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Four WHAT?!

26 Jul

So for Mother’s Day, I asked Mogo to get me a subscription to a cooking magazine I liked. I hemmed and hawed between Everyday Foods and Cooking Light, my two favorites.

In the end, I asked him to get me a subscription to Everyday Foods.

A few days after Mother’s Day, he went online, ordered, and was billed on his credit card.

The rest of May rolls by. No biggie. Not expecting it until June anyway.

June rolls by. Erm. That’s a little odd, but perhaps we missed the cut off.

Most of July is almost gone. Losing temper quickly. I ask Mogo when we paid, and proceed to email the company.

Your subscription will begin with the issue dated September 2007. This issue should arrive no later than September 07, 2007.


Nearly four months later you will finally start my subscription? WTF?!?! Every single magazine I’ve ever subscribed to has started, at worst, in 8 weeks. I’m now waiting for a response back answering my WTF?!?! question, since I am truly dumbfounded at the time this is taking.

Everyday Food? You just lost a customer. You have nothing listed on the order form stating that it will take an inordinate amount of time to process an ONLINE subscription. I do believe I’ll be cancelling this “subscription” (if you can call it that since it hasn’t even started) and moving it over to Cooking Light.

Which I bet I’ll get before September 7 too.

Where is my mind?

17 Jul

Hooooo doggie have I been manic the last few days. I’ve been cleaning and purging and rearranging and thinking and thinking and up last and it’s been nice.

And I’m afraid that I’ll jinx it and it will all go away. I like this feeling. This kind of manic isn’t harmful, doesn’t mess with my life in any bad ways. It’s productive, and makes me feel like a can do something, that I can get something accomplished like normal people. I don’t feel like this on a regular basis, and frankly, it sucks. I WANT to be this person. I want to be clean and organized and not buried under the detrius of my own mind.

In a nutshell, it will suck when this feeling leaves. And I just want to be normal. I’m tired of looking around everywhere and seeing people with nothing real to complain about complaining. I want to stop hearing about people who can easily afford an iphone. I want a piece of that blessed life complaining about the little things, I want a life that makes the little things seem big. Being manic makes me want all these things, but also brings out the little girl who wants to tell the other girls who have almost everything to stop their whining.

I want it easy. By this point in my life, I deserve things to be easy, don’t I? Yet suddenly, after a respite of a few years, all the drama and chaos started again, lending even more credence to my atheism and general annoyance with the people around me. I want my children to be my only challenge. Or my weight. Not everything.

I’m a fucking mental cripple. Without the crutches.

I’d like to stop feeling annoyed when other complain about things that seem so insignificant to me-it makes me feel judgy and superior for no good reason. Like I have it worse than they ever would. But pain is relative, and I’m not one to make a determination about who really has it worse. I’m just a mess who stays up until 2am obsessively untangling the knots in yarn.

Quite the metaphor for my life isn’t it.

My cleaning right now is in some small way a need to start over, to tear down the walls of my house and start over. In dreams, my mind was always dark, full of cobwebs and old plaster walls. Mold, rats and despair. They next time I visit, I’d like there to be a little bit of sun.

Canada Day-Rained OUT :(

1 Jul

We decided to go downtown to experience some good Canada day fun, but in usual Canadian fashion, it rained, as it does most Canada Day’s (and Labour Day’s) thairos.jpg

During the first rain delay, we decided to go to one of my most favorite restaurants, the local thai place. Which, with small children who aren’t used to behaving in restaurants, can be a joy. The food rocked my mouth as usual, but I was eating too fast to notice.

Rosalyn enjoyed the skewers and the fake flowers however. Vivian enjoyed seeing how far she could drive her mother. thaiviv.jpgThe waitress told me I was lucky I could take my kids there since most kids don’t like their food. Like that matters to kids who, if the decide not to, won’t eat anything.

 We ventured out again after picking vermicelli off everything, seeing how far we could get before it rained again. Turns out that isn’t very far at all! But the girls got balloon animals that Rosalyn didn’t want and Vivian made explode, Vivian beat some kids up in a bouncy castle, had some older kid yell at her for wacking them with balloons and got a puppy painted on her face.










Why do puppies always end up looking like strung out rabbits when painted on faces?vivpup.jpg


Rosalyn was happy just to maintain control of the umbrella throughout. There’s nothing like being denied cover by a 2 year old to make you humble.





So we missed all the fun stuff like Chinese dancers and music that we really wanted to see. Vivian got her first experience in an outhouse which thankfully wasn’t as smelly as I figured, but we still had to talk about the stuff IN the toilet.

Then it REALLY started to pour, so we called a cab and ran home like sissies.


It’s that time again.

15 Jun

Rosalyn is 27 months old. In the mail comes a bunch propaganda coupons from Huggies, spouting off on the wonders and joys of toilet training!

uh, really? At 27 months? Huh.

