End of Summer Blog

Well, way to leave my readers hanging. Readers. Do I even have any readers?

Hey – Readers! Someone please comment on my blogs, can you? I am dying to know if my words hold value to anyone other than myself. Kim, I don’t mean you Sweetheart – you have always let me know that you like my writing, and I love you dearly…for that and so many other reasons!

But still. I want some feedback. Come on, Readers, oh Readers.

Never mind. I kid. I am in a very frivolous playful mood these days. Maybe, if you are good, oh Readers….I will tell you why that is (said with conspiratorial grin).

But first, back to my Summer’s End story. (Not to be confused with Summer’s Eve.)

So last we left our intrepid heroine, she was nursing her injured, stung baby toe. She was left stranded by her spiteful little Indigo-colored car on the night of the Big NSI Show, but after several Lemon-thyme vodka drinks and silly games with great friends, she made the best of it. All of these details were a prelude, with a tense cliffhanging final sentence about Uncle Mark.

What about him.

I love my Uncle. We have been very close throughout the years. He is only nine years older than me, and a very youthful person in general, so we have shared many social interactions outside of the usual family events. And by social interactions, I mean dinner parties, going to ManRay, cocaine and alcohol, that sort of thing. For the record, I have only merely dabbled in the art of the substance, especially cocaine, and in revealing that I mean only to describe the type of informal family relationship that my Uncle and I share.

Of course, my Uncle is stark raving crazy. His nickname, when my brothers and I were little, was Crazy Uncle Mark. And with good reason, for my Uncle has lived a colorful life. He was a runaway at the age of fifteen, a street urchin in Boston in the nefarious employ of some of the city’s most notorious criminals. He lived in NYC during the disco heydey, and was one of those shirtless bartenders at Studio 54. He was in a punk outfit called Eddie Jette and the Blenders, and I can distinctly remember visiting him at his funky apartment under an overpass in Boston, drinking lemonade from frozen mugs and staring in awe at the New Wave decorative 3D sculptures he had arranged throughout the place.

Ruffian. Boy toy. Sex symbol. Art scenester.

And then, conservative corporate playboy (a paradox, I know), salesman at major corporations that thought he had a degree when he had never even finished High School. His cars – BMW, Jaguar, Mercedes Benz. He has lived sixty years’ worth of life in thirty-five.

Unfortunately, he is not well these days. An old touch-football injury from his twenties has matured into full-blown Degenerative Disk Disease. The vertebra in his back and neck are dissolving, crushing tender nerves beneath the added weight of scar tissue and his own obesity, the result of not being able to be mobile and stay in shape. His pain management is a rigorous ritual administering of the most intense pain medications available. One stop short of regular morphine treatment, he has been on these highly habit-forming meds for years and years now.

So he is depressed, naturally. Once an active person, full of stories and highjinks, surrounded by his “boys” from South Boston, he has systematically driven most collateral people from his life. He was forced by his medical problems to go on Disability, and the combination losses of his livelihood, his sainted mother, and most of his old friends and co-workers, have left him embittered, in pain and in fear of what may become of him throughout the remaining days of his life.

In recent years, he has made it clear to others in the family that he is in need of their support. He has nursed extended feeling of being marginalized. It’s true – they do minimize the attention that they show him, on one hand because he is the youngest and furthest away, geographically speaking. They also have children of their own, grandchildren in some cases, and work and community responsibilities. My Uncle, the single one with no children of his own, has traditionally been the one who has travelled to their homes for family functions, at times going extremely out of his way. He has upheld a traditional set of values, showing care and consideration to his brothers’ children, but these other family members do not extend the same courtesies to him, and my Uncle has had it with them. In his wounded soul, it has become painfully clear that he does not matter to them, now especially, in this his time of need.

I feel much sympathy for my dear Uncle, and have felt that compassionate tug upon myself to make sure I am there for him if he needs me, to try and help him if I can. It is not always easy, the social interactions with him. He is hyper-verbal, a storyteller who commands the floor in any given social gathering. He loves to entertain, and he loves to cook for guests, but his dinner parties are rife with strange rituals, domination and a conscious or unconscious (I have yet to determine if he secretly does it on purpose, a type of pathological drive to keep us there) manipulation of his guests’ time. At the end of an evening at his house, you are overfed, drunk, irritable and dog-ass tired!

