apron strings

Yesterday had a brilliant stretch but ended with some trying bits. Pic and I had a fabulous time walking to the grocery store to pay the power bill (note: I said the walking was good). We walked back home, stopping at both the park and our coffeehouse. I’d thought we wouldn’t spend very long at the park, but I stopped looking at my watch. I watched Pic ‘surf’ down the slide and remembered doing the same myself. We ran barefoot through the thick blades of dark green grass, laughing hysterically. At the coffeehouse, we shared some peach iced tea and tomato soup. She devoured most of a muffin while I ate half of a sandwich and some fantastic salad. I read a set of kids’ books they have there…twice. We built castles with the blocks. We walked home, Pic barefoot still, checked the mail (no great news) and came home. We rested a bit, made dinner, put away clean clothes, ate and read some more.

At one point, while I was washing dishes, Pic came over, her face full of heartbreak, her little lips trembling, tears filling her eyes. I asked her what was wrong and she told me she was sad. ‘When I was in your uterus, I couldn’t see you,’ she told me. I agreed that, no, she couldn’t see me, but I reassured her that she was safe and warm and protected while she was there. I didn’t know how else to respond.

Later, she clung to me, sad, not wanting to leave me for a moment. Getting her to bed tonight was seemingly impossible. I finally went in, in a huge huff, and laid down beside her on the floor. I rubbed her back and head and calmed us both down. She went to sleep after a few minutes of this, after repeatedly coming out of her room and us leading her back in.

I’m not sure what this was about yesterday, but it worries me to see her sad for reasons she can’t always explain. I wouldn’t wish the depression and anxiety I feel on anyone and I really did hope that Pic would be like Cardo emotional- and mental-health wise. Perhaps I’m over-worrying about this (that’s what I do), but I’m worried nonetheless. I don’t remember melancholy setting in until I hit puberty. I could be forgetting.

Here’s to hoping this was just a fluke bit of melancholy.

rainy day

It's actually raining here. Again. I love, love, love the rain. This has been a trippy summer, for many reasons.

I want to get out and walk so badly, but I'm also cold and not feeling so hot (ha!), so I'm going back and forth on this walking thing. I'd also like to take a trip to the mall (gasp!) so I can see if there's anything fabulous on sale at Papyrus.

Pic's at a birthday party, with a friend of ours. I'm not sure when she's due home.

I'm off to settle on a book and soak in the bathtub.

I can't find a book I really want to read and I think it's because by this point in September, I'm always heavy into school reading. Not right now, though, and it just doesn't feel right. I'm restless as far as reading goes. Last night, I could not, could not, go to bed because I couldn't find something I wanted to read. Yes, I own hundreds of books, but, no, I could not find a single one that felt right for reading last night. What did I finally pick before I fell, utterly exhausted, into bed? My Italian textbook.

Salve! Mi chiamo v. Sono pazza. Io lo so.

beginnings, endings and possible false-starts

[Edited to add the 'false-starts' part that I somehow never actually posted...oops.]

So, for the good news: Poke’s daughter was born early Saturday morning. Poke’s labor wasn’t easy and she ended up having an emergency c-section. I found this out hours later when Poke called me at five-forty-five in the morning to give me an update. I had been worried and feeling completely useless. I had been worried that I was going to lose her and it was, to employ enormous understatement, a scary thought.

Anyhow, Baby B and her mamma’s writing about her can, of course, be found here.

As for endings: Pic’s last day of school was last Friday. I can’t believe that she’s not going back. She went there for three years. I feel incredible guilt for taking her out. If only she could have stayed one more year, at least, leading up to her kindergarten year.

I was something of a weepy mess on Friday. My emotions were supercharged (I knew that Poke was in the hospital…and, of course, I knew that it was Pic’s last day at school) and pretty much everything was bringing me to tears. Cardo kept offhandedly saying things like, ‘Wow, she’s been going there for so long!’ (Okay, perhaps my husband didn’t actually say, ‘Wow!, but he did seem more amazed than saddened by the fact.)

