i feel as renewed as a library book.

you know those pictures where it's two of the same picture and you have to pick out the differences?

last week on friday i was overly optimisitic about my living room, and most of the house. i had delusions of steam cleaning and amazing house-cleaned-top-to-bottom hallucinations.

in reality, not much happened. i took a walk, called my sister, retrieved the heat gun, and got a good start on peeling paint off my garbage find, the blue-white painted cedar chest...

all today, sunday, the last day of my vacation.

i look at my living room and it's the second half of those two pictures--the coffee table is in the same place; the piles of crap are moved minutely. not a whole lot has changed, in the reality-based series of "Kim's Vacation." i ate, i slept, i lounged. i read some, watched television, played some online games. there was at least one day that i didn't shower, and just stayed home the whole day, in my pajamas.

i suppose that some people might not call that a vacation. there was no sun-warmed island sand, no museum visits, no tequila or chilled beer.

just me, burning incense and being a layabout.

part of the issue was that i never actually got the steam cleaner, due to some miscommunications. and the heat gun dropped into my hands last night, and i got bored this afternoon and decided to give it a whirl. my biggest accomplishment this week was sweeping and mopping the kitchen. and that was strenuous, let me tell you what.

dan took monday off and we bummed around the house. tuesday i met with helene. wednesday and thursday were kind of a tv-computer monitor based blur. friday dan came home for lunch, after his third interview at the same place, and announced that he was employed as of may 1st; i did a pretty wild happy dance, and suddenly the rest of the vacation was just that--a vacation.

it's the little things about him being employed that are the good things--he can purchase his own socks, he can get non-generic soda, he doesn't have to ask for gas money like a sixteen year old bumming it from mom. for dan, it's a renewal of hope; for me, the same.

and a reminder that i don't have to go to jamaica in order to have a vacation.

the little things--being home by myself, listening to my alice in chains "unplugged" cd, having complete run of the remote--that's what made it a vacation. eating chocolate until i was nearly sick of it. (yes, nearly...) having cats fall asleep on me, while i tested and re-tested the sofa.

i suppose it was a vacation. i think the fact that it wasn't the vacation i had originally intended--not much on my actual list of things to do got accomplished--that's what makes me feel less ready to go back to work tomorrow.

or perhaps it's just that it's work, and i know what's waiting for me there. my week off from there was unfettered and loose, unorganized, chaotic, happy. i might not have gotten all the sleep i wanted, but i did something out of the ordinary, at least for me.

nothing.

and it was quite lovely.

scratch and dent

today's my last day of work for a week. a whole week. people asked me what i was doing next week; my pat answer is "staying home. steam cleaning my carpets. making a dent in the house."

if i glance around the living room, i remember why i want to stay home on my vacation--the house is a mess. and most of the mess is mine.

*sigh*

i read somewhere that adhd folks have issues with making piles. termites, eat your hearts out--i've got piles everywhere in the house. tackling them seems like a monumental, spinning-gold-from-straw type of task, but it's got to be done.

looking around again, i'm near to overwhelmed. how can i think to accomplish this in a week? inconceivable!

at the same time, i know it needs to be done. my committment is that it doesn't have to all be done at one time--i don't have to get the mass of mess cleaned up in the span of a week. i just need to make a dent.

lately i've been watching dan make a dent in the world, too. he's gone to an interview that turned out to be a mere testing session, and another this morning, for a job that he never will want, not in a million years. either of them, however, has more potential than nothing, i suppose. and he's temping at another job, at which he's unhappily excelling.

i think he has a sense of pride, in that he is doing so well at it, but to him it's so elementary that he doesn't expect any less of himself.

i see him eyeing up the job market every day, in the same manner as me, eyeing my massive mounds of what will probably turn out to be mostly garbage.

in our own feeble human ways, we're trying to make a dent in something, trying to scratch out existence on the planet. i always think that cavemen, or whoever was scraching the surface for the first few millenia, could never have felt the lack of success that we so often do: they'd have to succeed, just in order to eat.

i'm sure that a mammoth, to your average pre-gunpowder crowd, was the same size as the seemingly insurmountable tasks that are set before us now--my mountains and dan's job search for a good, permanent job that he won't go bald while working at.

i'm sure that someone who woke up now, after living back at the dawn of humanity, would think that we have it infinitely simpler: the mammoth is in nice, pre-cut slabs at the grocery store, and you don't have to do anything other than cook it. there's dentistry and sanititation, life well beyond the age of 40.

it'd be quite shocking, i'm sure.

then again, after a good amount of time, this hypothetical thawed pre-history person would no doubt be hankering for a good romp through the fields with sharpened stick in hand--that seems so much easier than dealing with healthcare plans and a nine-to-nine job. it's just you and the mammoth; you kill it and eat and live, or you get dented by the mammoth.

lately, i see dan being dented by the mammoth. which sounds so ridiculous, but it's my own inner metaphor for the world in which we're now living.

***

i'm a big fan of second-hand items; most of my house is furnished in them. lots of the dents and scratches are not mine, or if they are, i don't remember how they got there. over time, i've become a second-hand item.

does it make me worth any less? or is this how you become human--acquiring the mental and physical scarring that separates you from your neighbor, and yet joins you to that same neighbor? because everyone you know has survived, regardless of the magnitude of odds or obstacles, and your ancestors before them--long or short lives, they lived and you're sitting here, now, reading something brought to you only because one of my ancestors survived a shipwreck.

i must be optimistic this morning due to the impending vacation. but i'm looking at the world through dark glasses, seeing each year etched into my body. in the pattern of dents, i can see the tale of how i've survived to this point, what i've gone up against, how i'm still here.

in this era, the only difference is what you call that mammoth.

does life come in chewable pill form?

first of all, the wedding was lovely. the priest did a jig twice during the service (yes, an actual jig. i thought he was having a seizure at first, but he was dancing. apparently it was his last mass EVER as a catholic priest; he's leaving the priesthood. dan said, "i'd dance too.") and the reception, though a long ways away, was nice. i just wasn't in a mood to dance, all pms-y and tired and feeling like a hermit forced into a social butterfly's costume.

weddings, in my mind, suck. it's a HUGE amount of money being spent on one day of your life--money that in my mind could go towards so many different things. and is it really the happiest day of your life? my mom always said the day she had her kids was the happiest day of her life, and dad agreed. i suppose that's spending money on something different, but still...

that being said, i don't want to get married by a judge in a courthouse. i'd like to have my family near, and a few friends. but not everyone i've ever known, and certainly not my extended family. there's just too many of them, especially on my mom's italian side.

my ideal wedding would be an outdoor party, with orderves and maybe some barbeque chicken sandwiches, vegetarian for friends who don't do meat. i'd like everyone to show up and mingle, have a glass of lemonade, chat, etc. after about half hour or so, have the officiant call attention, and instead of sitting in neat rows, just have the ceremony with everyone gathered around in a circle. then afterwards, cake and bocce ball, or something fun that's not a dance.

or just rent a restaurant--my choice would be stephano's, across the street; it's a little italian place. have dinner and drinks, then the service right there, and ta-da! you're done. course that can't be very cheap, either.

and as dan pointed out, there'd be a lot of miffed family members if they didn't receive even an invite. i just don't want to spend too much on something like this. my mom suggested a cake and champagne wedding, which is what they had--just the wedding and the reception just with cake, etc. but when my sister tried this, my mom vetoed it, and came up with money for sara to have a reception for the whole crew.

it was very nice, and i doubt sara regrets any of it, but it's not my style. i don't want a big church thing; i want small and laid back. i don't want a white dress...well, not necessarily. (; i just don't know what dress i would wear...but that would just require shopping trips, and i'd be fine with those.

but i don't want to just stand in the courthouse, or elope to wisconsin. i like organizing a party; i just don't enjoy being the center of attention.

i wish that the answer could come in the same size tablet as my blood pressure medication--so tiny, but keeping my veins in order all the same. course, if that was the case, there ought to be an answer for world hunger and violence and everything else, too. an answer to questions without answers, and to answers that come with too many questions.

get me to the church on time

so my friend burt is getting married today. i'm quite glad for him; i didn't think burt the mountain man would ever find a gal, after the last stalker-chick relationship that was so horrible. but kate's perfect for him, and it'll be fun to watch them get hitched.

the bummer is that the reception is about 90 miles away from the wedding. wedding is at noon; reception is at 4. huh? i'm sure it was logistics and all. but with the price of gas...ouch. i'm sure we'll go, because some of our other friends will be attending, and we don't get to see them too often...again, painful pump prices...

so yeah. it kind of shoots the afternoon in the foot, as well as the evening. i don't know how long the reception is supposed to go, but we're going to drive home afterwards, instead of staying overnight in a hotel near the reception. it's kind of a play it by ear type of thing.

the title reflects why i'm typing now, instead of ironing like i oughta be, or showering, primping, all that crap girls like to do prior to events. i'm perpetually late, and i guess it's my penchant for being distracted by EVERYTHING that makes it so.

