My morning:
6:am....awaken to howling northeast winds, windchill of 10f. (thats really, really, really fucking cold, for those of you who are foreign and smell.) glorious sunrise, diamond clear. chat with sexy and adorable husband who smells really good. drink coffee. watch news.
7:am.....husband leaves for work
7:30.....daughter calls. peculiar fuzzy, pleading tone in voice immediately arouses suspicion. still somewhat askew from husbandly pheronomes, FN agrees to daughterly plaint.
8:am...drive up mountain to retrieve grandson from lazy daughter
8:15....stopped by police officer for 'going a little too fast'
8:17....charm my way out of speeding ticket by being goodnatured and appropriately rueful about 'going a little too fast'
719....get a ticket ANYFUCKINGWAY for 196$ for driving with expired tabs.
EXPIRED SINCE LAST OCTOBER.
8:22.....pick up goonybird from lazy daughter. bald child is hatless in 70mph winds with a windchilll of 10f. inform lazy daughter of ticket. spot zitty moron in background cleverly camoflaged as pile of laundry. daughterly laziness explained. grandmotherly bloodpressure climbing.
9:00....arrive at local licensing and registration office. buy tabs. restrain goonybird from a.writing on walls of office with pen b. leaping from the counter and falling on his head c. leaping into a nearby bin full of bouncy balls for sale d. writing on checkbook with pen e. swallowing pen f. writing on counter with pen.
pen taken.
goonybird commences sirenlike shreiking and pounds feet against stomachal regions of grandmother.
after purchasing knit cap for bald goonybird, grandmother carries goonybird out of store slung backwards over shoulder. Time - 9:20
9:45....after a brief drive to calm screaming goonybird during which the abc song is sung several hundred thousand times, grandmother arrives at local grocery store.
9:48....extracts goonybird from babyseat in 70mph winds, windchill 10f. car door blowing backwards pops rear body panel on car, must be kicked shut. goonybird removes hat.
9:49.....grandmother pulls hat completely over childs' head and holds it there with fabric knotted around her fist, races into store with goonybird slung over shoulder as goonybird cannot be trusted to walk across a parking lot without getting squashed, and will not hold hands in a public place, deeming it childish.
goonybird has put on considerable weight.
9:50....deposit child into shoppingbasket baby seat. goonybird commences flapping and exclaiming 'car! rrrrmmm! rrm!'
the basket will not do. he wants to sit in the fancy basket with the kiddie car attached to the front.
9:55...no kiddiecar available. grandmother redeposits child in shoppingbasket and runs toward produce section.
9:55.02.....child is offered an apple. child accepts. child is mollified.
9:56.04....child grabs apple for other hand out of center of apple zigurat. using ninja-like reflexes developed during childhood of goonybirds' mommy, grandmother adroitly replaces apple before avalanche gets under way.
9:57....child howls. grandmother parks basket next to hubbard squash. child is soothed by proximity of giant buttocks-like vegetable.
10:48...shopping finished, child replaced in car during 70mph winds w/ windchill factor of 10f.
11:00......stop at fast food outlet. not knowing if child has eaten anything this a.m. beside apple, grandmother throws child box of fries and half a chocolate milkshake.
So. How was your day?
Friday, February 17, 2006
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Clinical depression: the difference between you and me.
Normal people have normal lives. When something abnormal happens to them - having had the benefit of a normal life - they have the perspective to be able to say 'Whoa...something abnormal just happened."
That's you.
People with abnormal lives tend to experience the reverse. The normal events which occur are viewed with a great deal of suspicion, yet at the same time, indifference. Suspicion, because normal isn't their mean, and indifference because in the long run, it's going to pass.
Now, take that second person there and bomb them with clinical depression. That's me.
A person with clinical depression has for their only constant the expectation of overwhelming, crushing depair... which can hit with absolutely no warning, for no reason and without provocation of any sort, and hit like a tsunami. It can last for a few moments, it can last for a few MONTHS. And I don't mean everyday, garden variety despair; I mean the bleakest form, complete with immobility and actual pain...the type you feel when you have lost everything, and there is no hope left.
Yeah. Like that.
For no reason whatsoever.
Welcome to my world c.1964 - 1990.
I include the five years I spent going to therapy twice a week. Ew, therapy? How weak and pukey and unfit to live of you. Was it hard?
Yes.
But nothing at all compared to how hard it is trying to make it through an ordinary day when all you want to do is lie down and go to sleep forever.
