’m sitting in a hotel room on bedford place, london as i write this. i can hear the constant traffic and the echoing voices from three stories down from outside my open window. i don’t have internet access here (hell, i don’t even have a toilet in my room), so, by the time i post this, i will be back in my somewhat cluttered office in my apartment. my apartment in reno, yes.

this is not easy for me to compose. i have been mentally doing so and i keep stalling. i am pretty sure that over these past few months and, in a much-concentrated way, over the past few days, i have experienced something akin to a midlife crisis…except, i am hoping that i still have a while to go before i reach midlife.

anyhow, as i said, this is difficult for me to compose. let me start by apologizing, because i feel that is what i need to do. i feel like i have been on autopilot for so long now, not stopping to really, deeply examine any particular aspect of my life, simply going in the direction i thought was forward, not realizing that there wasn’t only one ‘forward.’

so, about that apology. i apologize to cardo, pic and the covert cat for having disrupted so much in my efforts to do what i thought i might possibly want. i apologize to the rest of my family for asking for their support (especially the financial support i asked of my parents) in reaching this goal. i apologize to those of you from whom i asked well wishes and who i led to believe that this was the next step i really wanted to take. i apologize to dr jones and to dr hoxton (as i will refer to her) and to ms s for putting in so much effort to get me to where i am right now (at the time of composing this, not so much at the time of posting). i greatly and deeply appreciate the support, the well-wishes and the efforts made on my behalf and i don’t know how to repay them, except to be there to support your goals and your hopes in whatever way i can, even if it is only to offer my wishes for your happiness and fulfillment.

i apologize to myself for not listening. i have never been good at this. i either ignore or i shut down, which leads to too much involuntary self-reflection and then jumping into whatever is available and once again ignoring.

i thought that this might be what i wanted. i refused to say ‘when’ this happens, but stuck with ‘if’ this happens. every time another hurdle was behind me, cardo asked me if i was excited, and i was never able to answer with a ‘yes.’ i know that i probably sounded excited to others, but this is part of how i work. i don’t want others to be uncomfortable or to worry about me. i don’t always share the truth because it’s easier to say that everythig is ‘fine’ and let others believe that everything really is.

everything isn’t and hasn’t been for some time. i’m not sure what to do about this. there are some things i am still sure of. i still want to teach. i still want to go on to get my phd. i still hope that that will be possible. i still want to own a house. i still want to be with my family as much as possible.

there are many things i am unsure of. i am not sure what my next step is going to be. i am not sure that i won’t shut down now, refusing to let people in and shutting myself off from others who might need me. i am unsure of who i am and where i will end up.

i despise those big questions looming. they pick me up and drag me to the cave of despaire, where i have no una to reassure me that i am chosen and that no matter what, i will survive because that is how it is meant to be. at times, i feel i have no armor to shield me from what i let attack me, what i attack myself with.

i meant this to be much more lighthearted, as casually joking about hardship is how i usually cope, but i’m not feeling lighthearted right now. maybe in a few years. maybe when i feel that things are back on track. maybe when i figure out just where that track even is.

in the meantime, thank you for all of your support. it’s good to know that others have faith in me, even when i have none. i’ll start now in trying to internalize some of that, even if it means reciting affirmations a la stuart smalley. (perhaps there is a bit of the lighthearted in me yet.)

[note: i wrote this elsewhere. as usual, that 'elsewhere' doesn't adhere to upper-case letters. also, i've had a couple of days to let this sink in and i'm calm and doing pretty well. i hope you all are doing well also.]

[p.s. if you now need to hear the song, you can go here. embedding has been disabled.]

the mean reds...

...again, I know.

Today has been something of a blah day. Actually, I guess the entire day hasn't been so bad, it just feels like it has at this point. I couldn't sleep last night (big shock, yes, I know), so it feels like pretty much the moment I did manage to get to sleep, it was time to get up and take Cardo to work. Pic and I had some errands today, so we preferred access to the car. I'm sure, though, that my overall funk has to do with too little sleep, too much stress and a definite need for a break.

