Excuse me, Brain? Can I have that one back with the caramel waterfall and the awesome party?

Here I am. There you all are. It’s just barely Saturday and already I wish my weekend was over. Wish that I could still sleep through my weekends. They are lonely and boring and filled with nonsense unless I have my kids here. Then they are silly and filled with whimsy and fun.

This utter lack of a social life is really getting to me. I feel like I am beating my head against a wall- back in middle school, with my small group of close friends who all have lives that involve doing things other than sitting with me when I feel like a loser. I HATE my brain. It’s utterly ridiculous, irrational, completely overrun with stupid emotions that I don’t like and more than anything, it’s broken.

The part of my mind that comes out when I sleep is the best. I dream beautiful, intricate, insanely euphoric movies of which I am the star. The most talented cinematographer and screenwriter may barely scrape the surface of what I see when I sleep. When I am asleep I see myself as I wish to be. Strong. Beautiful. Powerful. Filled with hope and supernatural abilities.

The other night I dreamed that I was doing every thing I have ever done in my life that has brought me pleasure, virtually simultaneously. Freud would probably have quite the field day with me.  I think what struck me the most, that is, what I miss the most about that dream, was that feeling like I was loved and a part of everything and everyone around me. And I could fly. That is always a part of my best dreams. Flying.

Sometimes in my flying dreams I have wings, sometimes a hang glider type apparatus, and sometimes, the best of times, it’s just me and the sky soaring upon high. Through the clouds and over the world I travel, landing here and there and being filled with such a feeling of wonder and peace, serenity and acceptance. It’s a feeling so elusive that I often wake up crying because I miss it so.

(This is not at all what I came on here to talk about.)

At any rate, lately has been a…synonym for struggle that is a much stronger word. Like in that book where is says we must “smash the delusion”- my life is like a giant tornado of shit covering everything in foul and disgusting funk.

Now I am exaggerating a lot.

I just don’t know what to do with myself. The to do list is never ending and ever growing. Yet working on it seems like an exercise in utter futility. Like trying to talk to someone who really doesn’t want to talk to you but they don’t want to be rude because, like you, they are a people pleaser. I prefer frank honesty to bullshit banter.

And maybe I am talking/thinking about someone or a particular situation or maybe I wish my To Do list would crumble itself up and bounce off of my head as it puts itself in the trash because it knows, as much as I do, that even if I do everything I am supposed to, and everything I should, life will still be completely fucked up.

Once upon a time I thought I would have a fulfilling life. From where I stand- well, sit, at the moment- I see a vast desert. Depression is a real asshole.

Nights like these I wish I had a nice warm body next to me, so that when I lay down a strong arm would wrap around me and lips would kiss the top of my head. A comforting voice would say, “I love you.” and I would drift off, with hope for tomorrow.

I have none of that. In my mind I pretend I know who that warm body belongs to, but I know about as much as what’s good for me as the average person knows how to successfully build and launch a rocket into space.

There’s a quiet part of my brain, it reminds me of a little card I was once given as a gift; it contained the following text:

        “…acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation — some fact of my life — unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.
        “Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God’s world by mistake….unless I accept life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, pg 417, 4th Edition)

From what I have experienced, this is true. If I can find a way to let go of all of the nonsensical bs that constantly inundates my thoughts and just tow the line, smile, and help another person, I will feel better. Overall, the cosmic chain reaction from that is a positive one, and eventually things fall into place. Unfortunately I am impatient, selfish and self-centered. Each of these defects are parts of me that I work to lessen, however on nights like tonight, when I engage in exercises in futility and spend entirely too much thought and energy trying to get what I want- and ultimately fail miserably- I wish that I could just let it go. Permanently. Let the fantasy and (however warm, fuzzy and comforting) memories of times past go.

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

All I can feel is the warmth of your arms and the scent of your skin. We are alone on the planet for just a moment. I feel safe and comfort unlike any I had for many years.

Back in the real world, sitting here alone, for whatever reason, despite vague and insincere flirtation, I can tell that to you  I am practically invisible, or worse- an annoyance. I don’t know for sure why. I have an idea, but without a conversation I can not confirm. And since my desire for conversation (or any of the fun other stuff I pretend will happen) it’s apparently not going to happen. Le sigh.

