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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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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