I know that there are people who would think, 'What exactly do you need a break from?' (or, even, 'From what exactly do you need a break?' if you want to have fancy syntax that really makes no difference, but which still haunts me). I need a break from constant Mamma-Pic time. I love it, I cherish it, I'm happy and grateful that I have, it, but sometimes Pic and I just need our space from one another. And, it doesn't matter that I know this and that I believe it to be healthy and normal (taking a break from the person I spend ALL of my waking hours with), I still feel guilty and sucky about it. And, it doesn't help that when I'm this far sunk in my funk (ha!), and I try to talk to Cardo about it, he just doesn't get it. At all. And how can I expect him to? He's never been the one to be at home because, hello, we need money for things like rent and food. But I was just so irked tonight by the way he seemed so dismissive of my frustration, of my restlessness. It was kind of like, 'Sorry. But if things work out, you'll be spending all of your time with her anyway.' Which just isn't true. I'll be somewhere with people my own age a few times a week while she'll be elsewhere with people her own age a few times a week. That, it seems obvious to me, is different.

Anyhow, I can't expend any more energy on this right now. I'm the one who's made my choices. No one forced me to do things this way. And, overall, I'm happy. I just currently happen to be happy in a burnt-out kind of way.

All of that, I needed to get out, but I also felt I needed to set up the general state of mean-redness to somehow justify the amount of tv watching that went on here today because that has to do with the rest of what I wanted to share.

After Pic and I went to gather Cardo from work, she wanted to go swimming. I was not in the mood (at freaking all...I just wanted to sleep), so I asked Cardo if he'd feel comfortable taking her on his own. He wasn't. He's not a swimmer and I understand that he doesn't want to risk anything happening. So, we all suited up, Pic tucked into her floaties, and went to the pool where I never put more than my feet in.

One of our neighbors, who adores kids, was there. He was asking Pic what her favorite show was. 'Is it SpongeBob?' She shook her head, 'no.' We are not a SpongeBob watching household. Then, he asked her, 'Is it iCarly.' Again, with the headshake. Okay, so we're neither a Nickelodeon nor a Disney Channel household. Partly because we don't have those channels anymore (since December, we've had about four channels), but mainly because most shows I've come across on those channels annoy me. 'I like PBS Kids,' she told him, 'They have Dinosaur Train. It's going to start next month.' She's been very excited about this upcoming show.

Pic and I are both pretty enamored of PBS Kids. Actually, we both also like PBS Kids Go (the children's programing in the afternoon). I feel lucky that we have so many shows available, and I love the set-up: preschool/early grade school programing in the mornings and shows for older kids in the afternoons. I've been very into Sid the Science Kid lately. I'd have to say that Pic's current favorite is either Super WHY! or Word Girl (apparently she has a thing for superheros). So, yes, about all the tv today. We watched part of Sid the Science Kid, then Super WHY!, Clifford the Big Red Dog and, finally (I know) part of Sesame Street (until Elmo's World came on and it was time for us to go...except, she later watched an episode of Elmo's World on a DVD that was gifted to Pic). Ugh. If we don't get back to what I consider a normal schedule (school for the both of us) soon, we're close to becoming a pair of Helen Sharps, obsessively watching tv while using our fingers to eat frosting from plastic containers.

goodbye lucky

When we took Lucky to the doctor, we had hope that he'd be there a couple of days, get better and come back home where he belongs. He spent the last week of his life in a kennel in the doctor's office. We visited him there and Pic colored a picture that they taped up in his little 'room.' He had jaundice, his liver was seriously screwed up, his pee was really thick and dark, he was eating about a quarter of what he should be to survive. He was quiet.

At the doctor's, Luckster had an IV in his front right leg. He wouldn't (couldn't, really) eat any of the solid food they provided. He was alternately keeping his medicine down and throwing it up. He wasn't making the progress they wanted.

A couple of the times I went to see him, he tried to climb up onto my shoulders to get out.

After we finally realized that he couldn't fight this fight, it was over so quickly. We had taken Pic to school and then we went to visit Lucky. We decided to 'put him to sleep' right then. When Dr T adminstered the anesthesia, Lucky finally became vocal again and tried to pull his leg back. Cardo was sitting in the rocking chair in the little room, Lucky on a towel in his lap. My hand was resting on Lucky's poor too-thin body. He stopped breathing in seconds. Dr T left us with him, but I could only stay for a couple of minutes.

Lucky was only with us for a year-and-a-half. I have no idea what his life was like before he was with us. He was found in a field, along with many, many much younger cats. We loved him and I hope that he was happy here, as a part of our family.

Snuggles has been much more attached to us since his brother left. I don't know if he knows what's going on.