In this very moment, however, I would love a surprise visit, a simple explanation that doesn’t make me feel like a loser, and more than anything? Your arm around me as we lay next to one another. Silence is ok, but some sort of random existential discussion (or one about our ‘Happily Ever After’) would work for me.

Am I sounding pathetic? That is surely not my intention. I simply wished to share what a moment in my brain before I fall into sweet, sweet sleep is like.

    …

NOTE: I seem to have dozed off for a bit there. When I woke up I hit publish instead of draft so now this bad boy is out there on the interwebs for ever and ever and ever, amen. Whoopsie! Folks, that is why you don’t blog when you’re half asleep. It is  like drunk dialing without the awfully awkward calls and texts from every person you either told off or that you love the next day.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read. I shall now cut open the beautiful pineapple that awaits my knife. Since I’m awake again. And hungry. And trying really hard not to eat ice cream.

 

My shot at altering the space/time continuum has been towed.

My shot at altering the space/time continuum has been towed.

 

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A simple request @JamesRoday @DuleHill of #Psych

Please guys, read this and please make me the happiest woman in the world?

Hi. I’ve never spoken about this at any great length on here, however, let me start off by saying, I AM A HUMONGOUS PSYCH FAN. Huge. Perhaps borderline obsessed with watching. But absolutely not in a crazy, creepy, stalker kind of way. More of a this makes me forget how sad I am and remember the good times kind of way.

I like to escape into their world and pretend like I’m that cool.

Since I discovered it was on Netflix early last summer, I have watched the first 6 seasons countless times. It’s on a constant loop on my bedroom computer so that I fall asleep and wake up to it.

It started out that I was just catching up on any episodes I may have missed, and then watching whatever tiny scraps of Season 7 I could agonize through (because my computer sucks and can’t handle USA’s video format or something). At the time, my youngest, referred to here as Bean, and I were sharing a room. Noodle was sharing a room with my mom, however generally by morning I had two tiny people in my bed. Many mornings, middle of the night fever wakings, afternoon quiet times and any other times are of my happiest memories: the three of us, snuggled up in my bed, watching Psych. And just so there’s no uproar/backlash/OMG you let your kids watch that???, I’m happy to assure you that they did not watch any of the remotely questionable parts. They mostly liked to sing the theme song, and just spend time in my arms. For a short time, they were even convinced that “Shawn” was actually my friend John. “Why is John on Netflix Mommy? How’d he get on your ‘puter?”

When they…weren’t here anymore, I couldn’t stop crying. It took all that I had to get out of bed. So while I lay there, a shell of a human being, I watched Psych. Grateful for the humor and memories it helped me recall, it also provided enough distraction for me to stop crying in brief interludes. So I kept rewatching. And watching again. And starting from the Pilot to the end, backward to forward and every way in between.

Well, tonight I am going to the Paley Center for some special event where (wait for iiiiiiiiit) …. JAMES RODAY AND DULE HILL AND ALLY SHEEDY WILL BE THERE AND TALKING ABOUT THE SHOW AND THERE’S GONNA BE A SPECIAL SCREENING AND OMG OMG OMG OMG I AM SO EXCITED I MIGHT EXPLODE!

I came up with an idea, a pretty good one if you ask me. How about I try and get a short clip of them and me (holding a pineapple, obviously) outside (or inside, wherever is ok with me) waving to my girls and saying Hi! Sounds like a great idea right? What’s the big deal, you ask. Why is this so important?

Because I haven’t seen my kids in a while. It’s been close to a month since I’ve seen Noodle, a week and a half since I’ve seen Bean and honestly, I have no idea when I will get to lay eyes on them again. I don’t get to hear their voices, I don’t get to brush their soft sweet-smelling hair off their faces, and I don’t get to give them tickle torture. Frankly, it’s the most painful thing I have ever had to go through.