***

on wednesday i went shopping for a book i wanted to give to the happy couple: the prophet, by kahlil gibran. they're doing a reading out of it, and burt said he'd never read the rest, so there you have it.

anyway, kim the distractable is in the bathroom of barnes and noble when i hear two or three other shoppers come in. i'm putting my jacket on and finding my lip gloss in the neverending pit of my purse, and one of the voices rings in my head and sounds like serena's.

so thursday morning i sent an email to another friend attending, kind of ashamed that i was even asking, whether or not she was going to be coming to the wedding. i was told she couldn't make it.

again, i don't feel like popping her in the noggin. i don't feel like i have much to say to her. but it's annoying--like a mosquito you can't find in the dark of night, humming and buzzing away.

eventually, on those hot summer nights when you're already sapped by the heat, you fall back asleep, knowing that it will bite you anyway, but knowing that it's better than lunging around the room at 3 am with a book and the lights on, springing off the bed at walls and such. the small bite is a sacrifice you're willing to make, just to go back to sleep.

despite all of its loud buzz, the mosquito is very small.

which is how i'm thinking about this. the world's a small place; my dad regularly bumps into people from his hometown of about 500, on various areas of the continental US. it stands to figure that we're all mingling at this gigantic worldwide reception--and i'm bound to bump into people that rub me the wrong way, or people i'd rather avoid.

however, i don't want that to ruin the event itself. i don't want to run away if i see serena. i used to do that, when i was younger--i had this job while in college that i despised, mainly because my boss was a complete bitch-ass. i quit; but again, small town--she came through my line when i started working at the grocery store. my stomach was in knots as i rang up her groceries and made small talk, but afterwards the panic rose and i had to go into the bathroom for a few moments to let it roll over me and onto the next person.

i was talking to my friend nathan, a few days after that. he asked me something that has given me a step towards my own growth of a spine: "kim, why do you give her such power over you?"

i couldn't answer that question at that time. but after i found out that serena wouldn't be there, i chided myself for even worrying. was this going to detract from my enjoyment of the reception, if she was there? probably, to be honest. i'd be worried about dan, and what i would say if she approached.

i didn't want to be the chick on yahoo! news with the headline: GUEST RUINS WEDDING WITH BRAWL; RECEPTION HALL BURNS TO GROUND.

so i have to keep making serena smaller in my mind. i feel like if i say her name enough, it will become as normal as saying "couch" or "plate" or any other word. i have to remember that i'm at this giant party and maybe it took me a while to show up--the perpetually late thing, again--but i'm here, and the tiny buzz of one mosquito cannot control my emotions.

***

so. onto the Location of the Nylons, and the Finding of the Dress Shoes. i still have to decide what to wear.

*sigh*

this is why i'm never on time. too much rustling around in my head. i suppose if i could use an iron on those rustled thoughts as easily as i can on my pants, i'd be in business.

wee hours of dawn

well, more pre-pre dawn. it's about 145 and i'm just NOW home from the airport.

had a good weekend; cari was down, so we bummed around at the mall, had some fabulously fresh vietnamese food, and hung out on the sofa reading people magazine and eating pickles and mint oreo cookies. lovely. people mag was full of the usual celebrity mumbo-jumbo, pictures of horribly dressed but in style skinny bodies, and one of my coworkers.

surprised? tell me about it. we're flipping through--angelina jolie, brad pitt, brooke sheilds...dray?

dray's been having issues because of the city he moved to. his family consists of his girlfriend and their two kids, and his girlfriend's daughter from a previous marriage. they've been together for 13 years, just never tied the knot. anyway, they moved to Blackjack, Missouri, and found a home. bought and moved in. and THEN found out that they were being denied an occupancy permit because they weren't considered a family.

huh?

they're fighting it. the city stated that it was up to them to have unearthed this small code. whatever! who goes looking for something that's going to keep you OUT of a neighborhood? ridiculous. the notoriety has been hard on the kids--you know how kids are--and the principal actually suggested that perhaps they keep their eldest home until things "smoothed over."

the mere notion of it had my office up in arms. and apparently people magazine, too. go dray go!!! we're all behind you up here!

so tonight my dad and uncle flew in from palm springs, ca, where my dad's middle brother jed is recovering from a massive stroke from last april/may. he's got very limited mobility--can roll backwards in his wheelchair, write a little bit with one hand, and speak slowly and with lots of frustration. but at this point, anything is better than the original prognosis last year that had him not making it until the end of june. behold, the power of a stubborn irishman. (;

anyway, their plane was supposed to land here at 959 pm. i tracked it online; dad called and said that the changeover in houston would be late, about half hour, and that they were being forced to check their carry ons, because the overhead compartments were full--more time consumption.

i track it again. plane gets closer and closer...and then veers off and flies about 30 miles west of the cities. it finally lands about 1145. i drive out to meet them at the baggage claim...circle the airport a few times, because you can't wait outside in your car by the claim area. finally park and go in around 1215. dad's luggage didn't make it. my uncle's did, but minus a bunch of electronics. he'd brought a portable dvd player to show jed my cousin's wedding, and the family reunion pics from last summer. of course that was missing, as was his camera, his electric shaver, his cell phone...all kinds of fun stuff. we waited a little while, so that he could cancel his cell phone and file a report, and to see if dad's bag would show up. no such luck. finally gave up and drove them up to my cousins house, about 30 min north of my house. dropped off and drove home.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg. frustrating! i think this week so farhas been all about frustration and aggravation and annoyance. you don't sit up typing at the wee hours unless there's something fueling your fingers.

at the same time, the frustration i'm feeling--on behalf of my coworker and his family, my dad's missing luggage and lateness, and my uncle's stolen articles, my late arrival at work tomorrow morning (inevitable at this point)--it's all things that i can live with. that they can live with. yeah, they're all frustrating. but they're frustrating because it's all based on things that gave joy.

dad wouldn't be frustrated with his missing luggage if it didn't have pics of jed and the boys on the camera, which is awol. my uncle wouldn't be put out if he didn't know what he had lost. and dray wouldn't be so hurt by the town's reaction if he didn't care about his family and his neighborhood. i wouldn't be awake so late if i didn't have a working vehicle.

i suppose it's all about definition, and reminders. kalhil gibran wrote that what brings you sorrow is often what brought you joy, and what brings you joy sometimes brings sorrow. double-edged sword, this life. sweet and sour.

course, it could just be that it's the wee hours of the morning, and i'm chilled and typing while my pillow is singing its siren song down the stairs...

i will survive

the other day dan and i got sucked into watching the Top 100 Dance Songs on VH1. lots of them are recycled from other top 100 shows and such; but they're just as brain-sucking as watching spike tv's Worlds Greatest Car Chases--you have to see how it ends.

i'm not an ambulance chaser, not in the least. but i am a curious person. so we watched until the end of the show. not to ruin it for the rest of you lot, but the top song, according to the show, was gloria gaynor's "i will survive."

being deaf, mostly i only know the chorus of songs, until i've either listened so many times that i know the words or looked up and memorized the lyrics.

so i had to look up the lyrics.

***

First I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
without you by my side
But I spent so many nights
thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on
and so you're back
from outer space
I just walked in to find you here
with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed my stupid lock
I should have made you leave your key
If I had known for just one second
you'd be back to bother me

Go on now go walk out the door
just turn around now
'cause you're not welcome anymore
weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
you think I'd crumble
you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no, not I
I will survive
as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
and I'll surviveI will survive

It took all the strength I had
not to fall apart
kept trying hard to mend
the pieces of my broken heart
and I spent oh so many nights
just feeling sorry for myself
I used to cry
Now I hold my head up high
and you see me
somebody new
I'm not that chained up little person
still in love with you
and so you felt like dropping in
and just expect me to be free
now I'm saving all my loving
for someone who's loving me

***

one of my coworkers got a job elsewhere. she's someone who used to hang out with serena and me, back in the day. i will miss dil immensely; she's a fellow giggler. and i'm glad that she's going because she's wanted a different job for a while now, and this is definitely an upgrade from her current position, and she gets to work with her husband.

at the same time, my very first thought was: thank god.

dil's one of the people that asks how serena is doing. among others. from the beginning when she moved, i told the people asking to just email her, and gave them her email address. some replied that they had, without response. apparently it is simply easier to just ask me, because i was a point of contact in the past. i don't feel right being completely honest with people about everything, mainly because the web is so tangled. how do you tell the whole story without sounding like either:

A) a whiner
B) a whiner
C) a whiner

none of which are appealing to me. at work, the people i have told no longer work there. for some reason the anonymity of being online makes me able to share my whole truth. but in person--i lock up. i'm like my computer: too many commands and the screen freezes.

my pat answer is still that she just stopped talking to everyone in minnesota--friends, etc. obviously she still goes through the airport on a regular basis to visit her parents in iowa and brother in st cloud, but i'm not sure if anyone local hears from her.

at any rate, i was surprised to find that first feeling of relief: one less person to ask about serena.