I've been emotionally wrung-out. I thought I'd cried all my tears, but writing this is hard. This followed so closely after Cardo's mom (I won't be writing anything more about that here, but thanks for the emotional support). Everything feels in a state of upheaval right now.

When we got home today, I automatically looked for Lucky sleeping on my pillow. He wasn't there.

jitters

Because I'm pretending to be confident but not really doing it all that well...

Is it possible to have stage-fright when I'm not (really) going onstage? I think so. So, I'm just going to bundle up all of my nerves and send them out into the ether, where they will disperse. That's the way it works, right? I thought so.

Okay, thank you ether for absorbing my jangly nerves. I'll be back at two to pick them up, if needed.

involuntary self-reflection*

[again, typed elsewhere, transported here]

is it horrible of me that i cannot wait until pic is in school full-time? is it so awfully bad that i am so selfish that i am craving this time because then i will be able to focus so much more on my own work? on my own studies? on my own self?

yes? i decided to have a kid when i did and now i need to deal with (suffer?) the consequences?

you’re entirely right (she said to the voice in her head). however, i just don’t care. if i had all this to do over again, i’d cry and cry. i’m not a person who wishes she had things to do over again, and this doesn’t mean that i think that every little bit of my life is generically perfect, but i’m where i want to be. when i finished crying, i’d do this all the same again. (so, powers that be, if you’re thinking to give someone another chance at things and you’re thinking to get into the tricky, tricky business of time travel, give that chance to someone else, please.)

the decision to have a kid when we did was largely mine. okay, so i would have liked to possibly have waited until i had actually graduated with my ba, but, hey, we didn’t and it worked out. i love being young enough to not be as worn out as i imagine i will be fifteen years from now (geez, if i’m tired now, i can’t even imagine my level of exhaustion fifteen years from now). cardo is somewhat older than me (more than a year, less than a decade) and this is something that i constantly take into account. i wanted him to also be able to be a young parent and he seemed to want this too. (i have no idea if this is in any way better than being an older parent. i can imagine the benefits of both, but i, obviously can’t argue for both having only experienced the one.) also, i’m still (and forever) a grad student. this has been both freaking fantastic and freaking sucktastic. i have so much more time to be with pic than i would have if i had a forty-plus-hour-a-week job to go to (as cardo does). at the same time, i have so much more time with pic than i would have if i had a forty-plus-hour-a-week job to go to.

i have seen so much of her growth in the last four years and that has been great. i’ve been able to take her to the library almost every week, at least once a week, for the past several years. when the weather’s nice enough, i’m able to take her to the park almost every day. i have the time to read her multiple books a day (on top of doing all of my own reading, much of it aloud…this child has been exposed to literacy in a major way). i can lay down on the floor and play ‘ladies’ with pic. i have spent more time with pic than anyone else has.

i have spent more time with pic than anyone else has. yes, i understand that i have this repetition thing going on here. that’s intentional. stick with me. when i have twenty-some or forty-some student papers to respond to, 200 pages of a book to read, four scholarly articles to read, a course to design, laundry to get done, dishes to wash (and on and on, for all time), i have a four-year-old who wants me to read several books to her, who wants me to take her to the library/park/thrift store, who wants me to stop and play ‘ladies’ with her. this child has learned to spend a lot of time playing alone. she’s awesome at entertaining herself. she reads, draws, plays with magnets, completely unpacks her toy bins, tries on several different outfits, ecc. when i’m trying to work at home, though, are the times when i most feel that i’m sucking at everything. the apartment is never quite clean. my mind is never quite wholly focused on either pic or my work. my ‘work’ even consists both of being a teacher and being a student. i’m not able to compartmentalize my identities, bringing one out to be in control when i need her. should i even be concerned about that? i think so. i’m not all ‘yea for multitasking!’ although i’ve been doing it for most of my life. i'd love to me more in-the-moment. bring on the zen.

cardo doesn’t quite understand how this is tearing me apart and that is partly my very own fault. i don’t ask him (or anyone) for help often enough. i have occasionally tried to explain just how different our situations are. he gets to go to work fifty-some hours a week (isn’t he the lucky-duck) and get his work done there without someone constantly demanding that he turn his focus away from work. he goes to work and doesn’t have to worry that the apartment must still be cleaned, ecc. this does not mean that he doesn’t bring his work home but it is a very different thing to go to work, to leave the home and get oh-so-much of your work done elsewhere than to have to juggle work at home and a home and a preschooler.

so, because i’m needing to read many articles on/by foucault and i’m needing to revise several of my own papers and i’m needing to create discussion notes for a variety of texts and i’m needing to implode, i’ll wrap up rather quickly here: i cannot wait until pic is in school full-time so that i can go somewhere that isn’t home for several hours five days a week, many weeks of the year and get my own work done.

