Last night my husband worked on the lawnmower. He spent half an hour but couldn't get it fixed. So as I dreamed last night, I dreamed about mowing the lawn. It was so satisfying. I pushed it back and forth across my family's property and watched the grass all become even and trim. I was so happy and felt so accomplished-like I had finaaly gotton something right. I woke up at five and couldn't sleep anymore.
Yesterday sucked at work. It was pointed out that my efforts were not quite up to par. It was on something very minute but it really reinforced the fact that I am a failure at most things. All the right ingredients, just not added in the right order I guess. Thus the lawnmower dream. I have retreated into a fantasy world till it comes time to leave this job later this year, so I don't get terribly depressed about not really cutting it. I sort of daydream and work, and think about religion and life and all the stuff that seems more important than the job. You know you just keep telling yourself it doesn't matter till you convince yourself of it. It was wierd because for a bit I could feel. I actually had emotions.
So much of the time in my life has been spent behind some sort of wall. I can see what happens there but I can't really feel what happens. I don't feel joy, hope or sadness, just bland detachment. It is easy to be analytical that way and make choices that aren't influenced by emotion, when you don't feel emotions. The rest of my family is "crazy" because they can't make choices without impulsive emotions intruding. I am the opposite I guess. I guess in the past two years-since they told me I have ADHD-I have forgiven myself for fucking up so much stuff-I started to feel things. I feel joy and peace and I sit in the sun and feel it bask my body. I was reveling in emotion, sensuality, pain, pleasure, all of it because it seemed like I could feel. Granted perhaps a touch of hypomania, but still it was feeling.
Yesterday when I was -well-very mildly reprimanded-it was like my whole system shut down-somebody threw a breaker and shut off all emotional circuitry. I acknowledged what needed to be done and then left in a state of mild shock. I have this lump of nothing that clogs up my gut and makes me a bit bitter. I can feel the "depression cliff" lurking somewhere under foot, just out of site. If I step the wrong way, it is a deep deep plunge. Sometimes , before when I couldn't feel, it would be there and my foot would slip off the edge and make me stumble. It was the worst type of agony.
I think when normal people get depressed it is a mild lurch into melencholy. A friend told me that her dad was an alcoholic-for no reason- a couple of times a year-he would stop by a liquor store on his way home and drink an entire bottle of vodka. They would find him there passed out in his car. I tried to explain to her what I feel-it isn't a mild progression to sadder and sadder states-it is a plunge into despair-one moment everything seems okay, then you crash into catastrophy. It's the depression cliff, just waiting. We are the ones who go nuts one day and kill ourselves. (Don't worry-I'd never do that-got the dumpling to care for-family responsibilities keep me in line) In her dad's case , he snaps and gets drunk. I did this some when I was a teen.
In any case i can feel it under my feet, but I am being careful to step around it as I can't fall in there right now. I guess that is why i can't feel. It's better not to feel if it let's me walk around the edge of the cliff and not fall over. I will miss feeling though.
Sunday, April 25, 2004
My dandylions are looking so beautiful. Little yellow smiling faces scattered here and there all across the plain, overdone green of my neverending lawn. Together they end up being so much more striking than the pansies or the tulips and daffodils. The lawnmower the landlord lets us use is broken, hiding away in our shed, so it looks like nature is taking over our little plain-it's like liitle, tiny square house in the midst of a waving prarie. Out back my favorite spring flower is blooming. It is this little green weed that grows in little clusters when spring is just getting going. Tiny little purple tufts start growing out the edges, and it overtakes places where there isn't much grass. It doesn't smaell nice, but I always thought that faries would hide amongst it. It always seems to border those forgotten places that noone cares to look it. The landlord's son mowed the nighboring house yesterday and I sat inside , really sad as i thought my bountiful treasure would the next to get decimated. Fortunately , it got dark!
When I was very young I would hide in the space between my grandmother's house wall, fence and the nieghbors yard. The nieghbors kept there place up pretty well, but they let the fence get overgrown with honeysuckle as it gave them a barrier to the wrongs that went on in my grandmaw's house. To see through the fence, you had to pry back layers and layers of honeysuckle vines, and whatever other green delights grew in that shady spot. It had this thick, rich, wet, moist smell made up of old decaying plants. In the blasting Texas sun, being surrounded by that smell and the deep shadows was like a tiny bit of bliss.
I would sit there for hours during the summer, and in the spring I would find this little plant growing-little purple fey flowers. Nobody ever looked back there so I would just hide and dream. I had the ratty, stinky, chow mongrel Monkey as my companion. Her chain would get so tangled up, but she could still worm her way to my secret spot. She would join me, with her stinky dog smell and together we would cuddle. She too, wanted to escape.