I have regularly accepted invitations to visit with him, but I don’t like to accept each and every invite – it’s just too much. The thing is, and this is true much more over the last three years or so – he will drive a person nuts just during the invitation process! There are the invitation phone calls, over a month in advance (fine). Then, the follow-up calls begin a week or so later. I tend to not answer my phone during this period, since all too often, I don’t have an answer for him just yet! I don’t plan too many outings so far in advance – it’s just not my style. I don’t like to be locked down a month before something is going on, in case something else comes up or I decide to plan my own events.

This, of course, really upsets Uncle Fussy Pants. He will leave his follow-up messages, in increasing urgency and with ever more details of how the event may change, who the event may affect, optional outcomes of said event, etc. Even if it is a casual BBQ, he needs to know who is coming, how many people will be accompanying and what time their arrival will be – all of these details, weeks in advance of the damn BBQ!

Now I can understand the whole concept of preparing a meal for a specific amount of people, and getting the timing of a dinner down pat so that there is enough food and everything goes smoothly. But his concerns are so over-the-top! He anticipates disasters based upon the absence of prompt information from potential guests, but honestly, it is because his events are so rigidly planned that any slight deviation from a Master Plan will set the whole night awry! He does it to himself, and I have witnessed it over and over. The poor guy gets so flustered that his guests feel guilty and ashamed, and it’s really no fun for anyone at that point.

(Sigh) So yes, I hold off on returning those follow-up calls. Sometimes I call back, just to imply that it is possible that I may be able to come, but that ends up being an RSVP whether I like it or not.

We have talked about the issue of consideration, and prompt returning of phone calls. I listen to what he has to say about it, and agree to comply, if only for the sake of respect. But, I manage to screw up anyway! It is as if a tiny devil lives for moments during which he (or she) can bang a wrench or hammer into the parts of my brain that regulate memory and time management. By the time I remember that I have to call him back, it is too late and he is pissed off. Sometimes we can laugh about it, and sometimes it is clear that what is needed is a reciprocal acceptance on both our parts, of the habits and tendencies that the other possesses which infuriate us.

He called to invite me to a Red Sox game for my birthday. I have never been to one, and thought that it sounded great. He also wanted to know my availability for an upcoming visit by my cousin and her boyfriend. There are times when he consolidates his invitations, and really layers a bunch of extraneous information over them. This time he gave options for my cousin’s visit, all based upon numerous possible outcomes of other invited peoples’ schedules. Is that my responsibility, to intuit the availability of others and arrange my schedule accordingly? I think not. I accepted the Red Sox invite, and left the options for other visits alone, feeling that when more details became clear, I could offer a better idea of my own availability.

Then, I spaced out for a few days. I have many invitations to many events, and many responsibilities and many details to coordinate. I knew the Sox played on a Monday night, and that was all I felt the need to know. Of course, Uncle Fumey had been waiting for me to call him all week long, and had insisted, in his fevered, drug-addled mind, that we were to discuss at great length the arrival time for the Red Sox game, travel ideas and numerous back-up plans and oh yes, the cousin visit thing.

Long story short: we went to the game. We were having fun, until about the seventh inning when his meds started to wear off. Suddenly his mood shifted, he began his nonsensical overacting and strange instigation of me and those poor souls who happened to be seated near us. He’s an effing weirdo sometimes, and I laugh at first, until I get a tad fed up. I began to politely ignore his weirdness, and all of a sudden, we were arguing. The topic of the cousin visit, dormant until the seventh inning, had abruptly reared its head and my reaction, heightened now by my mounting irritation at my Uncle’s bizarre public behavior, was to become defensive and pissy.

We left Fenway and walked with the rest of Red Sox Nation, and although I had an inclination to tell him to fuck off for being such a pain in the ass, I felt that I couldn’t do that. Firstly, he had arranged the whole experience for me, for my birthday. Secondly, he was reacting in anger because I had not followed up on the damn cousin visit, spearheading the flow of angst within him in regards to the way that me and the rest of the bums in our family don’t give him the most basic signs of respect. Once his tirade began, I clammed up and let him (hopefully) get it out of his system so we could move on to a settlement.

He just kept going, and kept getting more and more vicious with each comment. According to him, I was the worst culprit of every disrespectful act one can commit to another family member. I was convinced that I was not the terrible person he said I was, but I was really hurt.