Before I got treatment the ONLY two emotions I could count on were anger and sadness. Anger was the only thing that kept me upright, so I spent lots of time trying to piss myself off just so I could function, and then hiding the fact I was pissed off so I could get along. Honest to God. It worked, too...imperfectly.
Sadness filled in the blanks when my guard was down. Other emotions like happiness or satisfaction could only be relied upon to occur as a result of extremes, if then.
It averaged out to about 90% shit. The only reason I didn't commit suicide was lingering Catholic guilt. That, and wanting to live long enough to either outlast everyone I hated, or at least get even.
When all that finally changed the result was curious as hell....I started going through all the developmental stages that I missed because of the masking effect of depression. The profession didn't fully realize at that time that this happened. I wonder if it's understood yet.
So there I was, in my thirties, mother, wife, independent businesswoman...tossing fireworks at passing cars. Saving up old spraycans and stale ammunition and dud fireworks so I could have a big bonfire and toss it in. Flipping people off in traffic...as I hung out the window of the car...with one hand on the horn...screaming 'Learn to drive you IGNORANT FUCKING BAG OF SHIT!' at the top of my lungs. Because that's classy.
I even shoplifted once (a christmas ornament, which was enough to give me the screaming guilties and prevent that ever happening again). I made prank phone calls. I carried a magic marker with me and wrote graffitti in public bathrooms. I made water balloons and dropped them on bums out my apartment window. In college I'd sit in class and access porn sites while I sat in the front row with the monitor turned facing the instructor.
In other words, at thrity, I was the worlds brattiest teenager.
OOoooooooooooo, I had a great time!
Now luckily enough, my present husband was like this naturally so no problem there; we got along like a house afire. I'm sure my daughter was scarred, though. Meh; fuck it, we're even. She went through puberty on my watch.
I cannot stress this enough, though: There are answers there, as long as you're motivated enough to find them, and ornery enough to crush anyone beneath your feet who tries to stand in your way. (And there will be those people.) I was very fortunate in my choice of therapist as well. Furthermore, I pledge my eternal gratitude to the people involved in the discovery of Prozac. No, it aint for everyone but it sure in the fuck was the magic ingredient I needed.
Now I have to get used to being - not normal, that ain't never gonna happen - but more like everyone else. I'll never be normal. For one thing, I have to remind myself of this every day- that I can think positively about something and make myself feel better. And it will work. Normal people generally don't have this as part of their daily routine.
Meanwhile, I love my husband, I garden, I drink beer and I birdwatch - both goony and regular. And I tell you thats better than I thought I'd ever get.
That's you.
People with abnormal lives tend to experience the reverse. The normal events which occur are viewed with a great deal of suspicion, yet at the same time, indifference. Suspicion, because normal isn't their mean, and indifference because in the long run, it's going to pass.
Now, take that second person there and bomb them with clinical depression. That's me.
A person with clinical depression has for their only constant the expectation of overwhelming, crushing depair... which can hit with absolutely no warning, for no reason and without provocation of any sort, and hit like a tsunami. It can last for a few moments, it can last for a few MONTHS. And I don't mean everyday, garden variety despair; I mean the bleakest form, complete with immobility and actual pain...the type you feel when you have lost everything, and there is no hope left.
Yeah. Like that.
For no reason whatsoever.
Welcome to my world c.1964 - 1990.
I include the five years I spent going to therapy twice a week. Ew, therapy? How weak and pukey and unfit to live of you. Was it hard?
Yes.
But nothing at all compared to how hard it is trying to make it through an ordinary day when all you want to do is lie down and go to sleep forever.
Before I got treatment the ONLY two emotions I could count on were anger and sadness. Anger was the only thing that kept me upright, so I spent lots of time trying to piss myself off just so I could function, and then hiding the fact I was pissed off so I could get along. Honest to God. It worked, too...imperfectly.
Sadness filled in the blanks when my guard was down. Other emotions like happiness or satisfaction could only be relied upon to occur as a result of extremes, if then.
It averaged out to about 90% shit. The only reason I didn't commit suicide was lingering Catholic guilt. That, and wanting to live long enough to either outlast everyone I hated, or at least get even.
When all that finally changed the result was curious as hell....I started going through all the developmental stages that I missed because of the masking effect of depression. The profession didn't fully realize at that time that this happened. I wonder if it's understood yet.
So there I was, in my thirties, mother, wife, independent businesswoman...tossing fireworks at passing cars. Saving up old spraycans and stale ammunition and dud fireworks so I could have a big bonfire and toss it in. Flipping people off in traffic...as I hung out the window of the car...with one hand on the horn...screaming 'Learn to drive you IGNORANT FUCKING BAG OF SHIT!' at the top of my lungs. Because that's classy.