***

in therapy on thursday, helene and i talked about taking responsibility for your actions and emotions, and yours alone. i pull a discussion move that exactly mirrors my dad's, from when i was a kid: "it's all my fault, just blame me, that'll end the argument." what it does, helene explained, is give the other party an easy out: "fine, i'll just blame you then." and then i carry around the responsibility for that person's reaction or actions or feelings.

i told her about what cari said, that to think that other people have a problem with you, or to think that you are the activator for other people's feelings--that's selfish. that means that the world is revolving around you, which galileo already proved was scientifically impossible. helene agreed.

i know i've been carrying around all these feelings about all these things--and most of the time, i drag the other players in my staging with me. i make myself responsible for how they're feeling, what they're doing. and before i know it, i'm mentally and emotionally dragging EVERYONE around.

that's a habit, one i need to break. thaddeus said once that i have to remember that i am in my little bubble and dan's in his; same idea.

i am not responsible for serena's actions. i didn't force her to stop talking to anyone. that was HER choice. it was HER choice to walk away from the situation, to be what my dad calls a "fair weather friend"--there when life is sunny, runs away when it rains. i didn't MAKE her do anything.

it's difficult to keep that tenet in mind. i always feel like i could have done more, or differently, and that would have changed the current situation. true, but for whatever reason, the cards played this way.

no use crying over spilled milk. there's always a cat to lap it up, or a towel handy.

besides, gloria gaynor's voice is belling in my head: i will survive.

dreaming like a warrior queen

anyone who's read my blog for a while probably is aware that i have strange dreams. dan generally just shakes his head when i recount my inter-cranial night time epics.

around the full moon, they get more vivid. sometimes more wild, sometimes more real--i can't describe what it's exactly like. but it's always very visceral. being as we're only a few days from full moon, i expect that i'll have the normal range of strange.

i can control my dreams, ie, if i need it to stop because it's too scary, or wake myself up, etc. often i just watch things unfold, to see where my unconcious mind wanders.

kind of like putting a radio tracker on a moose, and then watching it ramble around on the gps.

***

last night i dreamed that i came home from work and there was a gathering in my living room; everyone in our normal gaming group, some just arriving, some camped on the sofa. dan, eero, corpse, and an old gaming buddy, terror. and sitting off to the side, serena.

i stopped when i came in. walked into the kitchen. dan came in and said, "i was just as surprised as anyone else. she just showed up." i said, "why is she here?" and he said, "i think she thought she could just come back like nothing had happened." as he walked back into the living room she said something about where everyone else was; dan replied that it didn't matter because darin wouldn't talk to her anyway, when he and cathy got here. which was the case. they walked in, looked at serena, and darin asked dan to go for a walk. corpse and i were to meet them somewhere else along the way and go out for dinner, as corpse had just helped us move something heavy.

i tried to stay away from that side of the room. chatted with cathy, who left soon after darin took and dan took a hike, with the understanding that i would drop him off at home when i found them.

corpse and i got in the car and went looking for the boys. across town, we found them sitting in this huge group of people, on the ground at a low table. they'd found some kind of training camp; dan was sitting eating bean-less chili and some cheese bread. i asked him what he was doing--he said that it was free, all he had to do was show up every day and they would teach him to fight. behind me a man was pounding a heavy stake into the ground, about as big as a fencepost. darin said he would demonstrate; he stood up and squared off with the post, and then slammed his hand into it. dan joined him. i could hear the smack of their skin on wood, hear the shouts of encouragement from people behind me, see little splinters flying off into the cold night air.

darin decided to go home for the night; he was going to walk dan to the restaurant, which was some distance off in the woods. corpse headed off with them. i went home to change clothes. i dug through my laundry basket in our living room, looking for something clean. serena moved over to sit nearer to me. i picked out my clothes and got up to leave. there was no one else in the living room, so she followed me outside. "do you want me to come with you?" she asked. "no," i said. "you can take the picture in the living room and your coke bottles in the garage and your shoes upstairs." and i walked away.

when i got to the restaurant and relayed my tale, dan asked me why i wasn't more of a bitch to her. i said that i couldn't be. there was no point in wasting energy. i'd wasted enough, waiting for her to want to talk. i'd wasted more, when she made the one effort to make contact, and i responded politely and heard nothing more. i felt i was done waiting, i explained.

after dinner corpse went home. (it's a dream, who knows how he got home...) dan and i walked up the lakeshore to meet my mom, who was cleaning out my grandma's house. the rest is blurred; there was something about some painted stones that were worth a lot of money, and the stones were lost, we recovered them but there was a fight with some kind of water demon or something.

at the end of the dream, just before i woke up, i was walking across a parking lot with a child. i told the child to go into the motel; it was one of those one-story places, light blue siding, black trim. the child went in the door and a pale gray bird flew into my hair, the size and shape of a barn swallo. tangled up and flapping, pulling little hairs like pin-pricks on my scalp. i swung my hair around; it was longer in the dream, just as curly. the bird tangled further up, closer to my head. that whole part was quiet--the bird made tiny struggling noises, i could hear my breathing, and hear the lake lapping shore in the distance, my feet stepping on the pavement.

finally it was free. it flopped around on the ground, and then shot me a panicky look, and flew off.

i laughed with the people in the motel room--dan, my mom, her sister, some cousins i think. and then i woke up.

***

i don't feel any different. the only two things staying with me are the explanation i had to give dan as to why i wasn't more mean to her, and the bird, tugging in my hair.

do unto others, as you would have them do unto you. in more witchy terms, do as thou wilt, an it harm none--other people, the earth, your cat, your self. i don't want to cause harm to serena. it would get me nowhere, except ashamed of myself for acting at that level.

before battlestar galactica last night, i watched a two hour presentation on the history channel about boudica, the queen of the iceni. back in the day (60 ad, to be exact) her husband was ruler of the iceni people; his pact with rome was peaceful, his lands offered tribute. in his will he deeded the land to the emperor of rome, and his two daughters, as was common practice: women were equals of men, most taught weaponry and war. prasutagus died; rome stepped in. they flogged boudica when she resisted, and raped her daughters.

in retaliation, she raised an army of over 50,000 celts and ransacked the nearest roman town, then the next, and the next, until she came face to face with the last few roman legions on the island, where they fell in defeat, victims to a significantly advanced military.

the program ended with the caveat that while she did what no other uprising had or would ever do, boudica also caused her people devastating losses.

i don't want to find that, in my self. i don't want to purge myself to the point of taking damage for my own actions--i'm aware, and it's pointless to do so. i identify all too well with boudica's need for blood, need for revenge. part of me wants to lash out and cause pain, wants to raise my fists and steel against what caused me grief. but in the end, i don't want my actions to stain my internal landscape to the same point.

if you dig down deep enough in london, you find a layer of red soil; that is the era of london burning at boudica's hand.

habits

i've got a lot of habits, mainly bad ones. to name a few:

1. i eat WAY too much chocolate when i get emotional
2. i scavenge thrift stores like crows on roadkill
3. i never call in sick to work

today i made an exception. i went to work...and came home. my stomach is just kinda wonky and it felt a little outside my realm of existence to be there. luckily i didn't have anything pressing to finish, so i told my coworkers and boss and here i am.

home.

***

there's a lot that went on in february. i feel like i'm unraveling as i mull over what all was stewing in the brainpan during that 28 day month--a real goulash of leftover bits, nonsense, and ignored emotion.

three things made up the bulk of my mental broth.

first was in early february. dad's two year anniversary of open heart surgery. it still makes me cringe a little to consider the scar on his chest, and how it came to be there. i think back to that day in the hospital, sitting there petrified and laughing.

the second was later in the month, on february 21st. three years ago, my dear cari lost her mother in a car accident.

and third was my own rollover into decade number three.

everything kind of piled up. as i peek back into the mess, i see it like three cars heaped and crushed on the highway, more slowing and crunching behind those three.

dad's surgery is something that my mind still clings to, in difficult moments. this morning as i drove to work i considered the death of a minnesota baseball legend, kirby puckett. he had a stroke yesterday and died last night. two saturdays ago i walked with my dad, upright and mobile, to support the american heart association--whose sole purpose is to educate and prevent heart attacks and strokes. i thought about my uncle, whose life has been shaped in so many different ways by his stroke, and who has had to re-imagine where his path travels. it all slammed together in a neat package, and i got a bit misty.

cari's mom came to me in a dream at the end of january. i woke up thinking that i had to get the spare room ready, because vicki was going to be staying overnight. now, vicki never came to my house. but i had this feeling as though she were arriving soon, despite the fact that she's been gone so long.

the girlie weekend up north coincided with the time that she died. it seemed fated that we celebrate our friendships, because vicki lived her life like a celebration. i miss her more for cari's sake than my own; but i do miss her.

and then my own wheel, turning: age.

birthdays are just like habits--only this habit is enforced by a much more rigid structure than my random purchase of chairs that need reupholstering. the calendar keeps marching along. i can file a complaint, but it's just that: a complaint.

it's been a long year since my last birthday. a good year, a bad year. i could file a complaint with the universe that it wasn't as good a year as perhaps it could have been--but it would be disregarded and ignored, along with any praise i might heap upon that same time frame.

the events that happened, happened. truths unfolded, stories revealed, history made.