The night ended with me finally giving up on any kind of middle-ground occupation. I stiffly and politely (and sarcastically) thanked him for the wonderful evening, gave him his possessions that I had been holding in my purse, and walked all the way home. From one end of downtown Boston, across the Mass Ave Bridge into Central Square in Cambridge. Furious. Hurt. Confused and devastated, really. I have felt this way before, betrayed by a family member’s cruel treatment…..but it hasn’t happened in a long time.

There was a follow-up conversation the next day. As it turned out, while walking across Boston, I had called my Dad to vent. My Uncle tried to call me during this time, but there was no way in Hell I would have answered his call at that point! My phone died, I got home and when I pulled my keys from my purse to get into my house…..my Uncle’s house keys were there. That’s why he had been calling me.

Remember that little devil I told you about earlier? He/she has an uncanny way of twisting an already explosive situation into an unbelievable shit-storm! Talk about irony.

Uncle Mark: You lousy niece, you. You never answer my calls and it’s just plain rude!

Lousy Niece: Oh come on! Maybe I am slightly lackadaisical when it comes to prompt communication (to self: I don’t answer the phone sometimes when you call! On purpose! You are too much for me some days! I’m friggen sorry, alright?!!?) but haven’t I been there for you when you needed me, and don’t I regularly visit you and call to see that you are OK, and love you despite your difficult qualities?

Uncle Mark: Maybe, but your dad never calls! Your Uncle Bob never calls or visits! I’m sick of being last on everyone’s list, when I consistently go out of my way for all of you lousy fucks!

Lousy Niece: All I can do is try harder. I would hope that my actions toward you, my compassion and caring thoughts, would be apparent to you and make up for a slight lack of attention to phone etiquette details.

Uncle Mark: IT DOESN’T MATTER, SINCE YOU DON’T RETURN MY GOD-DAMN PHONE CALLS! What if it’s an EMERGENCY!!!!!!!

Like, perhaps…being locked out of his house on a night when a huge fight breaks out with his otherwise, possible former, favorite niece?

Summer. I’m glad you are over.

Tidal

Inspiration gathers at my frontal lobe

I’m swelling, softening those hard edges

and threatening to spill!

If it splashes on you, I am sorry

but I can’t stop being happy for one minute.

I wait for these moments

I can be patient when waiting, but

when it comes it is glorious and

I don’t care who sees!

Let it slam into the stormwall

Break on the barriers and threaten the streets

Let me fly into distant mountains

and make flooded hollows of the bare earth.

It is wet, it is warm

It is visual, rushing to make dancing tumbling stars

and frothy spray, and whispering delicate leaves

It is nature, sky and Earth – rich mud and scented pines

and I will let it live there.

I Got Lost

Ok, so after my toe got stung by that mean little mud hornet, life got sorta sucky. I say sorta, because really, even when things don't go my way, I'm still a fairly upbeat and positive person. When rent day is looming and I only have half of it and I get passed over by a potential client...I think to myself "Oh...oh boy...oh goodness..what will I do....something needs to happen soon, I need to make some money so I can pay my rent, please...." and really, that's when the tide usually turns. This has been the situation many times this year, I hate to admit it; that I teeter on the slender end of a branch which is stretched out over a muddy swamp filled with snakes and gators. But I cling, friends, I cling tight, and I slip back inch-by-inch to a place on the branch that is thicker, more sturdy, able to hold me up a while longer. Eventually, soon I hope, I will climb down off that branch altogether, cut that tree down and build a house with it....trap me some gators and sell them to a zoo for extra cash, you see where I am going with this.

So, even while my toe was numb (and it was, for several days - those mud hornet stings really pack a wallop!) I managed to bake up a storm for Jack's birthday party. I really enjoy doing this, even though I usually over-do it, spend too much on special ingredients, etc. But my little Jack O'Lantern is worth it. I packed up the goodies and drove up to Nashua for his party, with a gleeful anticipation in my heart for the NSI CD release party to be held later on that evening! I love this band, love the people who make up this band, and I am so unbelievably proud of them for completing the recording of such incredible music. My friends. Inspire me!

Now of course when you combine a sweltering hot August day with my poor faltering car, it can't end well. And it didn't. I never made it to the show, due to another mysterious bout with overheating, the type which happens even though I check all fluids before driving. This has happened before, and with dire results (the type which are, more likely than not, contributing to my poor car's current condition). At least I didn't push the car beyond it's limits, or have to push the car itself! (Which has happened numerous times, as well. It has really been an automotive crapshoot with my little Indigo, but I love it still!).