Truth be told, I’ve made some casual moves in the direction of training her, but nothing of any seriousness. I didn’t rush Vivian along, and we’ve had next to no problems with it. I few bumps to begin with, and fine ever since. Night time took a little longer, but in the grand scheme of things, not that long.

Ros however….she’s her mother’s daughter, which is the other reason I’ve been avoiding even really thinking about this. If she is anything like me, she won’t do it just cause she don’t wanna.

We have a small kiddie pool on the deck, and she usually prefers to play in it nekid. A little while ago she came running in the house “Need to change bum! Need diaper!”-code for “I need to crap!” She had that look on her face. I tried to direct her to the bathroom “NO POTTY! NO!” she screamed as the largest piece of crap I’ve ever seen from a child fell from her butt, followed by a few more treats, as Vivian yelled “EW! TURDS!” as she moved out of smelling range.

Rosalyn made a run for the toilet, but the last piece o’poo couldn’t wait. So it lay, lonely in front of the toilet as she stared up at me.

I know that technically, she’s ready. She’s smart, dammit, she VERY smart. But I have the usual mother’s tendancy of coddling the baby. She’s still a baby to me. This afternoon at the park, she kept explaining that the lupin she was holding was hers. “This my flower. Rozie’s flower. It’s mine.” I stopped and shook myself realizing that yes, she isn’t a baby, not really. She hasn’t been for awhile. But I always assume she’s farther behind, in the same way I assume Vivian is farther ahead.

Everyone says that the older sibling thing helps to teach her when to go, what to do, etc, but so far all it’s done is make her sit on the toilet for a little while, turn the fan on, and yell “ALL DONE!”.

I’m expecting too much, right? I’m just busy enough without worrying about TWO children who need the toilet RIGHT NOW! 

Actually, I did have a question.

15 Jun

currently, we spend about 350.00 on groceries every two weeks, not including and peripheral purchases.

I find this a bit much for a family made up of two adults who order in at least once a week, and two children who only snack and nibble on everything.

I don’t find that we end up with an inordinate amount of food-in fact, I always feel like I’ve gotten nothing at all. We don’t eat a lot of meat-I eat no red meat-but we do usually get a fair amount of chicken, which is priced like gold up here. (Last price a saw was 8.09 a POUND. I can buy a child for less I swear)

I’m not always home at dinner, so I can’t always cook. I enjoy cooking, but someone else (coughMOGOcough) doesn’t, and despite his actual ability being very good, he’s not good at multitasking, so his usual meals involve shake and bake and noodles from a bag.

There’s always lots of food around-it just doesn’t always get eaten.

I shop like my father did-whatever strikes my fancy. My mother could squeeze a dollar until it begged for mercy, but sadly, she wasn’t around long enough for me to learn that talent. So I’m at a loss for a few things:

  1. Reducing my grocery bill. I’d much rather spend some money on ME. Problem is, without a car, I can’t get to the bigbox stores, or shop around. Although that saves me a ton of money since I don’t pay for a car.
  2. Creating meal plans. I’d REALLY like to create weekly meal plans, ideally 4 or 5, that we can switch around when need be. That way, we can schedule easy but different meals for Mogo’s cooking days.
  3. Cooking en masse-Does anyone do the “cook & freeze” meal prep days? I’d like to, but with only two days off, and only one with Mogo, I always feel squeezed. Any tips?
  4. Reducing the food we need/bring in the house. Any tips for learning to not buy so much? I know some of you are much better at this than me. Share your wisdom.

I have the will but not the skill. I know that I should be able to figure out if I buy a big bag of X, I can make A, B and C meals with it. But I think I’m caught between wanting Gourmet recipes in a Woman’s Day kinda quick and easy.

Sigh…I so wish I could stay home sometimes…

ok you bastards, enter the Event! already…

14 Jun

Remember this months Event!? About smells, and where they take you?

The prize is a cool 20$+shipping to spend at Creative Wanderings. And yet, I don’t have many entries…

hmm…..are we lazy? At a loss for words? Do we not want the prize? The prize rocks!

It’s still open til June 17, which is why I’m reminding you, all of you (even new you’s). I know we’re all busy and have stuff to do, but come ON! FREE GIRLY GOODIES!!! How on EARTH can you pass THAT up people?

I mean really….you even made Jen CRY. You’re heartless people. Just heartless.

ETA-I forgot to remind you that just for entering you get a code for 5% off, good until July 15. What’s there to lose?

If the president can do it, why can’t I?

12 Jun

I’ve been following the Genarlow Wilson case here and there for awhile. I felt extremely angry when he was jailed for 10 years for consensual oral sex with a 15 year old when he was 17 (yes, that’s right. 10 years!!!)

Yesterday I was pleased to see that his sentence was reduced to basically time served as a misdemeanor. That joy didn’t last long. The DA has decided to appeal this decision.

I’m continually stumped as to the goals of the courts. This was a consensual act between two teenagers-something that happens all the time. The girl was not 10, Wilson was not 25. These are two high-school students.