I even shoplifted once (a christmas ornament, which was enough to give me the screaming guilties and prevent that ever happening again). I made prank phone calls. I carried a magic marker with me and wrote graffitti in public bathrooms. I made water balloons and dropped them on bums out my apartment window. In college I'd sit in class and access porn sites while I sat in the front row with the monitor turned facing the instructor.
In other words, at thrity, I was the worlds brattiest teenager.
OOoooooooooooo, I had a great time!
Now luckily enough, my present husband was like this naturally so no problem there; we got along like a house afire. I'm sure my daughter was scarred, though. Meh; fuck it, we're even. She went through puberty on my watch.
I cannot stress this enough, though: There are answers there, as long as you're motivated enough to find them, and ornery enough to crush anyone beneath your feet who tries to stand in your way. (And there will be those people.) I was very fortunate in my choice of therapist as well. Furthermore, I pledge my eternal gratitude to the people involved in the discovery of Prozac. No, it aint for everyone but it sure in the fuck was the magic ingredient I needed.
Now I have to get used to being - not normal, that ain't never gonna happen - but more like everyone else. I'll never be normal. For one thing, I have to remind myself of this every day- that I can think positively about something and make myself feel better. And it will work. Normal people generally don't have this as part of their daily routine.
Meanwhile, I love my husband, I garden, I drink beer and I birdwatch - both goony and regular. And I tell you thats better than I thought I'd ever get.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
aphis CAN be prevented. Heres' how
This morning finds my grandson hairless as a doorknob. The Stainless Steel Amazon shaved the Goonybirds' head last night. Well, she and her dad did. Lacking equipment normally used to restrain livestock for branding, they removed to the bathroom, shut the door and hoisted the 'bird up on the counter - the biker shaved him, the amazon held him. Because I am not stupid I opted out of this nightmare; I watch the kid all day; I know what he's capable of. I'm lucky I have any intact sheetrock left in there. That kid bucked and flapped like a rodeo bull, and screamed and bellowed and raged, shit. I'm surprised he didn't bring the Border patrol down on our ass. I'm sure air traffic had to be diverted.
He needed the haircut, though. The 'Amazon had given him a fauxhawk some months earlier (because she NEEDS CABLE) and the back was getting all nappy and fuzzy like the rear end of a sheep. Cleanup is easier, I will say that...but geeze, this kid has a BIG ROUND HEAD. I can't stop sneaking looks at him. Dang, that is a big. round. head.
See, but his mom had a big round head too. Round and shiny. When the sun shone it was like the strange giant glowing babyhead on the Teletubbies show. She was bald as an egg until she was about three years old.. You'd put her in the bath and run some water on her and the few platinum blonde hairs she did have would go all clear. You know how, when you wash a white poodle? yeah. And I have photographic documentation to back up these allegations. Maybe I'll post it. Or maybe not. Depends on the money.
Speaking of scary pictures, I am amassing quite the list of gross out sites. I don't know what this says about me, but I like 'em. Cabbie with the skull blown out of his head and his skin draped like a banana peel on his shoulders? Bring it on. Male to female operations? Motorcycle crash at 145mph? I'm there. (No, I will not post links. Stop buggin me.) I read all the stories too. I try to avoid the sex stuff, although the clear assumption is being made that, if you like pictures of squashed korean dockworkers, then *ding!* you probably want to see naked lesbians with wubby jelly toys and-ew, delete. The arguement can be made that both are porn. I don't know. I do know that I deny myself nothing; if I'm curious then I'll look. In the oft-mentioned case of the - ahem - Recirculating Japanese Mustard Fountain, sometimes I'm really, really, really sorry I looked. But not all the time.
The Stainless Steel Amazon and I got into a conversation last Christmas about this, and she mentioned dendrophilia. (yes, Christmas at Rancho First Nations puts the 'holy' in 'holidays') so of course I made her prove she wasnt just yankin' my chain.
And she wasn't.
There are actually people out there who enjoy a very special relationship with their landscaping. Making me review a whole new constellation of insights about, oh, hiking alone in the woods, and tree surgeons. Does it matter what kind of bark? Are there people who are maybe queer for certain types of trees, like guys who only date blondes? Can you get aphids? (actually you can. While not a dendrophile, I do garden, and yes, if you drink pop and garden you will get aphids...they do bite and it does hurt. So the moral of the story is, my children, when next you approach that alluring alder, don't use flavored lube.)