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* the title is from class discussion and, no, i don't remember how exactly it came up. it just seemed funny to me.

building a wall

Sometimes, I feel like the world I so often inhabit, this brick-towered space, only exists to beat me down. Only exists to point out how incredibly inept and unworthy I am of wondering the halls.

I know that anyone who has been a part of my life or blog for at least the last few months knows this about me already, but it's hitting me pretty hard right now.

Today, I received a note that I'm sure was meant as helpful but I read as...degrading? I'm not sure how to put it. I read it and felt, 'Wow. I suck. I quit. I don't want to do this anymore and I'm obviously not good enough to be here.' It started me thinking about the work that I've done in the last (almost) three-and-a-half years and wondering, 'Was any of it really good?' I can't answer that affirmatively. There are so many parts of what I do that I feel like I'm constantly relearning, unlearning, retraining myself to do. I've spread myself so thin and not often enough (or, ever?) let myself come back together as a whole, that I'm reaching a breaking point.

'Why do I choose to stay somewhere that makes me doubt myself so much, makes me feel so low?' I wonder. This is what I know and what I think I usually love. But, is this a healthy choice for me? There have been times when this has almost killed me in many ways and I just want out right now before I slip back there again.

I know that I only have about six or seven weeks left, but can I make it those six or seven weeks? Do I want to?

I think that the answer to both of those questions is 'Yes,' but I wish I knew and didn't just think.

I think that this is a time when I need to ask for help, see if I can lighten my load a bit, but I suck at asking for help. I'm not sure where I filled myself up with belief that I must be so self-sufficient, but I'd like to go back and drop off this unneeded baggage.

Sometimes, in my writing, I allow myself to get so bogged down in the horrible negativity (as in, um, now), but this is how I release. I think, though, this might not be helping so much at this time, so I'm taking a hiatus on writing about this vague craptastic topic. I'm going to try to detach myself a lot, for the next six or seven weeks, from everything having to do with area of my life. I'm not new at this shutting a part of myself off experiment and I just hope that the barricade holds until I can tear it down.

despayre

Who needs a normalized system of spelling anyway?

Anyhow, wow, I think it might be in large part due to the lack of sleep, but I'm having some sort of weird lethargic panic attack. I can't explain it. It's slow-mo or something. I can feel myself tensing up and freaking out and I don't know what to do about it.

I feel like I've reached the end of a diving board in my life and I have no idea if there is a pool full of water (or something soft, like marshmallow fluff) beneath me. I kind of feel like I'm six again and people are going to start asking me, 'What do you want to do when you grow up?' I have no idea. Actually, that's not true. I have plenty of ideas. The problem lies in me needing to be gainfully employed (as in I need to eventually make some money so that Cardo can have a little space to maneuver in his own career). So, yes, I have ideas and I have ideals, but I have no solidly-formed ideas (I can't think of any other way to phrase that right now) about how I'm going to reach a point where I'll be happy and earning a decent paycheck.

My whole life, so far, has pretty much been school. I've always just kind of moved on to the next step without giving much thought to what I was doing. So, apparently I'm full of sweet little lies this morn, because I doubt I've ever done anything without giving whatever it is much thought. What I really mean is that I didn't stretch myself, I just stuck with what was easy and/or safe. However, that is no longer an option. I'm being forced to make some major changes -- and I mean that 'forced' not in some violent way, but I've reached the end of what I can do here. I'm not one who's comfortable with change so you can surmise how I am with MAJOR change. Meltdowny, insomnia-plagued, randomly bursting-into-tearness = my state. No matter how much I keep telling myself that I only have two months left until this enormous current pressure eases up considerably. And, anyhow, I keep switching back and forth between 'one day at a time' (or 'inch by inch') and 'let's paint a great big mural and look at that.'