***

i write when i need to write, when i feel the words pressing up in my chest and blurring my vision. i write because i have to write. i write out of habit, just like i eat chocolate. pavlov's dogs may have been more consistent than my own sporadic tapping, but if chaos is the constant, it can then be consistent, can it not?

this month reminds me that spring is shooting up through winter, grass through snow. the ice drips on the patio. the seasons turn, a habit larger than i can imagine.

awol

yeah, i've been awol for a while. dan reminded me the other day that i had only posted 3 times in february...not much, and i'm long winded, too. (;

thank you all for birthday thanks!!! (: (: (: (: (:

work's been nuts; lots of overtime for a few weeks, and now of course there's a moratorium on it, which means that you don't take lunches and then you have to come in late or take a long lunch...which piles up and becomes a longer workday, anyhow. ya'll know how that goes.

girls weekend up north was fabulous! we had a great irish dinner at brighid's cross, and then trooped across the street, where we did shots and gabbed and sang along to the jukebox and laughed until our cheeks hurt.

by cheeks i mean the ones on my face. (;

the next day cari and i had lunch at a diner, and i drove home. stopped on the way to do a drive by hugging in st cloud with my parents, and then jumped back on the road again.

the following weekend dan and i drove back to st cloud for a BUSY saturday. by 730 am we were at the st cloud mall for my dad's heart walk--which went VERY well! the wednesday before, i brought the donation form to work and passed it around the office. between my immediate coworkers and my own contribution, we had 220$. i called in a favor from a sales rep and she drummed up 200$ from the sales reps! the actual total was 420.00, and my company (despite seeming like slave labor at times) matched the full amount. on friday night, when we got home, i gave dad the folder. of course he got teary--he's just like me, never expects anyone to do anything nice for him. i think total, with his contributions and mine and my company's, he pushed over 1200.00! it was beautiful!

my mom, my dad, myself, dan and my bro in law, brett, all walked. halfway through my brother showed up, a little hung over, and walked the rest of the race with us. i think we were done around 9. on the way home we stopped to visit my sister at the eye clinic; she's got a new office and my parents had yet to see the remodel. got a tour and went home to clean up around 1030.

when we got there, my brother was already downstairs, playing with my sister's dog, maura. my mom gave him crap about wrestling with the dog and dave said he hadn't yet, because she'd torn apart a kleenex box and left evidence all over the crime scene.

the actual total destruction points was as follows:

1 book of my mom's
1 box of kleenex
1 plastic glass coaster
2 books i loaned my sister (who left them on the coffee table the night before)
1 tube of vanilla flavored toothpaste (mine)
1 toothbrush (mine)
1 toothpaste holder (mine)
and 1 comb (mine)

(sensing a trend yet?) i think it was the cat odor that clings to me.

anyway, maura my canine niece gave me a gift certificate to barnes and noble, so that i can replace the book that was most damaged (Love in the Asylum by Lisa Carey). the book was acutally missing only a small bit of the front cover, but most of the first 50 pages of the book, too. the other book (Hula Done It by Maddy Hunter) has tooth marks in the bottom corner, but is still quite readable.

spent the afternoon visiting; i rarely get to see david. it's like when you watch national geographic on tv and they show only night shots of the animal, because it's nocturnal and reclusive. dave's not a reclusive type, but he's also not one of my sisters, who like to hang out and chat over coffee or shopping.

around 7 or 8 we drove to becker, mn, for a benefit concert my sister had organized; she volunteers at a domestic violence shelter. it was all heavy metal, which is usually my music of choice. the first concert raised about 700.00, so she was hoping to make a little more than that with this one since the first was on a sunday and this was on saturday. the bar was smokey (ish) and the first band was okay. the second band was right up my alley--dark, crunchy and the singer's voice was amazing. kind of peter steele from type o negative, but not so low that you can't hear the song. got the cd and have listened a few times, and still really like it!

around 12 another band was coming on, and they had the executive director of the shelter speak before them. she was a gal my mom's age, who clearly did NOT belong in the bar. very nice, good speaker. one of the dj's from the radio station supporting the benefit got up and talked about her experience with domestic violence. the band started playing and we both went, uh, no. the sound was good but neither dan or i liked the lead singer. i moseyed over to beth to tell her we were sneaking out, but she insisted we had to stay...so we stayed. before the next song, the band said, "there's a girl in the bar celebrating her 30th birthday--kim, this one is for you. it's called victory song. "

it was very nice to be noticed, but i'm an under the radar girl. i was petrified that they were going to ask me up on the stage, or have me stand up, or something. beth came back for hugs goodbye and such, and we left around 1230. instead of driving back to my parents house, we just drove home and slept in on sunday. thereby avoiding mass on sunday morning.

yes, i'm a bad little recovering catholic girl. (;

tuesday the girls at work brought in lunch and cake, and then we met family for dinner at this organic restaurant on the north side of the cities. it was good, but somewhat bland. at the end of dinner, the staff brought out a peice of cheesecake and the restaurant sang to me.

*sigh* so much for under the radar.

wednesday night i met coworkers after work for a quick drink, and then thursday...cripes. what did we do on thursday? oy. anyway, yesterday morning we had breakfast with friends at our favorite breakfast cafe--their syrup is AMAZING! homemade maple warmed with butter...gaaaaaaaaaah. now i want more! (; did some shopping yesterday night, stopped at blockbuster for movies but couldn't find the one i wanted so i ended up with mansfield park...which was okay. nothing special.

now it's sunday morning. i'm up. the house needs cleaning.

i'll try to be more consistent. being awol is easier done than said. (;

quick

this will have to be quick, as i'm typing inbetween chores. the chicken is in the crock pot, but the cats are not yet fed, nor is their litter emptied.

it's the big three-oh on tuesday, but i think i'm just going to celebrate my 28th again. that was a good age. (;

last night my mental illness of choice came into focus so sharply that nasa should have been able to pick it up from space. "and here we have the great wall of china...and over here, kim's ADD..."

the whole issue was over where to go for dinner. dan wanted me to make a decision based on some options he had. i couldn't pick anything--because i honestly couldn't.

i wrote a poem later that likened my thought process to pouring water through a colander when you think you're using a funnel.

all of a sudden ALL the options are good. and all the options are bad. it's difficult for me to sift through and make a choice. dan suggested that i just pick something, some place. i know it frustrates him to no end that i didn't, and we had this fantastic fight about how annoying it is to the world around me that i can't make a decision.

at the same time, if i could, don't you think i would? i despise angering others.

thursday my mother called. she wanted to know what kind of cake to bake for my birthday. i was honest. i didn't know.

because here is how my through process went:

mmmmmmmmmmmm cake!!! i'm so excited to have cake that's made for me! should i have marble? or white? no not white, it's kind of tasteless...what about lemon with lemon filling? just heard dan say angelfood...with strawberries, delicious! but i'm not sure i'm in the mood for berries right now. or spice cake with some cream cheese frosting...no, carrot cake! so yummy! but no raisins in it...boy i sure do love chocolate cake, too...that cake we had for sara's bridal shower was so good, chocolate cake with chocolate frosting...

at this point i just grabbed something and said "marble...or chocolate cake, that's fine." to which my mother replied: "with what kind of frosting?"

*sigh*

it's not that i don't want to make quick decisions. my life would be easier if i did. it just takes me longer, because mentally i need to list out what my options are, and they get blurred and multiply like rabbits in my head, and pretty soon there's too many to count--they all are good, they all are bad. i can't prioritize which rabbit is the cutest, which is the furriest, which is the color brown...they're all rabbits.

all roads lead me to the same morass of thought: all cats are gray in the dark.

sometimes it reminds me of being at the nature center when i was a kid. they've got exhibits, they've got wild animals, they've got shows. and then they've got these boxes with dark fabric tops on them, and holes for your hands. you put your hands inside and feel:

a turtle shell
a bird foot
a leaf

you're supposed to quickly identify what the object is, and then lift up the flap next to the arm holes to see if you're correct. some things, when you reach inside, are obvious. others take time to decipher.

my problem is that i reach into that darkened box, and i feel around, and the objects are all there--scattered around in the box, a puzzle to be fitted together. i get distracted by each individual piece, so distracted that i forget that i am putting together a puzzle. in the end i give up--annoyed and angry at my self. i lift the flap and see the puzzle is only four pieces large--and then i get more annoyed because what seems like an easy answer, what seems like something a kindergartener should be able to solve--i could not solve it.

it's not that i don't want to be quicker at thinking. it's not that i don't want to be distracted. i hated that when i was a kid i was always the last one eating lunch, or at sleepovers, the last one eating breakfast. too many things were going on--i couldn' t focus on actually getting the spoon to my mouth at the same rate as my compatriots. i daydreamed in class--i think my third grade teacher said that i could be a very good student if i just applied myself.

it feels like after three decades, i'm still that child. that perhaps i should have better control of how i process the world. that i should put things together more quickly. intake is not the problem. i can keep up with what the world is tossing at me. sometimes i mentally move more quickly than my intake, which is the beauty of add. but for the most part it's just frustrating. your brain is moving so quickly, adding so many things onto your immediate options, that all you're accomplishing quickly is frustrating the person offering you options.