It is rather funny that she was called monkey, as my grandmaw said monkey was a slang word for pussy. Yet she called the dog monkey. I think we at one point had another dog also named monkey. You see , my family has this way with names-it is a bad way. The border collie my GGrandmum got form the humane society was named Happy. He was the most unhappy dog I have ever seen. He sat on a chain for ten years and barked. I would try to pet him but he would jump on my legs and leave bloody claw marks. Occasionally my evil GGmum would wonder out to feed him and yell at him. When the old bitch died we took happy out to our place. he spent some time -a year or two-hanging out with my brother's bird dogs in our backyard. Eventually we got a little, tiny pink house at the top of a hill, centered on twenty acres of coastal pasture. We let the dogs loose and Happy disappered after two days. He was so old and arthritic but you could see this sad spark of excitement in his eyes. I can only hope Happy found a bit of happiness at the end.
If it was only dog names that went wrong it would be reasonable, however the names that were given to members of the family were the real tragedy. My mother's two brothers had real names-however they were known to all as Beaver and PeeWee. No wonder they are felons. My mum grew up being known by Delores Anne. Turns out this was her dad's old girlfriends name. Turn's out in ninth grade , he wasn't her real dad. She didn't know her real name or her real dad. The schhol insisted that she go by her real name. Unfortunatley my Gmum had named my mom after her uncle. My mother got stuck with the name Jimmie Jo. Why torture your kid that way? My poor mom got the holy crap beat out of her at school a lot as she was a pretty white girl with a boy's name at a school mostly populated with minorities.
So it only gets worse. My mum has kids. They spend quite a while trying to stick my brother with the nickname Pumkin. Thank god that didn't go over. My mom picks my middle name. It sounds all nice until I realize in high school that she thought it was Michelle, just spelled differently-nope. No wonder I never could spell it. Everone says what a beautiful middle name. I say "thanks. " I guess. My sister got cursed with the southern name problem. You want to name your little girl three or four names? Just cram them altogether. Marysue, bettyjo lynn alberts etc. So she has two first names and a middle name-none of which anybody actually calls her-she got stuck being little missy-missy to the day.
Oh yeah, I spelled my son's middle name incorrectly :) Issac rather than Isaac- It's the um, greek spelling. Don't make women who have just given birth name children! Especially with the genetic tendencies present in our family.
well back to lovin my little yellow dandies.
Puppy
When I was very young I would hide in the space between my grandmother's house wall, fence and the nieghbors yard. The nieghbors kept there place up pretty well, but they let the fence get overgrown with honeysuckle as it gave them a barrier to the wrongs that went on in my grandmaw's house. To see through the fence, you had to pry back layers and layers of honeysuckle vines, and whatever other green delights grew in that shady spot. It had this thick, rich, wet, moist smell made up of old decaying plants. In the blasting Texas sun, being surrounded by that smell and the deep shadows was like a tiny bit of bliss.
I would sit there for hours during the summer, and in the spring I would find this little plant growing-little purple fey flowers. Nobody ever looked back there so I would just hide and dream. I had the ratty, stinky, chow mongrel Monkey as my companion. Her chain would get so tangled up, but she could still worm her way to my secret spot. She would join me, with her stinky dog smell and together we would cuddle. She too, wanted to escape.
It is rather funny that she was called monkey, as my grandmaw said monkey was a slang word for pussy. Yet she called the dog monkey. I think we at one point had another dog also named monkey. You see , my family has this way with names-it is a bad way. The border collie my GGrandmum got form the humane society was named Happy. He was the most unhappy dog I have ever seen. He sat on a chain for ten years and barked. I would try to pet him but he would jump on my legs and leave bloody claw marks. Occasionally my evil GGmum would wonder out to feed him and yell at him. When the old bitch died we took happy out to our place. he spent some time -a year or two-hanging out with my brother's bird dogs in our backyard. Eventually we got a little, tiny pink house at the top of a hill, centered on twenty acres of coastal pasture. We let the dogs loose and Happy disappered after two days. He was so old and arthritic but you could see this sad spark of excitement in his eyes. I can only hope Happy found a bit of happiness at the end.
If it was only dog names that went wrong it would be reasonable, however the names that were given to members of the family were the real tragedy. My mother's two brothers had real names-however they were known to all as Beaver and PeeWee. No wonder they are felons. My mum grew up being known by Delores Anne. Turns out this was her dad's old girlfriends name. Turn's out in ninth grade , he wasn't her real dad. She didn't know her real name or her real dad. The schhol insisted that she go by her real name. Unfortunatley my Gmum had named my mom after her uncle. My mother got stuck with the name Jimmie Jo. Why torture your kid that way? My poor mom got the holy crap beat out of her at school a lot as she was a pretty white girl with a boy's name at a school mostly populated with minorities.