And I would never have known this had I not looked. Has it made my life any better? Hasn't made it any worse. Now, if I stop and compare my choice of reading material with that of your average rural grandmother, then o.k, I start to feel kind of odd. But then, I like puppies and babies and wrinkle dogs and flowers, so maybe I'm not too far left of center after all.
...........Oh hell yeah I am.
He needed the haircut, though. The 'Amazon had given him a fauxhawk some months earlier (because she NEEDS CABLE) and the back was getting all nappy and fuzzy like the rear end of a sheep. Cleanup is easier, I will say that...but geeze, this kid has a BIG ROUND HEAD. I can't stop sneaking looks at him. Dang, that is a big. round. head.
See, but his mom had a big round head too. Round and shiny. When the sun shone it was like the strange giant glowing babyhead on the Teletubbies show. She was bald as an egg until she was about three years old.. You'd put her in the bath and run some water on her and the few platinum blonde hairs she did have would go all clear. You know how, when you wash a white poodle? yeah. And I have photographic documentation to back up these allegations. Maybe I'll post it. Or maybe not. Depends on the money.
Speaking of scary pictures, I am amassing quite the list of gross out sites. I don't know what this says about me, but I like 'em. Cabbie with the skull blown out of his head and his skin draped like a banana peel on his shoulders? Bring it on. Male to female operations? Motorcycle crash at 145mph? I'm there. (No, I will not post links. Stop buggin me.) I read all the stories too. I try to avoid the sex stuff, although the clear assumption is being made that, if you like pictures of squashed korean dockworkers, then *ding!* you probably want to see naked lesbians with wubby jelly toys and-ew, delete. The arguement can be made that both are porn. I don't know. I do know that I deny myself nothing; if I'm curious then I'll look. In the oft-mentioned case of the - ahem - Recirculating Japanese Mustard Fountain, sometimes I'm really, really, really sorry I looked. But not all the time.
The Stainless Steel Amazon and I got into a conversation last Christmas about this, and she mentioned dendrophilia. (yes, Christmas at Rancho First Nations puts the 'holy' in 'holidays') so of course I made her prove she wasnt just yankin' my chain.
And she wasn't.
There are actually people out there who enjoy a very special relationship with their landscaping. Making me review a whole new constellation of insights about, oh, hiking alone in the woods, and tree surgeons. Does it matter what kind of bark? Are there people who are maybe queer for certain types of trees, like guys who only date blondes? Can you get aphids? (actually you can. While not a dendrophile, I do garden, and yes, if you drink pop and garden you will get aphids...they do bite and it does hurt. So the moral of the story is, my children, when next you approach that alluring alder, don't use flavored lube.)
And I would never have known this had I not looked. Has it made my life any better? Hasn't made it any worse. Now, if I stop and compare my choice of reading material with that of your average rural grandmother, then o.k, I start to feel kind of odd. But then, I like puppies and babies and wrinkle dogs and flowers, so maybe I'm not too far left of center after all.
...........Oh hell yeah I am.
Monday, February 13, 2006
...and a mask and a ball gag and some leather pants with no seat, and one of those bustier things, and a
I swore to myself that when I started this thing I was not going to turn it into a bunch of political ranting, and I think I've been good for the most part, but damn. I mean, for the love of fuck.
The vice president shot a guy in the head.
Yeah.
I stood in the kitchen window this morning looking at Canada and envying them while I drank my coffee and just shook my head.
Where was the CIA? Arent they supposed to keep an eye on these guys? Keep them from running out in the street and petting strange dogs and shit? So then what in the name of Christ Almighty was the man doing waving a loaded shotgun? He's a politician! You dont let them play with guns! Same reason you only let them eat with spoons!
You know, a shotgun is a big thing. It's a dangerous thing. It's not something that you just idly whirl around like your dick or a propeller or something! And not LOADED! You're supposed to carry a shotgun CRACKED in the field because you're in a field. Fields are bumpy. Ducks get up early. It's usually cold out. Sometimes theres ice. I just want to cry. *
I know exactly what happened, too. Ill bet you any money he had a little too much wake up juice( hot coffee and Black Jack) on an empty stomach. Any money at all.
Ooo, speaking of running amuck in the field, guess who charmed his way out of the hospital last night? Yep. The playboy of the western world. And I'm about ready to put the old coot right back in. I am hot. He pulls this every time and they fall for it every time. Earn your paychecks, folks; its called dissimulation!!!! All the neurologist had to do was mention the word 'operation' and suddenly he was all better! He's going to go right back home and try to drive his car or something and...no, it doesnt bear thinking about; I've been here before. I'm about to get him a shock collar, though.