I keep myself busy by drawing pics and putting together little gifts for them and thought, HEY. This is something we used to do together, and a once in a lifetime potential opportunity. I could then post the video on my fb and hope it gets to the right place, or somehow get it before their eyes so they can see that Mommy is healthy, that I love and miss them, and LOOK! Shawn and Gus say hi too! They would be SO blown away.

So this is my official request; PLEASE, will you wonderful, handsome, talented, hilarious, empathetic, kind, generous and all around awesome men, James and Dule, and maybe even the incomparable Ally Sheedy, PRETTY PLEASE WITH SUGAR AND HONEY AND ICE CREAM AND SPRINKLES AND WHIPPED CREAM AND PINEAPPLE ON TOP HELP ME OUT BY TAKING A FEW SHORT MOMENTS AND MAKING A SHORT VIDEO CLIP FOR MY BABIES ? It would definitely be the coolest thing ever in the whole world and I would be eternally grateful and in your debt. I am bringing the pineapple. My name is Alicia. I will be there tonight. I hope this happens!!

 

 

(So if you’re not them and reading this please share it and RT it and do whatever needs to be done to make it go viral or until they say yes. PLEEEEEEASE!)

Oh, also, I apologize for any grammatical, spelling or any other errors in here, but I wrote this on the fly cuz I gotta get my behind to the CIT-AY!!!

Feelings aren’t facts but are they food?

*NOTE* I started writing this post almost two months ago- January 2nd. I would really like to tell you how well I am doing, having accepted the problem, I began working on making the change I need to stop bingeing. However, upon stumbling across this draft, whist procrastinating real work away, I recognized that I still am stuck here. So I share with you my struggles. Maybe this will help me get over the food thing and initiate use of real, and healthy coping skills. Or maybe you will cosign my nonsense and together we can cupcake it up until we can no longer move. *END NOTE*

Having re-read my last couple posts, I see that though not much has changed, everything is different. And not all for the better. As far as my cloth diapers, cloth trainers and anything else fluff related that’s all (unfortunately, sadly, and much to my dismay) had to be abandoned for reasons – at this point – beyond my control. It’s ok though, because when my girls come to visit (oh yea. BIG EFFIN DRAMA) my teeny tiny little sweet baby, Bean, wears big girl underpants. Even typing it I tear up. I don’t know how this growing up shit happened so fast, but I will reiterate that I DO NOT LIKE IT AT ALL.

I must move on. Find some form of acceptance and love and cherish each developmental stage as they come. Or else I will spend my whole life (and theirs) wishing they were babies and missing out on what wonderful young ladies they are growing up to be. Still, I miss the early snuggy baby days, and just keep hope alive that one day I will be in a position to procreate some more. I’m definitely not ready to not make more tiny humans right now, despite what that stupid ticking clock tells me.

I figured I oughta check in with ya’ll, it being a new year and all. I made no serious resolutions other than stop with the cookies only diet. Get back on the balanced diet wagon. Attempt to get myself feeling more normal. Well, like myself. I don’t know what normal even is anymore. Further, I vaguely remember having decided many moons ago that normal was not an appropriate state of being for me, ever. Blah. I figure that’s enough of a job in and of itself that any other improvements I make on myself or to improve the world around me will be a bonus. Also, that’s kinda like the foundation for productivity. Did you ever notice that when you eat well (meaning healthy, balanced and nutritive meals) you’re able to function better as a whole? This is my truth.

When I eat 40 oatmeal cookies in only a couple of days, after eating a pound brick of gingerbread dough and ice cream, candy, and any other sugary carb loaded crap I could squeeze down my gullet, my brain doesn’t work, my body feels horrible, all I want to do is sleep and when I am up all I want to do is yell at people. Its not the best way to operate.

I’ve been doing that horrendous-for-my-everything-thing where I eat my feelings. Any of you do that? A show of hands please… Ahh yes. Thank you. Knowing I am not alone makes me feel much better. There has been an unreal and unreasonable amount of turmoil, upset, shame, stress, horror–name the first five negative descriptive terms you can think of, they apply to my life. So here I am, crawling and clawing my way out of the REALLY deep hole I dug and then dove into, but it’s really hard to climb with all this junk food in my pockets, hands and while chewing. I need a different way to operate.