it seems awkward to think about picking up paper and pen when someone is optioning away, and writing down the options so that i can think of what i really want.

the same thing happens whenever i have to think quickly about what i want to do--the options become endless, and i just cop out and say, "i don't know," instead of taking the time to make my brain slow down and see the options. it sounds absolutely ridiculous: "can i call you back tomorrow and let you know what kind of cake i want?"

shouldn't i just KNOW right away what my favorite cake is?

perhaps. perhaps not. in the grocery store yesterday there were a hundred different options for barbeque sauce. they were all right there in front of me. it took me probably twice as long as dan would have liked to pick out one bottle for this morning's chicken. but with all the options in front of me, it was easier by far than standing in a different aisle, looking at cans of soup, and trying to think of what sauce to choose when i was in the right aisle.

i want to be as quick, making a decision. i don't want to leave even the minutae of my life up to the whims of others. but at the same time, i just don't know how, without imposing my limitations on them. i don't want to make dan wait for an hour while i puzzle out where i really want to go for dinner, or tell my mother that i'll get back to her later about a cake flavor.

it seems like i keep missing the gold by hundreths of a second. if i could find some way to creep up the podium from bronze, i would. it's just not a quick process for me.

bacterial companionship

so this week i finally was felled by the dreaded Work Cold.

the girl at the end of the row got sick first. then the next...and the next...and the next...and then on wednesday, after two stressful days that made me want to run away anyhow, i woke up a bit stuffy and sore-throated.

it's like watching the weather channel and seeing the big green or blue mass of pixels wander over your city, and then seeing it precipitate outdoors.

it was a good thing we were in training. i was sleepy and chilled; the usual suspects. by the end of the day, i knew that i had a nice little fever broiling on the back burner. i stopped and got some of that Lipton noodle soup on the way home: bascially, chicken broth with bits of parsley and noodles this (--------) big. literally. they're probably double that size in width, but it's the most basic soup imaginable.

hunkered down with blankets and such. catered to my cold. around midnight, just before dan got home from being out with friends, i woke drenched in my bed, clammy and hot at the same time, knowing that the fever had broken. i stumbled downstairs and requested assistance with repairing the bedsheets, and dan replaced them.

it's at times like these that i'm grateful that i have opened my life up and added dan to the mix. sometimes he does drive me nuts; i know i do the same to him. but watching him carefully tuck the sheet under the mattress--a herculean effort for me, at that time of the night--was so comforting.

i have a very, very difficult time allowing others to help me. it's something i'm trying to overcome, clumsily. i'm not proficient at saying, "please do this for me"--if it's just something for me. i can ask dan to take out the garbage, or feed the cats--those seem like community property issues. but to ask him to replace my sheets, or get a glass of water--that seems like it is asking a great deal, because the effort is for no one but me.

***

last week i had dinner with my friend amanda, on her way through town, headed out west. we talked at length about where we were at in our respective relationships. i can see that she is where dan and i were years ago, before the gates opened last year, before questions and answers that you didn't want to ask or hear, before therapists and cognitive behavioral therapy.

we talked about my journey, about hers. i did not like to talk about anything "too personal" with anyone, for a long time. i've changed my opinion about this, quite a bit. however, sharing your story does not have to be whining, or asking for pity. i can relate my life's tale, thus far, and she can relate hers, and we can communually learn from them.

***

the moral of today's blog? sharing words and feelings is good. sharing a hug is good. sharing in general is good.

that being said, i'd feel just fine if my coworkers hadn't been so gracious with their virus-giving.

the archaeology of the soul

for the past few weeks i've kind of hidden in my hole. i just felt like i couldn't deal with the world. head in ground, like the ostrich. me, looking up from a great depth.


sometimes it's like the world is moving much, much faster than i am, and i'm just tortoise-slow in keeping up.

tomorrow morning i see helene, my tdoc, again. i'll be glad to see her but i'm having some real issues with my meds since they got changed. the wellbutrin should be pepping me up but for some reason it makes me dizzy for a while after taking it. i keep reading that i need to give it time to work properly so i'm trying to be patient, but it's made my mornings very slow. and it's probably why i'm having issues with standing next to the rollercoaster, unable to track it as it whirls along the tracks.

i can feel the apathy leaking out of me like fine sand, pooling around my feet and bogging me down.

there just doesn't seem to be a cattle prod large enough to get me going, currently.

it's not that i don't care about what's going on in my life. because i do. i want to call nathan, i want to check up on blogs. i would like to have some goal in my life other than "make it through tomorrow", and so on and so forth.

dan and i were talking about it this morning while i got ready for work. there's a lot of things i'm still trying to work through, since last year, since starting therapy, since being born...okay, i'm overreacting. (; but it has taken quite some time to get to where i am, and it's difficult to break it down and pick it apart.

my therapist told me at one point after some extensive testing that i was naive--and i have to agree. i have always had a slightly rosy view of how i feel about other people, and how i expect to be treated by them. (mainly i expect to be forgotten by others, and don't feel that i matter.)

anyway, after everything was finally laid out on the table last year, i had the opportunity to work on things with dan. which is going as well as can be expected, what with circumstances and such. if i look at things as a chart i can see improvement, leaps and bounds of it.

late this last fall, while my grandmother was busy getting to heaven, serena emailed me. i thought we were starting up a dialogue. i fell back into the hopes i used to have, the hope that dan had fostered in me while we were reworking our relationship.

human memory is slogged down with emotions. i don't know exactly what i hoped, at that time.

and she's never emailed back.

part of me wonders why.

i can understand keeping yourself closed off; i did it for a long, long time. but the value of cracking open your shell and walking around emotionally naked and honest far outweighs the safety and security of staying within.

i know that lately i've been burying myself under layers of fear, because i have niggling feelings all the time that people i hold dear mean me harm, or mean to do me wrong. dan's allayed much of this, by talking and going to therapy and being honest with me. at this point i'm not looking for any communique from serena. i've dropped that hope. it's starting to wither on the vine.

as my wise teresa says, you can only keep the door open for so long. you close it. you hope that something good happens on the other side, and you open it when the person knocks. but you don't expend energy waiting at the door.

yeah, i feel like serena's actions helped undermine my ability to trust people. but it was going to happen anyway, anyhow, at some point in time. the hard work of unearthing my fears, along with my dreams, had to begin, so that i could begin...i don't know, being?

the constant questioning of my anxiety has been helpful to me. why am i getting anxious? do i have any control over the situation about which i'm starting to hyperventilate, or am i only in control of my own reaction?

while questioning my self, i see the answer, buried deep--i'm afraid to lose people. i'm afraid to move away, i'm afraid they'll die, and now, i'm afraid they'll ditch me. i fear that i'll be some cast -off or forgotten relationship artifact, for some reader to dig up years from now in my words and deeds.

i don't want to be forgotten. and in the same vein, part of me doesn't want to forget.

luckily, i'm in therapy. i'm aware. i can learn. the adage about old dogs and their inability to learn new tricks is the part that i need to ditch. it's not a quick thing, this being. it's slow. like me.

a new world

spoon kindly offered dan and i tix to see "a new world" with her and josh last night. we drove over, had a lovely chat at applebee's, and met josh at the theater where spoon spends her money-making days. and nights. and weekends. (;

anyway, the movie was interesting. i had some trouble with it because the majority of the speaking roles were done in voiceover, or whispered tones, or a great amalgamation of the two: whispered voiceover.

so most of the movie was more of a picture set to music for me.

additionally, i felt the whole movie as if i were waiting for the movie to start. the intro music and shots were expansive and epic, just as an epic movie should be. but the intro music (which was screaming "fresh new world! fresh and sparkly waters! clean forests! natives coexisting with natures!" so on and so forth) anyway the intro music went on and on and on...until i was starting to feel like the whole soundtrack would just keep trying to be fresh and sparkling. perhaps it was the chords being played? dunno.

anyway, the reason i felt like i just kept waiting for the movie to start was because there was little to no dialogue. usually in movies you have the luxury, being that you're working in pictures, to display moments without language. given that space, it felt like the playwright ran with it--i don't know what the script looked like but i think it went something like this:

pocahontas dances through open field, smiling at john smith.
water rushes over river rocks.
trees are dappled with rainwater.
natives dance around fire, with john smith.
voiceover john smith: "is this all a dream?"

it really felt like one. my lack of hearing was a true detriment; it felt like i was back at cirque du soliel, where they speak this pidgin of italian and french, and you're not supposed to comprehend.

it was beautiful. spoon mentioned before we saw the movie that it felt like a long poem to her, and it really was. it showed off the beauty of the new world, unexplored and just as fresh and sparkling clean as the music portrayed it. it showcased a great performance by the girl playing pocahontas. but overall it was confusing and lacking narrative direction, and having a plot that seemed hastily scribbled on a recipe card. for a two hour movie, that's not much plot.

the story is well known; i'm not sure if terrance malick was relying on people to already be aware of the tale. ie, everyone knows the story of "little red riding hood" or the story of the first thanksgiving, no matter how flawed that memory might be. the plot seemed hastily scribbled on a recipe card. for a two hour movie, that's not much plot, regardless of what backstory i know.

