Dark hole

It's that time of year again for the dark blanket of depression to smother me from the inside out. I always forget how bad it gets sometimes; the sunshine seems to erase the memories. But then the temperature drops, and the snow falls, and the inversion sets in, and I'll be damned if I'm not crawling back into bed 10 minutes after getting up and wishing that the world would just go away.

The funny thing about depression is that if you are already depressed, and then you are given something to be depressed about, it's a vicious case of vertigo as you plummet to the bottom. And, just so you know, there is no bottom. Just when you think you are hitting it, you find that there are basements, then underground parking levels, then, of course, hell...

So here's something to be depressed about. I'm trying to go through all of this while not letting it affect my son.

How can you explain to a 2 year old that mommy just doesn't have the energy today? That mommy just can't focus on him, and that mommy needs to be alone, and that mommy's emotions aren't about him? How can you explain to a 2 year old that depression is ridiculously selfish, and there isn't a goddamn thing you can do about it?

Well, you can't.

So my goal is to give him the bit of energy that I do have. To give him those few moments when the sun is out and the blanket of fog has lifted from my mind. To give him that little bit that I have to give. And to hope that it is enough.

I think every parent has their moments when they say to themselves, 'maybe someday they'll understand,' in the hopes that maybe someday our kids will understand. And as the kid of parents, there are things that I understand now about my parents that I never understood growing up. It took 30 years to understand, but it happened.

I hope it doesn't take 30 years for Owen to understand me and my depression, and I also hope that he doesn't understand too early either. I don't want him to spend any time as a child worrying about mommy's sadness. I want to hide it all from him.

A person can dream, can't she.

Wax and wane.

I'm in that place where I know who I am, but I don't know how to put it into practice.

I am strong, and I am not weak.

Maybe if I keep telling myself this, it will be true.

I used to be a strong woman. But strong in a cold way. I was shut off. Maybe that was actually weakness.... I have been trying for years to rediscover myself, to take back control of my life and my destiny.

When I got pregnant, I was headed in a certain direction, and having a child changed that. I thought for a long time that my dreams had to be taken away. That I was going to be stymied in this boring life. I've now realized that my dreams and wants and desires can still be realized, just on new terms.

I now need to regain the confidence I had in order to get back on track to the life I want. To the life I deserve.

I'm so lost in my own head.

Electric Heat.

It is so rare to feel the fire of passion
running through your body and soul.
So rare to find the electric heat
he inspired me to know.

So rare to spin and spiral
and toil the hours away
thinking of the man whose seering touch
I have yet to feel today.

So rare to shake and tremble
when only I am there
and feel his mouth and flicking tongue
of which my body is so aware.

So rare to taste him
when I have yet to taste him
and feel his hands wash over me
touching my every limb.

So rare to be told to suffer
through every look and every comment
and try not to touch or linger or long
for the forbidden, heated moment.

So rare to know this electric heat.

So rare, so rare, so rare.

If you want to learn about yourself, check out Netflix.

I go through fazes with Netflix.

Sometimes I use them a lot, like when I am watching a series, like right now, I'm watching Season 2 of The Tudors. Awesome.

Sometimes I never use it, like when I had some shitty selection for about 6 months, and I felt bad about getting them and not wanting to watch them, so I just kept them. Yeah.

But my favorite thing about Netflix is that you can go on their site and rate movies that you've seen. Based on those ratings, they make recommendations to you about what you might be interested in. It also tells you which movies you've rated that makes them think you would like the one they are suggesting, which makes it interesting.

For example, I liked Notorious C.H.O. and 30 Rock; Season 2. So Netflix recommends Yo Gabba Gabba: The Dancey Dance Bunch....

Wait. What?

In another suggestion they offer, The Passion of the Christ and Do The Right Thing.

I added the series Playboy After Dark. It recommended John Wayne's Tribute to America and This is Tom Jones.

I appreciate the suggestions, Netflix, but really? Maybe think about it before you throw those recommendations out, would you?

Eff you, Best Buy.

You know how every year we have to get a safety inspection on our cars? And every year, there is some stupid thing wrong that makes getting it inspected a total pain in the ass? Usually stupid things like a brake light is out or some other little thing.

Well, hey, guess what? Your defrost needs to work in order to pass a safety inspection. And mine? doesn't. Do you know why? Because those jackoffs at Best Buy fucked my cords up when they installed my car stereo.

So now I get to pay "a couple hundred dollars" (I don't yet know the exact total, as my car is still in the shop) to get it fixed.

Yay.