I need a whip and a chair. I really do.
*and some research skills, apparently. it was evening and they were tracking quail. otherwise I stand by what I said. what the hell, man, fucking ol' moron out there with a loaded gun like he needs quail. I ask you.
The vice president shot a guy in the head.
Yeah.
I stood in the kitchen window this morning looking at Canada and envying them while I drank my coffee and just shook my head.
Where was the CIA? Arent they supposed to keep an eye on these guys? Keep them from running out in the street and petting strange dogs and shit? So then what in the name of Christ Almighty was the man doing waving a loaded shotgun? He's a politician! You dont let them play with guns! Same reason you only let them eat with spoons!
You know, a shotgun is a big thing. It's a dangerous thing. It's not something that you just idly whirl around like your dick or a propeller or something! And not LOADED! You're supposed to carry a shotgun CRACKED in the field because you're in a field. Fields are bumpy. Ducks get up early. It's usually cold out. Sometimes theres ice. I just want to cry. *
I know exactly what happened, too. Ill bet you any money he had a little too much wake up juice( hot coffee and Black Jack) on an empty stomach. Any money at all.
Ooo, speaking of running amuck in the field, guess who charmed his way out of the hospital last night? Yep. The playboy of the western world. And I'm about ready to put the old coot right back in. I am hot. He pulls this every time and they fall for it every time. Earn your paychecks, folks; its called dissimulation!!!! All the neurologist had to do was mention the word 'operation' and suddenly he was all better! He's going to go right back home and try to drive his car or something and...no, it doesnt bear thinking about; I've been here before. I'm about to get him a shock collar, though.
I need a whip and a chair. I really do.
*and some research skills, apparently. it was evening and they were tracking quail. otherwise I stand by what I said. what the hell, man, fucking ol' moron out there with a loaded gun like he needs quail. I ask you.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
state o' the Nation (get it? get it? *snerk*)
I am mostly over my fit of temper today. Oh fine, I'm over it. Still pisses me off on principle, though.....If someone is going to jump my shit about something, at least make sure we actually disagree first, geeze. And base it on something other than my address. Oh, and this was nothing to do with you, my darlings. I was a-wandering the world wide web and fell in with a bad crowd. Oh, there was talk of politics, there was strong drink and cigarettes being smoked...heady stuff for little muks. I am a bit bruised, but wiser.
..............Nah.
Visited my father-in-law at the hospital today. He hasn't died once since he's been there, which is a good sign, but his blood pressure is still all over the charts for no apparent reason so the neurologist is keeping him there. Probably because she has a crush on him as much as anything. Meanwhile he sits there being charming and twinkly and looking pretty damn fine for an 81 year old man, with his usual crowd of admirers dropping by to pay tribute and sneak him chocolate and goofy toys and buy him dirty get well cards. I think they ought to organize themselves and buy matching ties and sweater vests.
The hardest thing for my father in law during these visits to the hospital is the food. The man was a professional chef for 40 years; a natural, self-taught. So when he gets rubber eggs for breakfast and the inevitable lime jello in the evening it just bums him out.
The second most difficult thing is, it tends to put a cramp in his sex life.
Maybe 1 and 2 are interchangeable. Probably.
It makes me angry to see him there again. Not at him, but at age in general and sickness in particular. I want to see him out on the prowl again making all the young guys blush and drinking Metaxa and baking bread and feeding the seagulls and driving his Porche. I want him to be well again.
..............Nah.
Visited my father-in-law at the hospital today. He hasn't died once since he's been there, which is a good sign, but his blood pressure is still all over the charts for no apparent reason so the neurologist is keeping him there. Probably because she has a crush on him as much as anything. Meanwhile he sits there being charming and twinkly and looking pretty damn fine for an 81 year old man, with his usual crowd of admirers dropping by to pay tribute and sneak him chocolate and goofy toys and buy him dirty get well cards. I think they ought to organize themselves and buy matching ties and sweater vests.
The hardest thing for my father in law during these visits to the hospital is the food. The man was a professional chef for 40 years; a natural, self-taught. So when he gets rubber eggs for breakfast and the inevitable lime jello in the evening it just bums him out.
The second most difficult thing is, it tends to put a cramp in his sex life.
Maybe 1 and 2 are interchangeable. Probably.
It makes me angry to see him there again. Not at him, but at age in general and sickness in particular. I want to see him out on the prowl again making all the young guys blush and drinking Metaxa and baking bread and feeding the seagulls and driving his Porche. I want him to be well again.
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