I limped back to Karen and Aaron's house and wound up having a fun evening with them, playing tipsy foosball and laughing with their adorable lawyer friend Mike. *sigh* Mike. All in all, not a bad way to get stuck someplace that I hadn't intended to be! And again, although I was very upset, very very sad that I would miss the show, the show that I had been looking forward to all these past months, I turned my wounded feelings into gratitude, of sorts. I made it to a safe place and had a fun night, and my godson was thrilled to bits to have his Auntie Janelle on hand to help him put his new Lego Starship together! With Mike. Hunky, funny, adorable Mike. *sigh*

So I made it back home with my car, not without some more confusing automotive mysteries, but who cares, right? It was late afternoon when I returned home, and the rest of my day was spent being a good friend to Kevin, who needed to talk. And phonecalls with concerned friends, to simultaneously explain why I didn't make it to the show and to get their feedback on how the show was. By the time I finished with these activities, it was late. I should have called my Uncle Mark. But I didn't.

*to be continued. Again*

Be Stung

What a testy week. I'm being tested, again...is that it? Is it a trial by fire-type situation, this...is it a testament to growth?

So many positives, so many good things, upswings. And then I went flying, right off the swing, landing in a great thud on hard-packed gravelly ground.

Good stuff? Yes, there was good stuff. The job at the Community College was challenging, but not overly-so. It was relaxing and secure...for two weeks plus, anyway. Then came a freelance project for my clients in Jamaica Plain; interesting graphic layout with that all-too-important message to humanity, to fight AIDS, get tested, etc. I have to love when a small job turns into a much bigger one, challenges me to be ever more creative and expand my design vocabulary - this needs to happen all the more regularly, and I need to see myself evolving and pushing forward on that creative front.

So I did. So I do - I get more creative, and I get more lively with my social interactions. I see a friend in emotional pain after a break-up, and I go to her, I comfort her..I cook for her. I spend good quality time filling her space with my voice and laughter and presence so she won't feel lonely or stuck. We have an art day - I teach a technique, and I draw for the first time in a year...and it's good.

I accompanied said friend to a club, middle of the week. We went to see some friends of hers play some very original, progressive and impressive music. It was an evening tinted with the vague hope that I would click with one friend in particular, which did not happen even though I liked him and would like to be friends in the future. But, I did meet another graphic designer who was sweet and cute, and I was inspired by her and I went night swimming with she and the cute keyboard musician. And that was taken, by me, as a sign of uplifting promise and new horizons, and new outlets for personal enrichment of all the types that fulfill me the most. And then I baked stuff for my godson Jack's birthday, and I looked forward to an event-packed weekend with friends!

Saturday morning I walked Zee in the park down the street. As we crossed the grassy open area on the hill, I was suddenly and violently crippled by a searing pain in the underside of one of my tender, small toes. I swore a blue streak and hopped and frantically scrabbled at my foot while my eyes brimmed with tears, since the pain was excruciating! I had been stung, viciously stung in my podiatric underbelly - somehow this would serve as a metaphor for my painful, disappointing and offensive week to come.

No, really....Are You Serious?

This blog is going to sound like a bunch of wimpy-ass sorry whining. And I don't care.

Ok..well.....alright - I won't whine. I won't be sad because a guy I met on the internet had confusion and decided after meeting me once, that he didn't feel a "full spark" and was unwilling to even consider my really lame attempt at the suggestion of being friends anyway. He considered it, overnight...he left me twisting in the wind overnight, after making such a foolishly brazen "joke" at the end of my ..."oh, really, it's OK...I don't think of this as a rejection, I think of it as a step forward for both of us...if it's one thing I know about life and people is that you can't help how you feel and blah blah-de blah fucking blah..." response to his kiss-off letter.

Alright - it wasn't a kiss-off letter. It was an unexpected honest reply to the unspoken question of whether or not there was a spark that could be carried forward any further between myself and this guy. And he felt no spark. He felt something, just not enough to want to give me any more time. He felt bad about it, but he knew he couldn't offer me any hope. Whatsoever. Not even a whisper of hope.

It makes me wonder - did I carry myself in such a way as to communicate a hope for some kind of future with this guy? I actually thought I played it pretty cool for a change! He was the one mentioning future outings, in passing of course. He was the one telling me somewhat personal stuff about his life and the difficulties thereof.