I am so fucking broke, I'm pretty sure I qualify for public assistance, and they want me to pay "a couple hundred dollars" on top of the $89 for registering my car and $45 for safety and inspection?

Suck it. Suck it hard. Suck it twice.

I'm taking the receipt to Best Buy, and those bitches are paying for it for me.

Catching some zzzz's.

Should I feel bad that I don't feel bad that I let Owen sleep a lot yesterday? And I mean, A LOT.

To start, he woke up around the usual time (9 ish, don't hate). He will hang out and play in his crib until my tired ass gets out of bed. But yesterday he got quiet soon after. So I got out of bed around 9:45, and he was totally out. So I let the dogs out, made coffee, checked my facebook, watered the flowers.... and so on. He did not wake up until 12. Noon. Holy shit.

So he got up, and we did our thing. Around 5:30, we went to the park with Amber, Suk, and Evan, and played and played. He was just about to fall asleep when we got there, so I thought he might take a little nap when we got home. He fell asleep around 7:30. I put a meatloaf in the oven (don't get too shocked; it was pre-made from Costco), thinking it would be done by the time Owen woke up.

Except that he didn't wake up until 9:30.... this morning.

I shit you not.

Can I just tell you? It was like having a whole night to myself. I got to watch TV, take a nap (God, I miss naps), read my homework. It was awesome.

I really don't feel bad about it. I feel like, if he slept that long, then he needed it. Right?

Bleh.

I'm tired today. I'm at the beginning of my weekend (as in, my days off), and it's hard, because I just want to relax. But I also want to spend some quality time with Owen, and he totally wants to hang out and play with me. But I also have a ton of shit I need to do. It's that stupid bitch, MOM GUILT, getting to me again.

I decided it was time to go back to school and finally finish. So right now I have an online class, then at the end of June, I start a 5 week French class. Let's just say, this is not going to be easy.

How do moms do it? I feel bad when I'm on the computer and Owen needs my attention. I feel bad when I have to leave him for work. What is it going to be like when I have to leave him for school, then leave him for work, then ignore him when I am home, because I have homework?

I know he's young and probably won't remember any of it, but I will. And I know it is only going to be for less than a year, but that's a whole year of my son's life that I won't really be around for. I know it is so that I can provide for a better future, but what about the present?

Ugh. I think I'm just too tired today. And if I'm too tired for me, then I'm too tired for him. I feel like an asshole.

Let's just say, thank God for coffee.

Baby Tip #287

Teething can be a bitch, for you and for your sweet, little baby. Especially when it seems that there is nothing that can help.

My son hated teething rings and chew toys. I can't blame him; I hated holding those cold rings myself.

One suggestion I heard was to wet the tip of a washcloth, then freeze it, and that way only the tip is cold. And that might work for some, but the cloth is still cold, and I couldn't get my kid to suck on a washcloth, so that didn't really work for me, either.

The thing I found to help the most was a toothbrush. Actually, it started out that I had received a kit of baby grooming things, and in it was a little chew stick that had a handle and a gummy end. He loved it. That is, until we lost it. So I figured the closest thing to that was the gummy handle of the toothbrush. It ends up that he liked to chew on that side and the brush side.

It has helped us through all eight of his front teeth and now four of his molars. Pretty much a lifesaver. So I hope you've found something (besides whiskey) to help ease the pain.

This is a test.

I'm testing to see what it will be like to text in my blog.

Texting it in is a great idea, because I actually get most of my ideas when I am out and about, or in my bed, or on the toilet (okay, mostly on the toilet; it's my quiet place).

So here is my first one. For the record, I'm in bed on a rainy day watching "Sex and the City."

How much does it cost to get your name in People's Beautiful People?

I only ask this because the new list came out today, and there are some uglies on there. Uglies from 90210. More specifically, the dude who plays Dixon who couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.

If you read my earlier blog, you know I watch the show. I hate it, but I watch it. And one of the more specific reasons I hate it is because of freaking Dixon, the stupid adopted main kid who is the new Brandon. He is not attractive, he can't act, and he's fucking obnoxious. And now that piece of shit is in the 100 Beautiful People? What. The. Fuck.

The girls on the show are hot, skinny little cunts, but hot. And they all got featured together. And not even a good picture of them. And that lump of shit, Dixon, got his own feature. Have you seen the teacher (played by Ryan Eggold) on the show? He is a freaking fine-ass piece of man. The dad (played by Rob Estes, whom you might remember from a little show called "Melrose Place"), is a fine-ass piece of man. There are plenty of hot males from the show to choose from. And, yet, they chose that lump of shit to represent.