I always get antsy at this point in the semester. You'd think I'd have some kind of a handle on this by now. I'm only in my eight-billionth semester here. I always want assurances. I want to know that I'll come out of this successfully, but there is no knowing that. I want to not be seen. I want the pressure of others' gazes to not be squashing me into the ground. However, there is no way to finish up this part of my journey (or whatever) without others being aware of most of the moves I make. I hate this kind of scrutiny. So, perhaps this would be a good time to hold off on any 'How's it going?'s and 'How are you?'s. Unless, however, you don't mind mumbled responses of insincere 'Fine's or not-quite-held-back tears.

And, geez, who is it that allows me to post stuff in the middle of the dark (the dark of the night and the dark of my soul...I've been reading too many sonnets)? I don't drink, so there'll never be any drunk-blogging, but there is plenty of blues-blogging. My apologies.

I just need to remind myself that I make everything harder than it really is. I've been doing most of the stuff I'm faced with for so long that I should be able to do some of it in my sleep (should I happen to get any). I also need to remember that there's a whole lot more world out there, outside of the ivy-covered brick.

Also, and above all: I need sleep. So, buona notte.

my sentiments exactly

This is pretty much exactly how I feel right now (except that if I wake up the kidlet, I'll be in an even worse situation). Also, this is how I imagine everyone sitting around the table tomorrow evening would react.

Cardo just reminded me that this is almost over. I just reminded him that I still have to get through it before it ends, though.

I'll just keep thinking about long walks in the park, browsing the library for hours for books to read FOR FREAKING FUN, spending ten whole minutes with my child without saying, 'Okay, Mamma has to go read now.'

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In unrelated non-news, Pic and I took Cardo to Mimi's for lunch yesterday for his birthday. He chose the place. He says that he's going to take us out for breakfast this week (on his actual birthday). When I asked Pic earlier where we should go for Papi's birthday breakfast, she told me, 'I want to go on the airplane and go far away and eat breakfast in the castle with the princesses.' Keep dreaming big, kiddo.

affirmations

I am a lone reed. I am Jack's medulla oblongata. I am a work in progress.

Okay, so that last one's the one. I am constantly reminding myself what a friend so adamantly told me the other day, 'I am a work in progress.' It's so hard to really accept this when so much of the future is so uncertain, though. I want to know things for sure. I want assurances, people, and I want them now (and possibly a goose to lay a golden egg). Everything I do seems, to me, to be so end-all, so important. I let myself get so wrapped up in my own little, tiny dramas and freak myself out.

This semester makes me nervous. There are so many stupid little 'what ifs.' I'm not a fan of these. And, yes, I know that one day, years from now, these nights of sleeplessness will be but vague memories and I'll shake my head wearily at the stress I put myself through (this is what I do for fun: stress) and not understand why. There are brief moments of clarity when I know that things will be resolved in some fashion and it'll all be over and life will go on in some sense (or, at least, this is what I let myself believe at times). But...what if it doesn't? Huh? What then?

Wait! Nevermind, that thought does not compute. Really, I don't want to think about it. The people on my committee have known me for at least two years and I'm pretty sure they want to see me succeed (or, at least see me be able to get the crap out).

So, in order to keep the panic at bay, I've been given some other advice recently:



Also, Coach J's post resonated with me today. That song always gets me.

open letter

I have been composing this letter in my head for a couple of weeks now. Just so you know the extent of things here, when I can't even post a proper blog entry.

Hello out there,

I am barely treading water over here. I cannot even think of a better idiom. I cannot even play with this one because what I am experiencing feels so much like I would imagine drowning to feel.

I often let myself believe that 'this time' I will sleep like a normal person. I will get to everything in a wonderfully timely fashion and I will have time to actually sleep when all the rest of La Casa B is slumbering. However, somewhere deep inside, I know that I never believed this.

I have been pretty much nonstop reading for the last month. (Hey, I did qualify that statement...I know, I'm not reading right now...well I am reading as I type, but whatever.) I will be pretty much nonstop reading for the next twelve weeks. Actually, at some point, there will be more writing going into the process, although the reading will not diminish.

In light of this information, I have decided that I have to stop telling people that I will do things. I cannot. I just cannot do things. I don't care how enticing these things sound. I'd love to go to the climbing gym. When the weather is more friendly, I'd love to go climbing outside on actual rock-faces. I'd love to go snow-shoeing. I'd love to just hang out. However, these things are becoming less and less possible with each passing day. Every time I take time out to do something like this (or like posting a blog), I have to deduct that time from sleep so that I can -- you guessed it -- read some more.