The whole problem started because I didn’t like feelings and decided I was entitled to not have them. Apparently my brain still feels that is valid, except it’s using sugary foods to numb me. The sugar numb sucks. There’s a way worse hangover to it and I gotta tell you, it’s everywhere. Calling me. Nerds ropes begging to be eating, fire balls with my name on it and a zillion donuts that yearn to get in my belly. And the cupcakes. I musn’t forget the ever-enticing cupcakes. We have become VERY close in the past year. OH, CUPCAKES. *sigh*

How do you stop eating your feelings without stopping eating? And what about when you’re having feelings after you’re already hungry, how do you know when you’ve finished with the nutritional eating and cross into emotional eating territory? Furthermore, can I (and if so, how do I) retrain my brain to stop eating my feelings and like, deal with them? They are HUUUUUUGGE feelings. The kind of feelings that lead to Lifetime Movies. What does one do?

I know some people do the opposite. They don’t eat, and or they exercise a lot. Which leads me to wonder- Can I do that? Exorcise with exercise? That seems to be the ideal idea-Crappy feelings begone. I banish thee to the nether-regions of the Stream of Consciousness (which, in case you’re wondering, flows into the River Denial) with every move I make!  PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO START DOING THIS.

All joking aside, pretty soon, I may be unrecognizable. I NEED to get a grip. This is my public cry for help. Pretend I’m wearing a ridiculous wig and calling people names on Twitter. I beg of you. Deliver me from this sugary hell.

 

OOOOH! Psych is on. Gotta go.

MEMORIES

I was hanging out with my friend earlier, checking out this sweet book she has on Mandalas from different cultures. I love those.

When I was 12, I used to draw them, not knowing what they were, or properly creating them probably. In college I learned a lot more about them, as it was art school. I surmise that I drew a couple then as well. I was more into the boxes and these incredibly beautiful beads I was making though. Fast forward to the very beginning of my relationship with my children’s father, we used to watch a tv show which featured mandalas and meditation as a central theme in several episodes. Here I am now, pining away for my children, coloring them in to keep my anxiety at bay, using them as a meditative aid so that I can focus my energy on positive thoughts.

You’re probably confused. A lot has gone down since May. I won’t get into it in great detail; frankly I could get myself into trouble if I start running my mouth-er-fingers about it. Suffice it to say, I am currently spending 100% less time with my children than I was this time last year, and I miss them horrifically. As if  part of my soul has been removed and is elsewhere, being tortured.

What I’m left with is entirely too much time in my own head. However I had such a happy memory as a result of these mandalas today I couldn’t help but share it. As I scanned the images from her book into my computer so that I may print and color them, or perhaps even play with them in Photoshop or Painter Pro 2 (? some similar program my mom has on her computer. I actually rather like it. If anyone knows anything about it, please let me know. I don’t quite have the hang of it, but I’m ok with basic stuff) or MAYBE one of these days I’ll get into the correct frame of mind and draw some from scratch. Regardless,  I was scanning, and my dear friend puts on a song, asking if I’ve ever heard it.

 

This was the highlight of my day. I used to play this song every morning while I made breakfast for the girls and I. We would sing it and dance around the kitchen even during the darkest of my PPD days. It was how I coped with the fact that I had to get through another day. How I got my blood flowing. And my babies were so sweet dancing around with me, singing along. The best was when DDa would, out of nowhere bust into song: “BLAME IT ON MY ADD, BABY!”

Like the waves during high tide, I was pounded with memories. They flooded my mind and touched all of my senses. Snuggling and watching The Lorax 800 times, playing in the inflatable pool with our old neighbor, tearing up Kale chips like there was no tomorrow and laughing, singing and dancing. Just thinking of these times I am sitting and smiling, probably for the first time all day.

I have some pretty shitty ones, but right now I am immeasurably grateful for my memories because they are all I have to hold on to. I miss my babies. I can’t wait until they come home. So if you’re so inclined, perhaps say a prayer, burn a candle, recite an incantation or chant so the Powers That Be may understand, and know to allow them to come back to me. I appreciate it, and I know that even though I can’t ask them, that my sweet little monkees do too.