Well, eff you, People magazine. And eff you, 90210.

National Geographic's got nothing on me.

When the time has come that is just before your period, and you are kind of sensitive and a little bloated and fluffy from water weight gain (and the Oreos that you swore you would only have two of, then had more than two of), do not ever, I repeat EVER, try on your pre-pregnancy bras.

Here is what you discover:

1: Your boobs are now under your arms, and your cute little bras cannot rescue them from over there.

2. You have a second set of boobs located directly underneath your first pair.

3. Your first pair? Are now much closer to the ground.

4. Lace is not cute when there is flesh coming out of every opening.

Now I get that boobs are precious, and the life force for many women's children, but this does not mean that we don't want them to be sexy anymore. I knew when I breast fed (or tried to breast feed and failed) that my tits would take a beating. And I think they survived it all pretty well; my nipples can still look at you and not the ground (and not the sky, but whatever; I don't need ski slopes).

I think the point is the same point it always is post-pregnancy, which is that your body is never going to be the same, no matter how much you think it might look like it's old self. So be kind to yourself and your tits, and invest in new bras. Your ego will thank you for it.

So worth it.

Sometimes, Mommy needs a little 'me' time, even if it is only to dick around on the Internet. So during this me time, Owen sort of gets away with whatever.

The house is basically child proofed, but I assure you, if I missed something, Owen will find it. Case in point, as I write, he is pulling out all of the kitchen utensils from the Giant Drawer of Utensils. Spatulas, spoons, tongs, pizza cutters, etc. (I just discovered that I own a potato peeler. Rad!) These are his favorite toys.

If I were a more crafty woman (which I will be from now on, as this idea has just dawned on me), I would just buy myself some new awesome kitchen thingamajigs and justify it by saying that they are Owen's new toys. Then we both win! But seriously, he loves himself a spatula.

Side note: I just spell checked, and I had the word "thingamagiggies" that it didn't like. I clicked on it thinking that there would not be anything remotely close to the spelling, and lo and behold, "thingamajigs." It's a real word, people.

I can't help but laugh.

Today was one of those days where very little got done. The tv was on, but I wasn't watching. It was a completely useless day. I felt badly that I had all this time to myself (Owen was with his daddy), and I did nothing. There's an explanation for this, but we'll get into that another time.

After hours of being depressed and lazy, I finally decided to go to the gym. I actually got dressed and left the house (this is a big deal, because it was raining and 10 pm). As I was driving, though, I got this really bad feeling that I shouldn't go. Now, this might seem weird, but I have a long history of gut feelings, and I have learned to follow them.

So I decided to just go grocery shopping instead. But I didn't feel good about that either. This pissed me off. I had finally gotten around to getting my ass of the couch and out of the house, and this is what I am encountered with? the feeling to go back home?

I turned around and came home. When I got home, I let the dogs out to pee, and while I was standing on my front steps, I noticed two guys smoking in the darkness on the steps of the house on the corner, watching me and my dogs. This house is known for having slightly shady characters reside there (it's a rental). I called my dogs in, locked the door and set my house alarm (immediately).

Now, who knows if anything really would have happened. Maybe they would have tried to break in while I was gone, maybe they would have jumped me when I got home. I have no idea. What I do know is that I am pretty glad I listened to that feeling and came home.

But that's not the freaky part. After double checking the alarm and front door lock, I decided to make myself some tea. As I was doing so, I sort of started talking, not so much to myself, just to the infinite beyond (you know, cause the infinite beyond hangs out in my kitchen). I said, "Okay, I get it. You've been sending me signs, and sometimes these signs piss me off, but then I realize that you are right. So I will start listening to you, okay?"

I opened my tea package (Yogi brand tea), and read the little inspirational message on the tag (there is a different one on every tag, sort of like a fortune cookie). I shit you not, this is what it said, "When we practice listening, we become intuitive."

So when I say that the infinite beyond is talking to me, believe me, I will be listening to what it's saying.

Staring contests and other fun games.

I feel so sorry for Owen sometimes. Now that I'm home all the time, I think he gets sick of seeing my face. He's such a social little boy, and he loved going to his babysitters, and now he doesn't go to them. I'm sure he misses hanging out with other people.

It's not that he doesn't like me (he freaking loves me), it's just that we sort of get sick of each other. That's when we have to leave the house and go on some shopping trip or something. Then he can flirt with all the people at the store. And, boy, does he flirt. He gets this from his dad (believe me, I wish I had half his talent).