And here is where I am supposed to remind myself that when I picked up on the (usual) red-flag vibes....the uncomfortable admissions, the fidgety flaky comments, I knew that I couldn't let myself like this guy. I want to say that I didn't fall for any of those. What I can say is that I was aware of my own tendencies to be too "real", and this time, on this first date, I did none of that. I was the essense of true comfort and quality company, if I do say so myself.

So what's my problem? Why is this renting any space in my head at all?

It must be merely because.... now I have less to look forward to. For the time being. That fluttery feeling, hopeful anticipation...stuff I know damn well I should not necessarily indulge in, but fuck it - I create visions in my head to ENJOY - I enjoy the fantasies, the urges that wash over me like salty sea. And then I get mad when those happy, hopeful stories end in a cloud of disappointment.

Is it so wrong to look forward to a first kiss with someone you feel a connection with? Hell no. I can't wait to languish in the heated, brawny embrace of some lucky fella. I can't wait to laugh with someone at the sheer excitement that intimacy brings..that dirty, earthy slippery feeling. I want arms around me, rough chin scraping my neck, a piercing gaze on my nude body.

This guy is missing a good time *wink*

And I am not all slobbering and horny here - I want companionship with someone who actually likes who the hell I am! I want movies, long talks, fun with my dog at the park, music and dancing, even. I want great food and good conversations over bottles of wine...I want the beach, I want the mountains - a band that we both like, appreciating each other's arts and skills, hugs out in open air or on the subway.

I want that.

Are you Serious?

Think, Baby...think....

I am having a weird day. Not bad - I feel....suspended. I feel like I am making strong efforts, but they are muted, somehow.

Could be the weather. Last weekend, gorgeous, warm....full of fresh air and springlike tendencies. And then on Monday, it snowed. It snowed and slushed and rained, and we know it won't stay on the ground but we are sick of it!! Enough cold and raw weather - let's get on with Spring already!

I started a diet, of sorts. I have been drinking more lately, out of boredom, so I feel sluggish and thick. I don't look bigger, but my jeans are too tight and I hate that feeling. So I bought a huge box of Special K and I eat it twice a day with fruit, and then I eat one other regular meal - I will lose five pounds in two weeks, says so right on the box! I had to chuckle at myself though, on that first day...because there I was, pouring myself a big fat bowl of flakes, like three times the recommended serving size (one cup of cereal...is that even remotely humanly possible to eat just one cup of dry cereal?!?).

I have been enjoying food so much over the last six months or so - it is painfully obvious that I have been immersed in the art of cooking and eating...lots of sugary, buttery baked goods...rich chocolaty ice cream bars...pasta, oooh yeesssss bring on that pasta, baby. It brings me such satisfaction, it pacifies me and moves me in a way that not much else is doing at this time.

Mama needs some lovin'. Mama needs to kick ass at a fulfilling, creative job and make lots of money and pay her silly outrageous phone bill! Girlfriend needs to kick up her heels and feel sun on her face - I want to be cute and be noticed! Sister needs to laugh and make new friends, expand on the creative, social and intellectual fronts.....Mama wants to get in that groove, honey, I am a free woman! I no longer have the disadvantage of a controlling, jealous, condescending and somewhat unpleasant husband - and he never really stopped me from striding forward, but he sure as hell let me down by not believing in me; by dragging his feet on future growth and prosperity, by filling me with the certainty that I have sort-of wasted the last five years of my life trying to be happy with him.

And I am not angry with him, or even disappointed anymore - I am full of hope and full of desire again. Just bring on the warm weather, and give me more motivation to work out. Allow my stomach to shrink back to it's normal size, and for the love of all things Holy, give me the strength to resist baking cakes and brownies...Jesus God, they will be the death of me!

So, although this week is a bit of a - pill - a slightly bitter pill, still, I have completed some long-awaited tasks. I reworked my pdf portfolio, and it looks so much better. My work is evolving, and I like the way that imagined possibilities come winding through my thoughts as I view my collection of professional works....they can be better, and will be better, even still. Just give me a shot - someone at an urban, hip design studio....just let me in and give me a chance to grow with you. We will bounce incredible ideas around, like silly colorful crazy balls, zig-zagging around the open studio environment! Come on - there has got to be an interesting and groovy place for me, with other capable and creative designers who are expressive and curious about the world!