i wasn't looking for an educational experience. perhaps that's one of those movies that you have to really be in the mood to watch. perhaps i was leaning more towards my usual direction in movies of action-adventure-romantic-comedy, or something with aliens landing and explosions and the saving of the planet by a scrappy and rag-taggle team of non-descript neighbors.

whatever the reasoning, and however lovely the movie was, with my lack of auditory nerves and attention span, by the end of the movie, i felt like i'd just watched a visual homage to the state of virginia, funded by the virginia tourism council.

but it was interesting. i enjoy seeing movies that expand my knowledge base and make me consider the art in general.

and on the movie subject:

dan pointed out that i was more willing to go see this movie than i was to see movies that he usually wants to see and that's a subject about which things are touchy between us. i think deep down, i'm so afraid of the movies he wants to view--usually horror movies--that the distaste within overwhelms any support i'd like to show.

which is sad, because i love watching the makeup and such. you don't get to see gouts of blood and flesh in things like "a new world." there's sores and scars that are well done. but horror movies are my type of fake wound.

the problem i have is that i'm an anxious person to begin with. jumpy music and creepy people onscreen add to that mix. and before you know it, i'm leaping out of my seat and pulling hamstrings.

my sister sara postulated that she doesn't mind watching horror movies, as long as she's at home. i think that's my problem, too.

the other thing i have a problem with is movies in the theater that i can't watch with subtitles. seeing a film with subtitles is like finally seeing the movie for the first time, for me. it's also a reminder for me that it is just a movie, something that i often have difficulties recalling, especially during horror movies, when i'm keyed up and nervous.

theaters have all these auditory things you can wear, but half the fun of seeing a movie in the theater is listening to the crowd, and you can't do that with headphones on.

what i would love is a pair of glasses that i could put on. perhaps some glasses that don't affect your vision or the screen, but that reveal (ala some kind of magic decoder from a cracker jack box) subtitles along the bottom.

i think i would have enjoyed "a new world" more if i'd understood what was being said. i think i would also be more at ease in horror movies, and viewing them, if i didn't get so terribly wound up by them.

i love movies, don't get me wrong. i love getting lost in the story, and seeing actors create characters, directors create a vision. i love seeing a movie that takes my breath away--whether that's from fear, laughter or sheer beauty.

i just have some control issues with when i see them, where i see them, and how they're able to be viewed.

perhaps three weeks from now when i'm in a poetic mood i'll watch "a new world" again, and find the gorgeous poem that spoon saw. perhaps i can find some way to be grounded during a horror movie, so that i can find the same enjoyment that dan does.

it's all based on perspective. i just have to keep remembering that it's all a new world. it's shiny, as kaylee says. (;

surveys and chemical reactions--POW!

dan had this over on his blog and i just had to fill in the blanks to this one. i pasted the idea behind each one in after i'd completed things. it certainly is interesting. i think i have lake bemidji state park on the brain. LOL

***

You're walking through the woods. What time of day is it? (The time of day is your outlook in life.)

answer: it's a bright and very, very cold winter afternoon.

analysis: like i said, i'm thinking of my fave state park, my fave season. i'm not sure if that is really what this question is looking for, but it's what's on my mind. i'm in the afternoon of my life? not the morning, the dawn? i'm not nearing retirement yet...am i?

As you're walking, you happen upon a cup. What kind of cup is it, what state is it in, and what do you do with it? (The cup, and your reaction to it, reflect your outlook on love. )

answer: it's probably a paper cup, tossed out the window by someone else. i pick it up and put it in the garbage when i see one, or let it go back to nature.

analysis: do i get the leftovers tossed from others? or am i just thinking of what's in the woods, the litter from careless hands?

You happen upon a body of water. What kind is it? What do you do with it? (The body of water is the size of your sexual desire and how you feel about sex. )

answer: it's frozen solid, an endless lake sprouting rivers. i walk out onto it.

analysis: does this mean my sex life is stagnant? i think if i'd been in a summer mood it would be different. in summer i think of water and i think about diving into it at dawn. the fact that the lake is frozen, in my mind, doesn't present much obstacle. it's just as exploratory frozen as it is when it's liquid.

You keep walking, and run into a wall. It extends to the left and the right as far as the eye can see. How high is it, and how do you get to the other side? (The wall is an obstacle, and how you react to it reflects how you tackle obstacles in your life.)

answer: it's so high i can't see the top. i have to find a ladder or a rope, or picks to climb over or through, or friends to help, or an airport...or i turn around and find something else to occupy my time, as obviously i don't need to get over the wall if i'm walking in the woods here.

analysis: apparently i'm still pretty apathetic about life if my last resort is just to live with the wall where it is. but i do like that i'm thinking of different ideas as to how to get past the wall before i just give up. LOL

***

so much of the above answers depend on what time of day it is when i'm responding, and what mood i'm in. like i said, another day, a brighter outlook, warmer weather, and i'd be saying that it was a clear dawn, i was diving into the clear water, picking up coffee mugs and finding out that five feet up, the rest of the wall is a visual illusion.

today, however, i'm thinking of my state park. of the snow crunching, the strident call of blue jays, squirrels chittering and shaking snow off fir boughs. and that's flavoring everything.

last night was spygame. YEEEEEEEE-HAW! i was ready for some explosions and such. time to roll dice, laugh with friends, and be intrigued by the complexity of dan's creation. (which he thinks of as simple...LOL)

yesterday was my first day on wellbutrin and the fuzzy headed feeling persisted, and was worse when i forgot to eat lunch. today so far has been fine. so hopefully, eventually, it will just go away.

i'm also on a new blood pressure tablet. all kinds of chemicals in such small tablets that make my body do strange things.

i was just reading the national geographic the other day. the front page article is on love, which they're looking into as a chemical reaction. there were all kinds of interesting points in it, things to consider. in the same issue, there's an article about switzerland and how only 17% of its land has been saved as national parks. everything else is ski and tourist area.

mapping the mind--does that detract from the mystery of love? of how it blossoms? should we leave areas unexplored?

i suppose in the mapping for one item, scientists often must come across another. "oh my, we were looking for parkinson's and we found humility!"

the writer of the love article reported of an test that was done involving a group of women. the women were given a t-shirts that men had worn, while sweating. they were asked to smell the shirts and pick out the one that was most appealing to them. invariably, the women picked shirts that matched men whose genomes were complete opposites of their own.

good-bye, e-harmony. hello, scent-a-mate.

perhaps that's why i always hear that you shouldn't pick up guys in bars. you're just looking, you're not able to smell their DNA.

i think about my own relationship, the wild pendulum on which we've ridden. dan is very different than me; aside from being male...LOL he's much taller, he's got brown eyes, he sees the world in a completely separate manner. but in the end, our brains are functioning very close to being the same: he's dg as bipolar, and i'm dg as adhd and depressed. not so different, when it comes to chemicals.

anyway, i think that the above little survey was skewed by my proclivities for walking in the woods, and my craving for it. perhaps a better survey would be to ask what your favorite smells are. perhaps that will tie me back to a better understanding of how i move through the world, and with whom i choose to connect.

warts and all

i should have a worry wart the size of texas or possibly the whole of canada stuck to my forehead.

i worry about friends, family, finances--almost in that order. but more scattered, i'm sure. kind of buckshot on the target.

randomly: i worry about dan. i worry about dan some more. i worry about filling my gas tank and not having my bottle of Heet to add, and how high gas prices will soar.

i worry about serena, and then i worry about WHY i'm worrying about serena, since she doesn't seem to worry about me.

i worry about eero, and my parents, and if the milk has gone bad in my refrigerator. i worry about alison, aka unrested, the girl whose blog i happened upon by pushing "next blog" but seems like serendipity that i did.

and then i worry about what, if anything, henry the cat might pee on next.

it's exhausting.

having identified that i have this problem, this anxiety overlapping anxiety, i need to find its edges and make it something that doesn't just creep over me and intensify slowly until the only thing filling my head is this worry.

the actual definition is: v., wor·ried (wûr'ed, wur'-), wor·ry·ing, wor·ries (wûr'ez, wur'-).

1. To feel uneasy or concerned about something; be troubled.
2. To pull or tear at something with or as if with the teeth.

word history: The ancestor of our word, Old English wyrgan, meant "to strangle." Its Middle English descendant, worien, kept this sense and developed the new sense "to grasp by the throat with the teeth and lacerate" or "to kill or injure by biting and shaking." This is the way wolves or dogs might attack sheep, for example. In the 16th century worry began to be used in the sense "to harass, as by rough treatment or attack," or "to assault verbally," and in the 17th century the word took on the sense "to bother, distress, or persecute." It was a small step from this sense to the main modern senses "to cause to feel anxious or distressed" and "to feel troubled or uneasy," first recorded in the 19th century.

course, the problem isn't that i shouldn't worry. it's the extent to which i take it. perhaps some people would classify their worry as kitten-sized, or lynx.

i'm a few classes above that. i can see my self in this arena--i'm the little pagan being torn to shreds by worry, wondertwin form of: giant slavering starving lionsand tigers and bears, oh my!

quite obviously, i need a lion tamer.

however, i can't depend on anyone to tame this fucker but me.

i wish someone else could sweep up the peices like i did when i was a janitor and cleaned up other people's crushed bags of potato chips.