We sent Pic to school with sandwiches and apple slices that we had assembled that morning and cupcakes we had bought the day before. We wanted it to be something like a party for Pic.

She’s taking things rather well, so far, but pretty soon, she’ll be asking me when she gets to go back to school and play with her friends. Just typing this is dredging up the guilt and doubt that have been plaguing me.

These emotions have a bit to do with taking Pic out of school, but more to do with the reason I’ve taken her out. Yes, I have graduated (yet again…geez), but I STILL have no future plans. Long ago I came to a decision that I haven’t yet shared, but that I’ll go ahead and get out there now: I’ve given up hope on the London program. This is a defensive move. This way, if it doesn’t happen, hey, what’ve I lost? If it does, great, I wasn’t expecting it. (Of course, this mind game isn’t quite convincing me, but I keep it up.) I’ve become weary telling people the same thing over and over: If Pic and I go to London….I still don’t have confirmation….If we can afford the program. I’m tired of explaining. I’m tired of pointing out, again and again, my own shortcomings to people who are filled with good intentions.

So, wow, I don’t mean to end this on such a sour note. Quick, divert your attention. Look, over there, adorable baby pictures!

music video hell

I don't watch music television. In fact, I'm pretty sure we have no access to music television (barring the interweb, of course, and I haven't checked). I'll occasionally watch videos online, but mainly, I listen to the music while I have another window open so I can read blogs.

Anyhow, I've never been much of a fan of music videos. At least not mainstream videos. Often, they're disturbing. I don't need to see mainly naked women being sold as fantasies (yes, this makes it hard to watch television and movies and read magazines, ecc, I know).

I came across the following video today (I didn't watch the longer video, just what I'm embedding below) and now, I'm even more glad that this is not my scene. I even more want to protect Pic from this supposedly cool culture. Right now, I'm battling the princess frenzy, but soon enough, this is what she'll have to face (I'm hoping not too soon, but I have no real clue just how early kids are introduced to this crap now).

Before you watch this video, if you do, I have to warn you that it makes me physically ill. Nauseated. Especially the end.



I got this here. "Dreamworlds 3: Desire, Sex & Power in Music Video"

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.

Doña Rosa

Can't sleep. I was already anxious about the end of this semester, and then we got a one-in-the-morning phone call.

Cardo's mom died last night. He seems to be okay, but I think it's just going to take some time to sink in. While I'm sure he's not going to want to discuss it, and I don't want to talk about it here or now, I would appreciate any good thoughts you could think his way.

Thanks.

I'm glad Pic got to meet Abuelita in December. We aren't sure how or exactly when we're going to tell Pic that Abuelita has died. I think we're going to wait for Saturday morning, when Pic'll be with us, not at school, all day.

I have to try to get some sleep for an hour-and-a-half before we head to the airport to pick up Nana and Papa.

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.

ennui; or, the black bile dominates

I'm...waiting for things to happen. I'm slowly getting along. In the meantime...

Today, I got fed up with the general stuck-insideness that has been the past few days. Pic and I went for a walk. We went to one of the parks we've frequented since she was much more wee than she is today. It was a bit cold and the wind didn't help, but we donned our jackets and braved the outside world...and it was worth it. Pic has been suffering from cabin fever so badly that if she knew how to type, I'm sure I'd catch her in here, in the middle of the night, typing forth 'All work and no play makes Pic a dull girl.'

We didn't spend much time outside, but it was enough. It is so incredibly easy, at this point, to make my child happy. Being able to make her happy so easily brings me to tears (okay, so everything brings me to tears, I know). I know it won't always be this easy. Sometimes, it isn't this easy, even. But I want to hold on to these times, I don't want to take them for granted.

I haven't yet even had an actual day off for 'Spring' Break, so expect the sappiness, melancholy and reflecting to continue.

In the meantime, this is what I've been listening to repeatedly as I catch up on reading my news stories here on the Superhighway. It's Brad Paisley's 'Broken in Two.' This is the first I've heard of Paisley, but I think I'll check out what else he's got out there (someday).