Jeez, lots of adjectives flying around in this post...but, I am filled to the brim with the explosive desire to succeed at this creative work! Just give me a chance...somebody.

Off meds - an Update

Ummmm...hello, Crazy Girl? What are you thinking?!? Going off the meds, eh....do you think that is wise, at a time like this, etc......just cold-turkey and so-forth...

Hah. Shameless copy of the writing of Salman Rushdie, that last paragraph. I am reading The Ground Beneath Her Feet and loving it...I love his writing style. The month of February had been a feast of Indian culture, Rushdie's book, and then I saw Slumdog Millionaire. It has been what I like to refer to as my "Bombayitti Themewalla". I have had a few random fantasies about Indian men - that's new!

Coming off this medication has been. I don't know yet. The jury is still out on this verdict - I am not weeping in a corner, nor am I steering clear of those usual fearful, wimpy thoughts that I hate. Those insecure thoughts, and the subsequent self-hatred that comes after, they were the reason that I decided that I had had enough and began to take medication to begin with.

Intrusive thoughts? Yeah - you could say that. When you misinterpret the words of others, or use them to fashion an assault on the Self....that's intrusive. When you get so worked up and dizzy and frustrated at life's little burdens, that you want it ALL to stop...that's intrusive. When you have an airhead moment and can't remember something....intrusive thoughts barge in and make you feel small and sniveling and worthless. Not good.

I was serious about treatment when I finally admitted that I needed a hand dealing with my troubled mind. It is a huge barrier to push through, that admission that you aren't exactly normal like others. Or, that you need something to make you more stable - yikes. It took a few years of the bi-polar express ride.....first you are up, up and away!!!! You are impervious to the mindset of mere mortals, you scoff at the stout and hardy mentalities of regular folks...because in your mind you are a dragon, a rock star, an unimaginable talent whose only weaknesses lie in the trappings of modern life...how you chafe at any restrictive force - you want revolution, you want anarchy, you want utopia, you want outer space!

And then you fall down into the well. You cannot save yourself or anybody - you are inertia, you are a worm in the dirt. Your dreams are deluded fantasies that revolve around your pathetic need to be loved, and you see in brazen clarity that the ones who are near you only pity you, wish you would go away, laugh at your crazy convoluted struggling and grow weary of your inept attempts at maintaining structure - you are too much work for anybody to want.

Well. Come on now.

Don't be such a bummer, alright Sayid? (Thanks Rushdie)

I. Am.

OK.

I'm OK! Not great - I'm poor, divorcing, out of shape, childless and jobless (not to put TOO fine a point on it!).

But still - I am alright. Sometimes I am fine, and sometimes I am dandy (but still waiting for that divine moment when I can be both fine and dandy), and sometimes I feel great! Not pack-my-bags-I'm-moving-to-Paris great....not I-just-won-a-Pulitzer-Prize great....but I am great. I painted last week, and I really liked what I did - I design on a daily basis and get paid almost-top dollar for it, so that's great. I paid my bills last month, amazingly, and boy that was great! I am getting my hair cut this weekend, finally, after over a year of neglecting it - and I am positive that I will feel great after that! Five-dollar yoga this Saturday - great! Dinner party here at the new digs next weekend - great! That martini I made for myself before dinner this evening...great!

It is very solidifying to realize that I actually did the right thing by taking medication. I also made sure that I coupled the pharmaceutical treatment with some psychoanalytical. It was not easy, but the journey was worth it, if not for any other reason but to make my lady-shrinks chuckle at my observations and my stories...and I'm pretty sure they were laughing with me, not at me. They liked me - they really liked me. If you can endear yourself to a psychologist and make them smile a genuine smile, then I guess you aren't all bad.

Suffice it to say, I may be jumping the gun by coming off meds right now. I was listening to NPR last week, and was startled to hear a show about depression and the effects it has on the spiritual lives of people. There was a guy on the show that was on five different types of medications and was calm and sure of the fact that he would be, as most depressives need to be, on medications his whole life. Fucking NPR. It was NPR that sent me into a tail-spin several years back because of a show about scientific evidence that suggests a person who experiences any form of child abuse, is literally brain-damaged as a result. What the F!!!!! Brain damaged. Yup, the scientists claimed that a victim's brain is permanently wired in a dysfuctional way after an abusive childhood...and this is compounded by the views of society as it pertains to depression and other psychological malaise, that people just need to "get over" things, which apparently is impossible if your brain is replaying scenes from childhood, the whole needle-in-a-groove complex.