***
worry eclipses hope. i don't hope for much of anything, except to wake up the next morning and not smell kitty piss. it's a big dream of mine. (;

often, universal signs surprise me--i think it's because i'm not hoping that i'm sent hope, in strange forms.

yesterday i was struck by a client's voicemail. there was the usual mumbo jumbo--hi, this is so and so, leave your message and phone number. and then just before the beep:

WHATEVER YOU ARE THINKING RIGHT NOW, YOU ARE PLANNING FOR LATER. IF YOU ARE WORRYING, YOU ARE PLANNING. IF YOU ARE JOYFUL, YOU ARE PLANNING. WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING?

i'm planning to worry. i wake up every morning, already worrying the lion by its tail. to me, it seems as if when i worry, i shave off some of the fear that is my own anxiety over situations, and then when the situation roars, i'm not so worried about it. i can be complacent.

what i know i'm doing, however, is worrying about things until they become insurmountable--i take the kitten and stretch it and pull it and tug it until it is a leopard. the sun doesn't shine, the sky doesn't rain--above me i've got the protective layer of rationalization, which just isn't healthy.

how do i stop? dan says i just have to leave it alone. but it's so very difficult to do so. if i focus--and i mean focus as in spend an hour working at it--i can alleviate some of the worry. but i'm just rationalizing. i'm telling myself i have nothing to worry about.

the kitten is still there, on the machine, being yanked into form. do i dismantle the machine, or find a way to remove the kitten?

take me for a ride in your car, car...

a number of things are leading to this post.

first of all, it was just friday the 13th, full moon. i think that's bringing out the crazy in me. not that it's an under-the-skin thing for me. i'm mixed nuts on a regular basis. it's the only consistent part of me.

perhaps i can lay blame on the non-caffeinated week and the consequent cupof joe i sucked down this morning.

or maybe, like lizzie borden, it's nearing that time of the month and i'm without my favorite axe.

*sigh deeply*

i'm nowhere near where i thought i'd be after three decades of use. (as in,body and/or mind and/or spirit, etc.) i guess as a kid i had this glamorous image of me, jet-setting across the universe in my own private lear, with perfect hair and a slender, toned, athletic bod, fifteen novels written and published, home in minnesota northlands, a cabin in the mountains and another in ireland, no bills, no worries, lots of dogs and cats and a loving, romantic husband, possibly a few offspring.

the image i saw while writing this at work at work (in an office-supplied mirror which says: smile! they can hear it in your voice!) is somewhat different. i'm a bit lumpier than the dream, the hair is frizzier despite cathy's best product and cari's best efforts, i don't write as often as i'd like, and i'm doing math. daily.

middle age is simply not all that it's cracked up to be.

i'm anxious. all the time, i'm anxious. sitting in the dr's yesterday morning, trying to explain the anxiety, i could feel it. in the sci fi show stargate they have these symbiotes that live inside people. for a minute, sitting there, i felt as if i had one, itching inside my head. the frantic scrabble of panic, rising up in my chest, a red balloon in a brown net. it fills me until my whole body is one big nest of worry. my skin feels like it's trying to squirm off my arms, off my chest. behind my eyes there's the scratching of nails on blackboard. and before i know it, it's spilled over and annexed my spinning stomach.

and five minutes later, i'm rolling down the hill again, falling slo-mo into the pit that's always waiting there for me.

i picture my depression as a venus fly trap--hungry, toothy, dark and moist.

i've always seen these things as things that live inside of me, separate from my self. always felt my emotions roll through me like the rain in spain, falling mainly on the plain.

sitting there with my blonde and polished and soft-spoken doctor, i finally i owned my mental box of chocolates. it was like signing your final papers that give you a car, or a house.

this is MY depression. this is MY anxiety. this is MY attention span, my high blood pressure. no one else's.

other people have different flavors of my condition. sometimes they overlap--and sometimes that's a relief. it's stopping to ask for directions and realizing that the seventeen year old behind the gas station counter has no more direction for you than you do, yourself.

go north, young woman. go north until the road slips off the earth and into arctic winter, stinging ice and bright wind. you won't find a goddamned thing up there that will give comfort--polar bears gnaw your arms, wolves run in fear, walrus bellowing.

but you'll have your warm self, the core of you, and what the hell else matters?

***

this work, this job of being my self, of taking ownership of my own body and mind--it's just not as easy as buying a house, or a car.

with my car, i test drove it. i picked out the model and the color and shape. i waited for six hours, signed some papers, and i drove it home.

unfortunately, your body's not a matter of a new paint job or a different seat cover. you own this thing, this thing you never asked to own. you're given this one soul--no instructions on when to wash it, fuel it, vacuum out the insides and replace spigots and gears.

it's taking it apart, piece by piece for some of us. realizing that you cannot replace all the parts and make it a new vehicle, or perhaps that it's not even the same model you always thought it was. "My God, I'm a FORD f-150 truck! I always thought I was a Dodge Viper! Argh!"

you can only limp along sometimes, until you can afford to replace the tires or have the oil drained off. you can wash the rusty parts and keep driving.

i was just driving around in someone else's car--i borrowed it, it was a shiny black Mercedes with a bad alternator, but it wasn't mine to fix. for months now i've been realizing slowly that i'm mine. i'm my parents' child, but i'm my own person. i'm not anyone else's keeper; i'm not kept by anyone. but i'm tied to all these people in ways that i never really inspected all that closely--because this wasn't my life, this was someone else's life, one in which i was simply an observer.

slide over. let me try taking the helm.

***

last year i was making phone calls at work. my intended subject answered the phone.

"hello?"

"oh, hello, this is just kim from adp."

there was a momentary pause, as i'm sure she put me in place. then:

"just kim? you're not "just" kim from adp. you're kim, don't sell yourself short."

can i grasp that? it seems too large to handle. i'm still having a hard time visualizing the idea itself--that i'm a cog in the wheel, but i'm also the whole vehicle. why is it so hard to care about your self?

perhaps because it's hard to look in the mirror. i'm my own worst critic, i know it. i can believe in others, but i don't know how to believe in my self. no one ever sat me down and said, this is how.

it's difficult to not ruminate and say, i've wasted all this time, all this life. hard to not say: i coulda been a contendah.

i still am a contender. i haven't wasted time. i've been sorting through the trunk of my life, tossing out old boots and some hubcaps that ended up there. but it's still my car. i can still get in and go...somewhere.

i just need to remember that i really don't need a map. i'm just here for the ride--but it's mine.

perhaps i'll pimp it out a bit. (;

things

this is from: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/programs/2006/01/02/#sunday

yes, it's early, but i started because it just spoke to me.

btw, you can listen to the writer's almanac, too. but this was just a reading that spoke to me in my head.

and if you think that's silly...well, you're reading the wrong blog. (;

***

Things by Fleur Adcock

There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
there are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.

***
and i have to add this quote; same web page origin.

Umberto Eco (author of The Name of the Rose, a fantastic novel!) wrote, "I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."

cheers, folks (:

cells, roaming like feral raindrops

that's what my head feels like right now.

nothing coherent. just random baffling things that keep buffeting me in the manner of storm winds hitting your siding. itsy bitsy spider style, i navigate my world.

*sigh*

i decided to do dan's WoW download for him today. of course, i didn't get home from work until quite late, with every intention of just eating some lean cuisine thai chicken (which wasn't bad) and sitting down to beat crap up with my new character.

however, i started the download at 7. it's now 840 and i'm at...let's see...16%.

take that, pentiums of the world.

i keep telling myself that i should just lean back, flip on my machine and pay my bills. but i'm just not up to bill paying tonight. perhaps tomorrow night.

tonight i'm up to running a bath. but i need someone else to run the bath for me, because actually going upstairs, wiping out the tub, running a hot bath, finding bubbly liquid for the bath, and getting and out of the bath, are all apparently far, far, far too much to handle.

so.

i'm sitting here. blogging. because that's the only thing that i can safely accomplish whilst the hurricane in my head swirls onward. i'm hoping it'll hit mainland and die down sooner than later.

***

i had this weird feeling at work today. like i was suddenly not seeing myself but actually feeling my body in relation to the rest of the space around me. spatial awareness? meh. not sure. just standing there next to someone else's cube desk, i had this clarity of mind--this is how much room you take up. this is the area which you inhabit. this is the size and span of how others relate to the idea of kim.

i carry my territory with me.

it passed pretty quickly, thank heavens. because otherwise i'd have gotten no work done, just stood there understanding something that i'm sure can be explained by the theory of displacement.