 

*LE SIGH*

I keep thinking about posting, and what I want to write about. I jot little notes of funny or crazy things that pop into my head throughout the day. Yet here I am, at the computer, kids asleep, and all I want to do is go to sleep.

 

For now I will just say Hello, I have missed you. I would love to hear from you; please feel free to leave me comments so I know you haven’t forgotten about me. 😉

 

I promise I will have something fun or interesting or at least longer than this really soon. I will. Really. But if I sit here any longer I will end up like I did last night, out cold with my face on the keyboard.

 

 

Yes, that’s really how I woke up.

 

Then I went upstairs, sat on my bed to get situated, and woke up an hour or so later still sitting on the edge of my bed. I bet this is the kind of exhaustion those famous people have when they have to spend a week at a fabulous spa getting rested and pampered. My plane ticket and spa voucher must have gotten lost in the mail so for now I’ll settle for a twin bed with a toddler or two in it.

 

Nite all.

Undulating just beneath my conscious mind, floating into oblivion

Undulating just beneath my conscious mind, floating into the oblivion of sleep

Babbling away, trying to remain positive.

Babbling away, trying to remain positive..

A day like any other, but calmer. But not really. Cuz Mirena.

Today started out surprisingly well. I woke to the baby jumping on me and yelling for her sister. After several attempts to get her back to sleep so I could get (PLEASE) 5 more minutes, I succumbed.
Now we are having breakfast.

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She made a beautiful garden.

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She was just happy.

All was well in Monkeeville. There was general mayhem, which is normal for us.

AND THEN. IT HIT ME. Like a ton of evil little demons. A panic attack. Not a full blown panic attack, but it was coming. I could tell. Those little green anxious demons were dancing in my gut. So as quickly and efficiently as I could I packed the kids up and took them to my moms.
She took one look at me and knew I wasn’t ok. We brainstormed. We made phone calls. We made arrangements.

By the time I got to the hospital I thought I was having a heart attack. My left arm and hand were tingling. I felt like I had a tiny person standing on my chest. I wanted to cry. My hands were shaking. My stomach was upset.

They immediately gave me an EKG which came back normal. I ended up sitting for almost 3 hours in a hallway until a room opened up.

Meanwhile I hadn’t eaten since 8am and was STARVING. So my guy brought me pizza. And root beer.

Finally I got into a room. They drew blood. I’m getting fluids. They gave me meds. The meds kinda worked. But those little green anxiety demons I mentioned earlier? They’re regrouping. I can feel them.
So I figured I’d write to you. Maybe this could take my mind off of this for a bit.

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Eventually I spoke to someone in the crisis unit. She agreed that I didn’t need to be admitted and that (HOPEFULLY) this will pass in time as soon as my hormones regulate.

By the time I got out of there I was tired, cranky, and the anxiety demons were back.

This blows. And this is only the first day I’ve had the damn thing out. Please someone tell me this will pass quickly and I will be able to function again?

 

But I can’t express enough how grateful I am for my IRL friends and family and my internet friends and family checking in on me, sending me virtual hugs and love and peaceful energy.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. You people rock my socks.

What’s been happening

I realize it’s been a while since my last post. Life was pretty busy for a while.

We found out that the condo we were renting sold in a cash deal, so we had to find a place to live very quickly.

Then the deal fell through. We didn’t have to move, our place was going off the market.

Then the kids and I got hand, foot and mouth disease, aka COOTIES FROM HELL.

Then there was another cash offer on our condo. We had to move again. And find a place. In June. At the Jersey Shore. With a small budget. And two kids. And the real estate agent harassed us to be out in 2 weeks. (Right lady. Dream on. Thanks for your complete lack of help with that.) My landlord/friend was absolutely wonderful though, so she constantly sent us listings in the area and was supportive and helpful. In the end, after dragging the kids through countless rainstorms, many apartments, condos and townhouses, we found a wonderful little townhouse in our price range, with a washer and dryer, parking, and a POOL.  Yea. We win.