I am losing all sense of self here (though I am, ironically, no less self-centered, obviously) and that is not easy when I am at the end of a definite stage in my life. I am supposed to be making major decisions here, but instead, I'm muddling through Marx, slogging through Shakespeare and groping my way through Greenblatt. I'm liking myself less and less with every passing day, but so far, I'm managing to cling to something like reality and sanity (I just knocked on my wooden desk). This hold, however, I know to be tenuous.

I know, I know, I know that I am not the first nor the last person who has gone/will go through this. So many of those I know have already done it and with grace. This is a first for me though, folks, and every day, I dread failure. I know that I should ac-cen-tuate the positive and e-lim-inate the negative (or something), but that's a hard ideal for me to stick with at the moment. I am trying to focus only on the day to day, but that isn't entirely possible because I also have to line up what is next for me and mine.

And, all this talk about me when I can't even figure out who that is is infuriating...to me.

So, I am going to be a lot less accessible to most everyone for the next three months. I apologize for this in advance. This does not mean that I love you and cherish you any less. If I'm snappy or loopy or just hysterical (you know, being in possession of a uterus (that I don't really use) and all) and insane, I really apologize. If I ramble for a good part of class, I'm going on autopilot here and I don't even know for sure if I possess this autopilot of which I speak. I don't know how to get through this without being almost wholly self-centered, but if you have suggestions for successfully getting by, please let me know. For those of you who have been here (no matter where, just in any stage of your life), I'd appreciate some understanding. For those of you who are not nearly as dramatic as I, please just feel free to ignore me for three months.

A fond farewell and until we meet again,
v

P.S. This does not mean that I will be silent here. This is how I release and I can do this in the middle of the dark which is probably preferable for those of you who prefer to sleep at such times.

coming up for air...and grapes

I am so woefully behind in my reading. Okay, so I was behind from the first second of this semester, or so I feel, yet this is not a consoling thought. I keep having to remind myself that three-and-a-half months from now, this constriction in every part of my body might let up a wee smidge.

I have been frantically reading for several hours now. Well, reading and being a mamma and a wife and an everything else. After I gave Pic her bath, brushed her teeth, helped her on with her pajamas and put her to bed, she called me in to read her a story. I, being the frantic, frazzled freak that I am, went in and told her, 'Okay, but this is the last time I'm coming in here tonight, unless there's an emergency, like you're bleeding or your legs falls off.' (Yeah, I know, thanks for the nightmare-fodder, mamma.) So, I read her The Berenstain Bears Tell the Truth and then I left her to wind down so I could retreat to my cave and fall back into Renaissance Self-Fashioning. But then, she didn't ask me to come back in once, just as I'd asked of her. This would be nice -- hey, thanks for following my crabby directives, kid -- but she didn't call me in to sing "ABCs" and "Twinkle, Twinkle." This is our nightly ritual and has been for years (holy crap-on-a-stick, I can use the term 'years' in talking about rituals I perform with my daughter). But, tonight, she just went to sleep, cuddled in her covers, her light on and a book open under it. It's not like we've never missed our ritual before (there were those four non-consecutive nights when I've been out of town without her), but I'm still sad. There have been other times when Cardo's sung to her, but she didn't call for him tonight either. There have been other nights when she's fallen asleep and not asked me to sing to her, but tonight just feels different, worse (this is probably how I feel on all of those occasions and I've just forgotten this).

I don't want her to feel alone and I don't want her to feel like she's a distant second to my school work. However, tonight, I was more focused on my school stuff. In the grand scheme, my family is first and, honestly, it's probably really Pic first and then Cardo. However, in the everyday workings of things, there are things that I feel I have to get accomplished and Pic has to entertain herself. I don't think this would bother me as much if I were at a job outside of my home and she was being taken care of by someone else (Cardo, her teachers, whoever), but being at home with her and pretty much ignoring her makes me feel like Craptastic Mamma. I don't know where I picked up this heavy, heavy guilt, but I'd like to offload a good portion of it, please. I think that, in general, Pic is happy. I think that I take pretty good care of her. I think that this semester won't last forever (but, really, maybe it will, because there will always, always be another one in my grand life-plan).

Ah, well, I don't even have cry here any longer because As You Like It awaits my scholarly gaze.

biodegradable me

So, I was reading this article in the Reno New & Review (yes, I still read the RN&R because it's here) about green burial practices. It was interesting and got me thinking, once again, of my own impending doom.