So it only gets worse. My mum has kids. They spend quite a while trying to stick my brother with the nickname Pumkin. Thank god that didn't go over. My mom picks my middle name. It sounds all nice until I realize in high school that she thought it was Michelle, just spelled differently-nope. No wonder I never could spell it. Everone says what a beautiful middle name. I say "thanks. " I guess. My sister got cursed with the southern name problem. You want to name your little girl three or four names? Just cram them altogether. Marysue, bettyjo lynn alberts etc. So she has two first names and a middle name-none of which anybody actually calls her-she got stuck being little missy-missy to the day.
Oh yeah, I spelled my son's middle name incorrectly :) Issac rather than Isaac- It's the um, greek spelling. Don't make women who have just given birth name children! Especially with the genetic tendencies present in our family.
well back to lovin my little yellow dandies.
Puppy
Friday, April 23, 2004
weeeeeeeeee! I have my very own tiny little blog now.
And this is my very first post on my very first blog.
Why am I always so far behind everybody else when it comes to technology?
I still love those stupid little 3" disks-I scratch the fuck out of CDs.
I am like a puppy. I love to roll and play and tear up your sneakers now and then. Then I will sit on the floor and peer up at you with big tear filled eyes and smile and hope you forgive me-or maybe you'll spank me. Sometimes I do stuff I likely shouldn't but it is so fun. At times I am very ill mannered and lazy because it is fun to watch what other people do, to see how truley upset you can make them over things that really don't matter. Sometimes I make people mad and push them to see if they have the courage to push back. So that's why I am a puppy. A naughty puppy, but still a puppy, that wants to play and run and roll in the grass.
I can't spell very well but I actually am pretty bright. Always remember that there are many types of intelligence-at least 12 or so-and we don't all have them in equal amounts. At some point I'm sure that I'll figure out how to spell check but till them please have patience (?).
My inability to spell stems from a rather poor memory for details. Rote memorization in general is not easy as my brain doesn't take info that doesn't have a place. It loves paths and connections and webs of information that all intersect. It enjoys logic and abstract intuitive jumps, not vowel combinations, just for the sake of vowels. For the same reasons I had a terrible time at arithmatic, but went on to do quite well in college calculus, DE, linear algebra...
I am Siva's puppy as Siva seems to be the best representation of God I can find. I looked pretty hard, and I finally picked one that seems reasonable. Sometimes I feel him surrounding me-I could almost breathe him in . So soft and sweet, I do indeed love siva.
So this blog is a place to record the random connections that arise when I mix up all the ideas that float together. We'll see where it goes.
puppy
And this is my very first post on my very first blog.
Why am I always so far behind everybody else when it comes to technology?
I still love those stupid little 3" disks-I scratch the fuck out of CDs.
I am like a puppy. I love to roll and play and tear up your sneakers now and then. Then I will sit on the floor and peer up at you with big tear filled eyes and smile and hope you forgive me-or maybe you'll spank me. Sometimes I do stuff I likely shouldn't but it is so fun. At times I am very ill mannered and lazy because it is fun to watch what other people do, to see how truley upset you can make them over things that really don't matter. Sometimes I make people mad and push them to see if they have the courage to push back. So that's why I am a puppy. A naughty puppy, but still a puppy, that wants to play and run and roll in the grass.
I can't spell very well but I actually am pretty bright. Always remember that there are many types of intelligence-at least 12 or so-and we don't all have them in equal amounts. At some point I'm sure that I'll figure out how to spell check but till them please have patience (?).
My inability to spell stems from a rather poor memory for details. Rote memorization in general is not easy as my brain doesn't take info that doesn't have a place. It loves paths and connections and webs of information that all intersect. It enjoys logic and abstract intuitive jumps, not vowel combinations, just for the sake of vowels. For the same reasons I had a terrible time at arithmatic, but went on to do quite well in college calculus, DE, linear algebra...
I am Siva's puppy as Siva seems to be the best representation of God I can find. I looked pretty hard, and I finally picked one that seems reasonable. Sometimes I feel him surrounding me-I could almost breathe him in . So soft and sweet, I do indeed love siva.