Brain damaged. Is it ironic, or what...that most forms of abuse are instruments in diminishing a person's sense of self - that a child who is told repeatedly that she is stupid and made to feel worthless, will grow up with a phobia about being unintelligent, and then later, come to find out, has to learn that she is brain damaged!

Well, be that as it may....I did the work I needed to do. I learned a lil bit about self-love (and will practice it diligently). I gained some technique in the art of acceptance and spiritual growth - simple philosophies to guide and protect the more sensitive of my sensibilities. I'm going to fight to be alright off these meds....and if it doesn't work, I will willingly climb back into the safety net, knowing what to expect and how it will all go down. I will know that it will not change my personality - I'll know that it will even me out, not numb me down (except sexually, haha).

I really have nothing to lose!

Clap if you want to : )

Hell-oooooo Libido!

Yes. It's back.

Like a long-lost friend, a treasured and sometimes dangerous, troublemaker of a friend. The bitch is back, after a four-year absence...and she wants to hold hands with me again....go out into remote meadows and dabble her feet in swollen streams. She wants to laugh until her sides hurt, she wants to catch snowflakes on her tongue, run amok through the flocks of herding tourists in foreign cities. She wants to be anonymous, she wants to be splattered onto billboards all across the city!!!! She wants to devour, and be devoured...it has been a long time!!

But. Not just yet.

What the hell am I talking about? My libido, fool...it's back!! Yippee! So, not to be crass or reveal too much, but the fact of it is that I have been on medication for the past three years or so. This medication inhibits the sexual urge. Alot.

It is not that I have not had any urges. The urges were there from time to time, but diminished. I would act on said urges, and think that they maybe might be satisfied this time and then - nothin. It would just go away. Poof - gone. Just like that. It was like those strange little half-sneezes you get sometimes...you feel this build-up, and it's not very strong, but still you think you will sneeze, and then - poof. Gone.

Three years. No sneezes.

I suppose it didn't help that my marriage was suffering in it's death-throes. Things got really bland toward the end there. When the subject of sex would come up with my girlfriends, I would joke that when it came to that, I would rather be reading a good book. I've done alot of reading these past three years, let's just say.

But guess what! I came off the medication, just to try it, you know. I think I'm ready. It wasn't for the purpose of attaining those long-forgotten orgasms...I just, well...I am strong now. I have gone through the worst of the types of experiences that I have always been the most afraid of. The screw-ups, embarrassment, bad choices, bad luck, feelings of insignificance, disappointment and failure. Those situations all happened, and I got through it all just fine, better, in fact than I would have ever expected. I move forward now with a greater certainty, a more hopeful spirit, and no ill-will toward any of my awkward experiences or to the ones who made me feel diminished in any way. I am strong now. I deserve a chance to see if my sense of self comes from any kind of wisdom or strength, or just some pill bottle.

I am going with the wisdom and strength, bitches, and my returning libido is just the icing on the cake! And boy, it came back all at once too...which was...funny.

So now I have a new challenge to face. It has been the theory of many professionals in the field of psychology that an upset in the balance of chemicals in the brain can cause a person to self-medicate. Some drink. Some smoke. Some seek attention or love to fill a specific void. And some, like me, like to combine those (and more, sometimes...since I am a seeker and experimental). I have used sex as a vehicle to love, I'll admit it. Not every time, and not always forcing one or the other. I can keep my knickers on if I know that love will not ensue, and I can throw caution to the wind and just have fun and carefree connections.

So that makes the upcoming phase in my life tricky. I am single again. I don't feel desperate for affection or that next meaningful encounter. Nor, and I would have said this post libido-returning, am I looking for a shag. But, sooner or later, I am going to want to go out and play with my long-lost friend.

So, what? Bar hopping? Mmeh. Personal ads? Craigslist?

Ahh...Craigslist. A free, non-cumbersome, member-free platform to post one's wants and needs, and to read the wants and needs of others.

This could get interesting.

Oh What a World

Finally - I'm sick.

It may sound strange, like I have been hoping and waiting to become ill....that's not it exactly. I know I have made mention of the fact, in previous posts, that I rarely get sick and when I do it's not for long and blah-de-blah-blah......then why would I be somewhat thankful for this current state of ickiness?