The week after we moved in we had about 50 of our friends and family over for the baby’s first birthday. It was a great celebration and despite oppressive and horrible heat, I think everyone had fun.

Then the step kids came to visit for a week. This is always challenging because I have no idea what I’m doing ever, which is made worse by the fact that I’m now caring for kids I see maybe twice a year and I lose my mind every singe time.

After that I took on the task of changing out my hard drive and fixing my busted up old computer. It went surprisingly well and I am typing to you from a fully functional (though still only held together by wires) laptop. I’m forever grateful for the assistance of the friends who helped me get it done.

Shortly thereafter we all came down with an awful stomach plague, which took me out for about a week. For the record, I’ll choose violent vomiting for 12 hours over a week of terrible stomach pain, dizziness and utter fatigue every time. This time, I lost.

That pretty much brings us current. Somewhere in there the baby went from crawling to running (it was instant, there was no breaking the parents in phase like the first time around) and I have new levels of crazy to contend with on a daily basis. Today I’m caring for additional children, as DDa acquired two imaginary friends over night.

I better go. There are loud noises behind me and I’m fairly certain it’s about to get ugly in here.

Type to you soon!

Flats and Handwashing Challenge Day 1: Why Am I Doing This?

WHY AM I DOING THIS??

This kept running through my mind as I sloshed the dirty diapers in the soapy water in my diaper pail. What was I thinking? Will I be able to do this all week? This seems like an awful lot of work. I mean, honestly. Is this REALLY necessary? And EEEW I JUST GOT SOAPY DIAPER WATER IN MY EYE!!

Since I had time (2 minutes per “agitation”, rinse, repeat, repeat), I reminded myself why I signed onto this challenge.

When I first started cloth diapering about 8 months ago, some of the women who helped me get started were talking about this “Flats Challenge”. It piqued my interest. I’m a person that enjoys a challenge (some would say that I like making things more difficult) and this certainly qualifies. I have two young children, am relatively new to cloth diapering, and a year ago, pretty much thought this is all there was to them anyway. Large pieces of fabric that you wrap around your baby, covered by ‘plastic pants’. Whoop de doo.

{As I’m sure I will rave on about in a later post, that’s not actually what it’s like any more. But back to my story.}

What really got me interested was hearing these sad stories: people washing disposable diapers and reusing them, babies with horrendous diaper rashes because their parents simply can’t afford to buy as many diapers as they need. What do you do in that situation? There’s no special assistance for diapers. Just food. What do you DO when you literally have to choose food or diapers?

That is why I’m doing this. I am not Donna Reed. I did not CHOOSE to be a homemaker. I got laid off. I’m not very good at this staying at home business. And frankly, if I didn’t know what I know about cloth diapers, I could very easily be in that same predicament. Diapers are expensive, and babies pee and poop a lot. I estimate that I would go through 480+ diapers in a 30 day period, with two kids being changed roughly every 3 hours. Paying about $.20 per diaper that’s $96 per month, and that’s not including wipes. Even paying per load to wash diapers, there’s still a significant financial savings there.

Again, why am I doing this?

To see if I can. To know that I can. To have the confidence to know that I won’t ever have to make a decision like, ‘Do we eat tonight, or get diapers?’ To know that if I come into contact with someone in that situation, I will be able to share this experience with them and help them know that they don’t have to make that decision either.

You may think I’m crazy, and I probably am. But I’ll be damned if I let that stand in my way.

Day 1 Notes:

I actually started Sunday because I apparently can’t read a calendar. Come Monday morning I had a pail full of lovely diapers to wash. After I talked myself out of talking myself out of this, things went fairly smoothly. What I learned is that my apartment is not a great place to dry diapers at all. After 7 hours of waiting , several panic attacks, and lots of moving them from room to room, I discovered they actually do dry fairly quickly, as long as they are getting air on them. The majority of my drying will be done in the basement from now on. Instead of being damn after 7 hours, they dried in about 2.5. The covers take a bit longer. I did 3 loads on Monday. I don’t want to have to do that again.

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