I was reading a parenting website (babycenter.com), and a woman was asking what to do with her kid all day, because they get bored. It was really nice to know that I'm not the only one who goes through this. But one of the answers really made me laugh. The woman was a teacher, and she was talking about what she planned on doing over the summer while she was home all the time with her kid. She said she planned on having a morning activity and an afternoon activity, like they would go to the zoo or a museum or something like that. Everyday. Leave the house. Yeah, right. This woman is either delusional, or she has a nanny.

Or am I just really lazy? I have never been one of those women who always has everything planned, and has craft supplies in her craft room (let alone a craft room). I never planned on being a mother, so I worry sometimes that I'm missing the training for it. I worry about failing Owen; that I'm not going to give him all the tools and lessons he needs to be a great person.

But then I sit on the floor and play with him, and he kisses me with his big open mouth, and we read together, and I know that everything is going to be ok.

This must be how Andrea Zuckerman felt.

I'm not proud to admit this, but on this Tuesday night, I'm picking my zits, lubing my stretch marks and watching 90210. Not totally awesome re-runs of 90210, but the new, ridiculous 90210.

There are a few signs that I am (perhaps) too old for this. First of all, I am more attracted to the teacher (who, supposedly, is still 5 years younger than me). It's not that I feel like a pedophile when I look at the young boys, it's that I do not get it. I like to think that I have decent taste in men (this could be argued, but suck it), and I just do not see at all what is attractive about these boys. This makes me feel old.

What else makes me feel old? That when they have sex, I'm thinking, aren't they a little too young to be doing that? Yeah. And, it doesn't make me sick when the parents get all touchy-feely. It used to make me physically ill when Brenda and Brandon's parents were even in the same room (not necessarily because they were old, but because they were gross).

90210 was always showcasing the hottest groups around (are there even "groups" anymore, or just "bands"? See. That made me feel old.) I remember when Color Me Bad was on. Oh. My. God. I loved them. (Loved them) I waited all week for them to be on. It was a pivotal point in my adolescence. And now I have no idea who the bands are. Not a freaking clue. There are several things about this that make me feel old (mainly the Color Me Bad fandom...)

So I guess the question is, why do I watch it? Well, because it's 9021-freakin-0.

Stuck.

It's so funny how I can go from being so motivated to so shut off. I was super stoked when I was fired, because I thought, here's my chance to do something huge, here's my chance to do something different. And you know what I did? I went to the gym. Once. Watch out for me.

This bitch needs a job, and I need one fast. It's ridiculous that I sit here with all the time in the world, and no money to go out and do anything. Actually, it's not ridiculous; it's mean. I was about to go to Ikea today, you know, just to look around... But I caught myself. I know that old trick! I tell myself. I know that you are just using that as an excuse to get out of the house. Well, I've caught on to me...

My flirtation with spending as a cure for boredom is getting a cease and desist order. I have a new plan. Actually, I have a list. A list of all the things that need to get done around the house that I have been putting off for a long time, such as planting bulbs, and touching up paint, and sweeping under the couches. Some of these tasks cost money (hooray!), but for the most part they are free. Now it's just a matter of actually wanting to do them.

The point is that if I am going to redefine myself and use this time off wisely (argh, I blame my mother for my sense of restlessness), then I need to do things that do not require a plastic card with a high interest rate and no spending limit. Except, I'm going to need paint, and rocks for the landscaping project, and a garden weasel, and some shelves for downstairs...

Look. I never said I was perfect.

Let's start at the beginning.

You know when the writer always says, "This was the moment that changed everything"? Well, this is that moment. I'm sorry to throw it in so quickly and so early, but it just had to be done, because it just happened.

I know I should be sad, I know I should be stressed, and I know I should be freaking the fuck out right now, and believe me, I am. But not nearly as much as I thought I would be. I think I'm still just a little numb. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel more. For right now, I feel a little grateful.

So I got fired and I feel grateful. What the fuck? Sometimes you need a little kick in the ass to get it in gear. I was on the phone with my sister today, and I was telling her how boring my life was. That I was stuck in this horrific merry-go-round of the same ol' shit, day in and day out. That I couldn't bring myself to make coffee in the morning, because I swear to God that I had just done it yesterday morning and the morning before that and the morning before that. So I said I was bored, and the Universe listened, and here is my excitement.

So what am I going to do? I have no idea. But I know that I don't want to do what I have been doing. I don't want to keep dicking around and not doing something that makes me happy. I want to be a writer, so here I sit writing. I've got to start somewhere, so here is the beginning. As scared and as pissed as I am, here I sit writing, grateful.

Welcome to the beginning.