Well - because it feels right. Because I am due for a nice couple of days of shuffling around the apartment with my fuzzy slippers on and my hair all askew. I like going to bed at 7:30 pm and sleeping fitfully through the night, having odd dreams about my grandmother and Christmas. Today, I know I will be in that in-between state - I'm not deathly ill, but I'm not up for any activities that require me to be a) outside, b) fully-dressed, c) cheerful and fun, and d) productive. It's like a dream state - I can just flit from project to project....no-one will be expecting much from me. And oddly, that's when I will get the most accomplished. You'll see.

Anyhow, here is a fun fact about dogs. Dogs tend to stay very close to you when they sense you are not feeling well. Last night, I crashed out very early, since it was clear that I was not going to accomplish very much...my insides were churning and my head whirring with little germ particles... like dust floating on rays of sunlight. My eyes kept closing on me and my breathing was weak, and I felt guilty because I had only walked Zico twice yesterday and both walks were not long ones. I knew I should take him out one last time but my skin was crawling and I just could not do it.

Then I thought, "Well, Kevin seemed awfully chipper today. He got a nice haircut. He's probably feeling all spry and wouldn't mind taking a spin around the block with Baby Boy Z." Kevin loves Z. So I asked him if he wouldn't mind taking Z for a quick walk, since I was already in bed by that time. As Kevin and I spoke briefly, he at my door and me in bed, Zico made sure he was beside me, licking my face insistently, sniffing around for signs of a visible danger. I have to laugh when he is all up in my face like that, looming over me with a look of dog-concern.

So anyway, Kevin being the prince among men that he is, took Zee out for a nice walk - after, I might add, asking me if I needed any tea or juice, or a hot-water bottle or some Vicks. What a man, what a man...ladies you need to snatch this one up before it's too late! I heard them leave and drifted off a bit, and then heard Zico's clicking toenails on the floor when they got back.

So, I hear his feet go click, click, click...through the kitchen and the dining room and then he stopped at the foot of the stairs for a second, assessing the situation. Then, he bound up the stairs, all legs and wagging tail, straight into my room and onto the bed where he could sniff around for that danger that he knew was there but could not see. Stopping at once to give me a lick-over, he curled up at my side and with a sigh, settled in for the night. What a dog.

Writer's Block

I haven't written anything in a while. I can only attribute this to a lingering bout of writer's block. Laziness, really. I have had time to write and much to write about...just, it has not burst out, like it has in the past. I love when my creative self becomes insistent....desperate, even. It wants to be expressed - it MUST be expressed! That is when the best stuff comes, free and potent and unrestricted. So I thought that if I began a blog about my apparent hesitation to blog, it would spark the flame, so to speak.

Guess not. Nothin yet!

Oh well.

I could share my sense of trepidation for the upcoming year, as it pertains to finance and career objectives. I am still hopeful, always hopeful, that I will get a great job and settle into my new single existence as Capable Thirty-Something, Design Barracuda cum Extremely World Wise and Cool Artist Chick. I'm getting there, I suppose, but I continue to be plagued with random thoughts of the recession, higher prices and lower bank account balances, unemployment rates and Out of Business signs on windows of small businesses......the prevailing image of a frail woman holding the hands of her two small children, fighting their way through one of the Black Blizzards of the Thirties, as if the Great Depression wasn't enough.

What if it gets as bad as it had gotten back then? Would it?

I am not unaware of the fact that the news of this recession is being fed to us by media organizations that sensationalize all manner of public affairs, global and local. The fear mongers are as busy as ever, forcing even the most stalwart and cynical of us to be aware of the potential for tough times ahead. The consumer machine is tightening its mechanisms, re-routing the marketing plans to offer customers the best solution for their new economic concerns.

What I will do is what I have always done: hustle. Be diverse and thrifty. Try to remember that consumer goods are not the only source of fulfillment. Get extreme joy out of being creative, learning new skills and constructing items of interest and use to others...only, this time, sell such items for money rather than giving them as gifts. Maybe, just maybe, I could be a working artist...instead of just thinking that it would be cool to be a working artist.

Anyway. The block is being lifted, I suppose. I need to do this....writing and trying to make sense of this new place that I am at. Clearing my head of nervous thoughts is rather like untangling an old-fashioned telephone cord right now, but I'll keep at it until it straightens and becomes composed.

Stay tuned.