So this blog is a place to record the random connections that arise when I mix up all the ideas that float together. We'll see where it goes.
puppy
Today I busted out my car window. Not is some cool way like a fit of rage or an expression of disgust. More like an idiotic way. I went to rent a playstation game for dumpling and I locked my keys in the car. So normal for me. I stood outside the car, not even mad. I mean I do this so incredibly often-if it's not keys it is a hundred other stupid things-I don't even get pissed anymore. It is actually pretty funny. So I stood there with little dumpling, who insisted that a stick could be plugged in the keyhole, and stared remorsefully at the keys.
The lady from the pizza place next to the movie store saw me and said that one of her drivers might be able to help. He tried a bit with a hanger but it seems that Ford is intent on only letting car theifs with slim jims actually rob my stupid escort. A few times it almost looked like it would pop up but then it wouldn't. Damn. So at this point I started going back around the back of the car, looking for alternative entry points. We don't have triple A and I (classically) didn't want to wait for a tow truck to show up and then charge me fifty bucks or more for a five second task. I am so cheap.
So I start prying at the back window. In an escort it is like a triangle that points backwards away from the drivers seat and is held in place by a latch. I thought if I could get the window open I might be able to slide my arm through and unlock the door. As I tugged at it the whole window shattered outwards all over me. It just exploded. I got a couple of nicks on my fingers but they didn't hurt at all. The pizza guy just looked at me. There are those moments in life when you can tell what people are thinking . He was thinking "what a nut". I just started laughing. Shit, I mean at least I won't be locking my keys in the car anytime soon!
The car is a big piece of crap (I love you escort!) with 200K miles and this odd smell resulting from a run in it had with a gallon of milk several years back. One door hangs crooked and the dash lights work as a function of temperature and number of bumps encountered on the road. The winter before last the connection from the blower to the heater(?) went out and I had no blower for several months thus no heater. One day I hit a bump and it just started working again. The air conditioner amazingly still works but causes the car to die almost as soon as you turn it on. On long trips (ie 10 miles) the throttle tends to stick and in the summer it overheats in traffic. Nothing like it being 108 F and having the heater on. The amazing moment was realizing that the air outside was hotter than the air from the heater. All in all however it has been a good, loving little car. bought cheap and driven long and it just keeps going. I, of all people should have killed the car long ago, however it has never deserted me. We have a really nice Odessey, but I get the old escort.
As for the window it likely won't get fixed. We will be relocating soon and what is the point of dragging the poor thing halfway across the country. I was going to try and donate it to some poor mum in need but I am afraid by the time we leave there won't be much left of it.
Perhaps we can put my PC inside of it and douse it all with gasoline and have a bonfire. Invite all the neighbors over.
The lady from the pizza place next to the movie store saw me and said that one of her drivers might be able to help. He tried a bit with a hanger but it seems that Ford is intent on only letting car theifs with slim jims actually rob my stupid escort. A few times it almost looked like it would pop up but then it wouldn't. Damn. So at this point I started going back around the back of the car, looking for alternative entry points. We don't have triple A and I (classically) didn't want to wait for a tow truck to show up and then charge me fifty bucks or more for a five second task. I am so cheap.
So I start prying at the back window. In an escort it is like a triangle that points backwards away from the drivers seat and is held in place by a latch. I thought if I could get the window open I might be able to slide my arm through and unlock the door. As I tugged at it the whole window shattered outwards all over me. It just exploded. I got a couple of nicks on my fingers but they didn't hurt at all. The pizza guy just looked at me. There are those moments in life when you can tell what people are thinking . He was thinking "what a nut". I just started laughing. Shit, I mean at least I won't be locking my keys in the car anytime soon!
The car is a big piece of crap (I love you escort!) with 200K miles and this odd smell resulting from a run in it had with a gallon of milk several years back. One door hangs crooked and the dash lights work as a function of temperature and number of bumps encountered on the road. The winter before last the connection from the blower to the heater(?) went out and I had no blower for several months thus no heater. One day I hit a bump and it just started working again. The air conditioner amazingly still works but causes the car to die almost as soon as you turn it on. On long trips (ie 10 miles) the throttle tends to stick and in the summer it overheats in traffic. Nothing like it being 108 F and having the heater on. The amazing moment was realizing that the air outside was hotter than the air from the heater. All in all however it has been a good, loving little car. bought cheap and driven long and it just keeps going. I, of all people should have killed the car long ago, however it has never deserted me. We have a really nice Odessey, but I get the old escort.
As for the window it likely won't get fixed. We will be relocating soon and what is the point of dragging the poor thing halfway across the country. I was going to try and donate it to some poor mum in need but I am afraid by the time we leave there won't be much left of it.
Perhaps we can put my PC inside of it and douse it all with gasoline and have a bonfire. Invite all the neighbors over.
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