Once again, Cardo and I both confirmed that we each want to be cremated.*

I know that the whole taking care of the dead process is expensive, but reading this article made me realize just how expensive it really is. Here's a paragraph from late in the article:

For example, a biodegradable casket begins around $1,900 compared to $2,800 for a bronze or copper casket. Cremation, which Fanelli considers the greenest funeral service, is also the cheapest. And Northern Nevada Memorial carries a variety of biodegradable containers and urns for the ashes, from recycled paper to hemp.

Twenty-eight hundred dollars?! Really? Holy freaking crap. Not that this was the option I was considering in the first place, but, well, now I'm really not. Besides, after biology in high school, with the dissection of the pig hearts (and then Bio II with the dissection of the fetal pigs...I really hope Pic has the option of computer programs for this stuff**), I know that I hate the smell of formaldehyde. Okay, so, yes, I'll be dead and most likely not smelling the crap they'd potentially fill me up with, but I don't even like the thought of formaldehyde and such in my body. Anyway, if they did pump me full of that crap, they'd have no choice but to put my body into some titanium (or something) coffin because otherwise I'd leach that crap into the earth. There're just so many things I find wrong with that whole concept. I can't believe in, and teach Pic about, cycles in life if the cycle is abruptly cut off when our bodies are filled with toxins (moreso than they are when we eat and whatnot) and we're buried in mini-fallout shelters in big park-like areas.

So, anyway, I told Cardo, 'Geez, just dig a hole and bury me in the yard.' Or, you know, have me cremated.

I know, though, that death is a touchy subject. I know that some people want to preserve what they remember. I know that many (most?) people have different views on what happens after we die. A bit earlier in the article, Kerlin acknowledges this with the following:

While many like to feel their loved one is protected in an enclosed vault where they can always visit them, others are looking for ways that complement natural cycles.

I don't believe that my loved ones would be visiting me, rather they'd just be visiting my body. And, well, this brings me to another point. Things like preserving the body or memorial services, even, are more for the living than the dead in many cases. At least they seem to be. I just hope that my loved ones will be able to accept that I loathe the thought of my formaldehyde-ridden body being locked away in a plushy casket (because my dead self would need to be comfortable, right?) for all eternity.
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* Every time I type 'cremated,' I first type 'creamated.' As if I'll be turned into some tasty dessert to be served alongside Mrs Lovett's meat pies.

** I actually didn't give that much thought to the animal parts we used for dissection in high school. I'm not sure why. My views have shifted since then, though. I can't say that I see the value in having high school students use actual animal parts...especially when most of us weren't going on to becoming doctors anyway. I'm sorry little Babes.

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P.S. I know that I seem to make light of death and all things involved with it. I don't mean to offend anyone. Death freaks me out, sometimes to the point where I can't sleep. I've always been this way. I've experienced death in my own family. I watched my uncle die in my living room. I had to say goodbye to my beautiful Grammie almost five years ago. There's been more, just as everyone else experiences. It's not a subject that I take lightly, but I use humor to deal.

pop open the bubbly

Okay, so in our case that bubbly is sparkling cider, but whatever. So, as soon as we can get the munchkin to bed, Cardo and I are going to sip our cider and watch the incoming of Obama and Biden. A nice way to relax before I start what should be my last semester here.

As for said munchkin, I'm ready to bundle her in some soft, cushy blankets, stuff her in a box and send her to anyone willing to take her. I'm trying not to engage in the The Great Food Battle, but argh this child makes me in-freaking-sane. It takes her seventy-five years to finish dinner. I'm about to give up on having any dessert-type items because that's all she really cares about. Believe you me, I'm all sorts of cheesy when it comes to promoting the healthier fare. 'Mmm! Broccoli! It's so great! Isn't it great?!' I'll also share stories with Pic about how sometimes you have to try a certain food a lot of times before you like it. I tell her that she has to at least taste everything we put before her. There are many nights when she ends up not having a treat and I tell her, in a not-exactly-nice tone, 'If you're hungry later, that's what you're eating,' while pointing to her largely-untouched dinner plate. I am tired and now I'm battling with myself. I keep thinking, 'I don't care. I don't care what she eats. I don't care if she ever eats dinner again. Just give her what she wants so the crying stops.' But, ha! I refuse to travel that road.