***

i'm just feeling...aimless.

like i'm not leaving tracks behind my self, when i walk.

and if i am, when i turn around, it looks like i've been dragging the carcass of a moose with me, but it's really just me, flopping here and there. sometimes other people have reached out and grabbed for a limb, and pulled me along like a little red wagon, like the one i had as a kid, only missing a wheel or two, randomly.

i feel this pressure inside of me--anxiety, hope, wonder, curiosity, the feeling that i need to write something. it's like the feeling you get right before you puke, right before you know you're going to need to run to worship at the foot of the porcelain deity.

the lean cuisine is certainly not producing this feeling. i'm physically fine, at the moment.

but whatever the flutter is, it's causing a direct effect on my stomach--the same butterflies i had as a child, on the first day of school. i'm trying to think of it in terms of WHY AM I FEELING THIS WAY and/or IS IT GOOD OR BAD. it feels bad, right now. teetering on the edge of sanity. or perhaps i'm teetering on the edge of insanity; perhaps this is what sanity resembles, and i've just never explored this part of the map.

my sister's world map: they had that map for years before anyone noticed that there were two Indias on it--one on one side, one on the other. a matched set of the same country. and the map owners didn't even know it; it was just a part of the house, wall decoration.

***

i feel far away from the screen right now. the little window at the bottom bar says that the download is at 18% now, then 19.

i suppose that if a watched pot never boils, a prodded download never completes.

***

this year has been odd. i was just reading an author's blog, in which she says that she's just not a linear thinker, and she's come to terms with that. i'm not a linear thinker either, which is why i have trouble plotting and writing a book. hell, i have trouble planning a blog post.

or when to pay my bills.

or run a bath. you name it.

it's like everything is suddenly thrown into such detail and clarity that i'm frozen in place. i'm a deer, in the proverbial headlights. i have looked faced to face with a basilisk, and am turned to stone.

perhaps that is what i found in side my self? the one genetically italian cell, my very own evil eye? i can suddenly see all the imperfections and perfections of my surroundings, threads and nubs of carpet. the hair on the side of my face is bothering me, even though it is all pulled back. only a few hairs touch the nape of my neck, and yet that few is too many. if i concentrate, i can tell you that there are five hairs pressing onto my skin.

this doesn't happen all the time. usually my brain is well behaved. usually it riots rarely and is more organized. today it was fine until i got home. now that i am home, it's running in circles. i appear to be typing, but the gray matter's on a stationary bike, keeping pace with lance armstrong.

i feel restless. there are things to be done. i need only stand up and move, and they can be accomplished.

but to stand is to risk. and to risk is to fear. and to fear--for me, is to be paralyzed.

***

someone is shining a flashlight into my head. someone's poking around with a long stick. it's me, searching for the shadows and trying to poke them out, push them out of the insulated cave in which they reside, quite happily.

it's me, reaching in, pulling them out like the snarling moles they are.

i'm scared to do that. i don't have gloves. stretching my arm into the snake tank. i remember a poem i wrote about dangling your feet in a shark tank. i may have to find that and post it, at some point.

some point later. some point not tonight. tonight i am up to emptying the dishwasher and writing a blog.

i remember my uncle's mantra, as he recovers and learns the limits of his body after massive strokes: little by slow.

i can chart my self; find the limits and boundaries within which my countryside lies. even if today i am beset by some tempest and trapped by a rainstorm of my own creation, perhaps tomorrow the rain will let up and i can venture out once more.

***

the itsy bitsy spider
climbed up the water spout
down came the rain and
washed the spider out

out came the sun and
dried up all the rain
and the itsy bitsy spider
climbed up the spout again.

curious

i have to wonder
when Big Lake was named
who wandered lake's edge
long enough
to say
it was big?

i think of that same person
encountering lake superior
or the gray atlantic

who decides to take a boat
across space uncharted?
how else could this planet be
mapped
down to each peak and valley?
is there a spot
yet
among towering trees
and squat buildings
that has not met
humanity?

i think about the land
before me
the map of my life
as yet,
mostly blank.

little squiggly lines,
drawn by a five year old
with a red crayon--
that is as shaped as i have grown.

am i afraid to find that my life is a lake,
bordered round
rimmed with green banks?

or is it scarier to think of self
as wide as
ocean?

kim versus the volcano

so a few weeks ago, i was getting ready for the annual cookie exchange at work. last year, my contribution was pans of brudgies, which are a cross between a brownie and fudge. very tasty and very simple to make.

this year, i once again had delusions of the food channel and decided it would be ever so grand if i made something with more panache. or just something fancier.

i looked through my copious amounts of cookbooks but ruled out pretty much everything because what i learned was: FANCIER COOKIES = MORE WORK.

and there's enough stress during the holidays to boil easter eggs...so i scaled it back a bit.

what about my grandma's refridgerator cookies? mmmmm, made with almonds...ruled out due to nut allergies at work.

fudge? too sloppy.

snowball cookies? nah, over done.

i made a rash decision to go online and search for something simple, tasty and with flavor that could be found no where else.

this is what i got:

Gooey Bars
1 pkg cake mix
1 egg
1/2 cup butter

mix it all up, press into the bottom of a 9x13 pan.

toss 2 cups chocolate chips over this and press into dough.

THEN mix together:

3 cups powdered sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 8oz bar cream cheese

pour this over the rest and bake for 30-40 minutes at 350.

i know what you all are thinking: this sounds messy. with a name like "gooey bars" i should have known better.

shoulda, woulda, coulda.

i was already having a rough-ish day when i started baking. i'd bought a lampshade at ikea that didn't work on the intended lamp. in the upstairs bedroom, the venetian blinds behind the roman blinds had tangled the cords to hell and back, a knot worthy of time i didn't have. i was pms-ing and annoyed, and i had to bake 90 bars to package neatly in groups of 6.

and due to genetic procrastination, it was the 9th hour.

i press dough into greased pan. i press chocolate chips into dough. some for pan, some for kim. i mix eggs and vanilla and cream cheese with my handy little mixer. i slop it into the pan.

at this point, i'm already considering the goop factor of the bars. i'm also considering the fact that the pans, which were purchased at the dollar store, are the right dimensions...but not the right height. they're like a 8.5 x 12.5 x 1.5...not a 9x13x2.

but in the hopes that they'll turn out amazing enough to turn martha stewart a lovely shade of envy, onward i bake.

and then i realize that i've forgotten to add the sugar to the top mixture. i'm ready to bawl over baked goods.

at this point cari calls. i'm so wound up and feeling defeated by domesticity that i'm not even sure i want to talk to her, my phone-chat soulmate. i get on the phone and i'm trying to be un-cranky, while balancing the phone on my shoulder and tipping my pan back towards the bowl, dumping the top layer back into the bowl, adding the fluffy sugar that doesn't want to go into the bowl and mixing with a spoon.

"i hear from dan that you're having a hard time," she says.

"yes in fact i am." i start to tear up a little, because i'm so frustrated by the day and all the things i perceive as so tiny that have added up and are now drowning me. i start to explain why i'm on the verge of running screaming and bald into the night, and as i explain, the entire situation becomes more amusing. by the time i've got the bars in the oven, i don't care if they work out or not--everything seems more manageable.

the bars are spilling over the sides of the foil pan (bought for ease of use, and so i can just recycle them when i'm done baking the multitudes of cookies...) and i have to find a cookie sheet to put under the pan. by the time the bars are done, they look like this and are a complete disaster:

unfit for cookie exchange! unfit! unclean! messssssssssssssssssssssssssssy!

part of me is embarrassed, even though it's cari on the phone, because she's staying with her dad and brother at the Sheraton or Marriot or something equally fancy, with pillow top beds and luxurious down pillows and soft, dove-colored walls. cari is classy; i'm feeling like the barefoot contessa without the valium i'm convinced keeps her so calm.

i finally pour a glass of wine, stop my own whining and ask: "so, what are you up to tonight?"

and cari says: "i'm washing my underwear in the sink because i forgot to pack any."

***

after laughing until i weep i feel better. but the bars are still taunting me from the stove, and the 9th hour has become the 10:30th hour. it's down to the wire: what can i create that's going to be worthy of my coworkers, who have been discussing for weeks what they're elaborately going to be creating... ? what, i ask you, what?

i pore over my cupboards and go back to the cookbooks. i finally decide to make my most basic weapon in the arsenal: chocolate chip cookie bars. i bake four pans of bars within half an hour, and by midnight they're neatly packaged and red-beribboned.

and i'm feeling like i should have done more--that these aren't going to be good enough.

the volcano, in my mind, has won the day.

dan gave me a pep talk about how everyone always loves the cookie bars, and how they're the best thing i make, and how simple is often the best option out there.

i go to work the next day with my basket in tow. i bring the volcano with me, in the hopes that the syrupy sweetness will be devoured by my teammates. if nothing else, i rationalize, i can just toss it, pan and all.

i email my friend amanda and commiserate about the flashingly busy week, and how i was so defeated by the eruption of mundane baking and lampshades. i tell her about how things got better after i talked to my classy friend cari and she was washing her single pair of underwear at 1030 pm in the Hilton bathroom.

***

everyone loves the brown bags of cookies. point for me.

everyone loves Sugar Lava, which is what the pan resembles, in my mind. point for volcano.

cari goes home and calls our friend amanda, who immediately asks, "how're your underwear holding out? still going commando?"

the circle is complete. truce has been attained. the volcano, for the moment, is dormant. (;