To be fair, the crying is a seldomly-heard occurrence. I try to remain calm. I'll tell her, 'It's time to eat dinner, so please eat. That's the end of the conversation.' (I know those final words there will come back to haunt me all-too-soon.) I'd like to think that my veneer hasn't cracked yet, but underneath, I'm seething. I'm thinking my parents might have felt the same with me and I remain one of the pickiest eaters ever, but I still eat my freaking healthy food (or my 'grow food' as Pic refers to it).

I know that I don't want to make food a huge issue with Pic, like it is with me. I just don't know how to do that. I know that others have it much worse than we do. Our child does not solely consume boxed pasta with powdered cheese sauce (excuse me while I retch). She loves fruit and some vegetables ('leaves' for example...her word for spinach (and thanks to Ms J for bringing some raw spinach over because now we know Pic likes it)). She doesn't complain that I only let her have one cup of watered-down juice a day. It's just that, at the end of the day, I'm tired and my patience has worn thin and I just want her to eat what's on her plate.

Please just remind me that consistency now is worth it no matter how much I just want to go to sleep and let her eat whatever. Thanks.

That's the end of my pathetic, whiny rant...for now.

adventures in sterility

Okay, so I know that I keep bandying about the term 'sterility' and I know that it sounds harsh and horrible, but I mean it in a light-hearted way. I'm not sure why I have to make a joke of it. Possibly because this is what I do, I make jokes, no matter how bad they may be.

Anyhow, yesterday was not only my parents twenty-eighth wedding anniversary (congrats!...yes, I called them, this isn't how I'm sending along my only felicitations), but also the day of Cardo's and my tubal ligation consulation. Dr D talked us through the whole procedure. It's an outpatient endoscopic procedure. The results are immediate. When Dr D asked about the reason for our visit, confirming we were there to talk about a tubal, I firmly confirmed and he let it go at that. I was expecting him to try to talk me out of it, to remind me, as so many others have, that I'm young, I only have one kid, I'm cutting off (or cauterizing up) my options. While he did later affirm that this was a permanent decision, he didn't try to talk me out of it. I want to believe that it was because I was so adamant about wanting the procedure. The only thing I had been worried about was whether I'd have to take hormones for the rest of eternity. Dr D told me that as long as I have my ovaries, I won't need to take hormones.

So, the appointment is being set by the surgery scheduler.

I'm nervous because this is surgery and I've never before had surgery. As Poke mentioned in our forever-long and much-needed chat earlier, I'm not afraid of the pain, I'm afraid of the procedure. I've never understood how people can undergo surgery and live. I'm pretty sure that if I just cut open Cardo's navel, I might do some serious harm. However, Dr D is going to make an incision in my bellybutton, insert the endoscope and go to work. I'll get there in the morning and be out by noon, he says (of course, no guarantees, but I'm seriously hoping everything is textbook and clockwork and fine and dandy). He says I'll probably have abdominal discomfort for a day or two but they'll send me home with painkillers.

Okay, so I'm nervous about it, but we're too worried about Cardo's heart for him to have a vasectomy (it has to do with possible infection, because, yes, I know his heart and his testes* are relatively far apart). So, please help me keep calm about this, even if it's only in thought. Grazie mille.

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* Once, while we were in high school, Poke's mom left her a note that we swear said "Good luck on your testes."

um...duh

There's a reason I'm a huge dork who reads instructions on everything. That reason, today, is tire chains. Yesterday, I seemed to be the only person in town with chains on my tires (Cardo put them on late Sunday night, because he loves me (yeah, yeah, yeah)), but I wasn't going to drive with them on today. Okay, so it turns out I wasn't going to drive anywhere today.

I unhooked the chains and backed up my car, to release the chains. Pic and I got out to check. The plan was to pick up the chains and unceremoniously throw them back in their plastic case. It wasn't to be. I didn't fully unhook them and now they're stuck.

I can't come near to explaining how completely idiotic I feel about this. I called Cardo, almost in tears of frustration and anger, and told him he would have to help me fix the stupid situation when he got home. I really feel stupid. I feel like a stereotypical girl (definitely 'girl' and not 'woman') who has to have a guy come and rescue her from this mess she's made. (Stereotypical guys don't need help with these kinds of things. They need help with things like sewing buttons and creating birthday cakes...I'm not much help there either.) Ugh. I hate stereotypes and I hate fulfilling them.

Okay, so I just thought I'd share, get this off my chest, because 'talking about it' is what girls do, right?