There was pressure for Wilson to plead out. Why should he? Why should he admit to being some horrible predator when he’s just an average male reaching his biological sexual prime? Why is it ok to get a lesser sentence by lying? He is not a monster. Anymore, I’m beginning to think the system is. The DA is quoted as saying:

Wilson should have taken a plea deal but that he failed to do so because he “has decided to become a martyr.”

Is it martyrdom to protect your innocence, to protest a ridiculous law that protects few and hurts the many? Are your children well served by a law that might get one of them hard time in a prison under a felony for having consensual relations with their boyfriend or girlfriend?

Currently, the average age to lose your “cherry” is 14-15. Many of the people I know (myself included) are within this age. Does that make us all criminals? Or our partners?

I’ll ask again-are we well served by the betrayal the legal system gave this man? Why shouldn’t a 15 year old be able to consent to non-impaired acts? Is she less of a person? That’s the other end of the spectrum here-the poor girl must be protected from herself-she couldn’t possibly know any better.

Her sexuality is not valid, anymore than Wilson’s innocence.

It could by anyone’s kid. That’s what scares me the most.

ETA: In an attempt to inject some levity-read THIS article, and take particular note of Wilson’s defense lawyer….ah irony, you smell lovely.

I’ve been a snarky snark snark lately.

11 Jun

It’s amazing what 4 days of kid free living will do to a girl.

I’ve been, how shall we put this……an asshat the last few days. My moods have been swinging, I have had zero patience for either child, and I’ve been angry and yelly.

Part of this is stress. Aside from flying, I haven’t had a real day off in a few weeks. We’re working on a major project (total survey revamp across our company) and I’m a little busy. Between travel and working at home and the kids and the stuff I need to do around the house, I’m a little short on patience. Don’t get me wrong-I love working from home, the fact that my boss is so flexible is worth all the little 500.00 bonuses in the world. But it’s HARD. Anyone who tells you working at home with small kids is easy is lying through their teeth.

I think a lot of it is a need for some alone time right now. Sure, when I was travelling I was by myself, but there is something about smushing my ass into a tight seat and having no arm room that ruins it. Being up until 1 am working each night and sick with an infection didn’t help either.

More than anything the transition back to noise and talking and children was hard this time. To have a glimpse of life without them, what could have been-it was heady stuff. (And I don’t mention this in a “gee, I wanna leave way. Just as a fact) To have a couple of days where the only voices you hear are adults, where you can sit and listen to whatever music you want without whining or crying or being asked to turn it off, to casually eat a meal slowly while reading-these are things about being childless that I miss desperately right now.

I know that soon, I’ll have plenty of time to myself, that childhood is fleeting, fragile like glass, but dammit it felt good to have some room to breathe, to not have the velcro that are my children attached to me, to sleep in a bed without worry or fear of a child waking up crying. To feel for a minute or two that I was without cause or responsibility for someone else-to focus solely on my job and nothing else-I’ve missed these feelings!

And I’ve been angry readjusting to my life. But I never appreciated what I had before kids, the time, the space, the quiet. And I crave it-my body, my mind needs that mental space that’s been missing for the last 2 weeks or so (not counting the grocery trip, which was at 8pm after working from home with the kids all day). I need some time to decompress, to just be, to find a zen place in my heart and mind again.

I feel mostly, like I’m missing something. Something simple and profound and oh so very important. 

Children’s Song, R.S Thomas

We live in our own world,
A world that is too small
For you to stoop and enter
Even on hands and knees,
The adult subterfuge.
And though you probe and pry
With analytic eye,
And eavesdrop all our talk
With an amused look,
You cannot find the centre
Where we dance, where we play,
Where life is still asleep
Under the closed flower,
Under the smooth shell
Of eggs in the cupped nest
That mock the faded blue
Of your remoter heaven.


Registering for school?!! Already!

8 Jun

In a few months, I’ll need to register Vivian for school.

You heard that right. SCHOOL.

I’ve got mixed emotions about sending her to school here-I’d love to homeschool, but I wouldn’t make a good teacher. (Trust me on that one). I’d love a catholic school, but they have none here. So the local public school it will be.

I remember my entry interview as a child-feeling judged and curious as to what we were doing. But on my best behaviour, dressed pretty in a home made dress. I was so excited for school! A place to learn, to have fun!

A few years later, and I was sadly disappointed by school. It wasn’t about learning-it was about curriculum. And that saddened me most of all.

Vivian is curious about the world around her, engaged, willing to work to find answers. She’s alive! How long until school crushes that out of her? How long will it take for the little girl I know to disappear under the baggage of school? How long will it take for her energy, and sweetness to be erased? Am I making a mountain out of a molehill?

It feels like yesterday I had just brought her home. And suddenly, she’ll be preparing for school! Where has the time gone? The years? How much longer will she tumble on the floor in front of me, trying to do gymnastics? How much longer will she throw her arms around me unselfconsciously? She’s already started the “I hate my Mommy” routine when mad-will that become real?

She’s excited to start school, and I know she’s ready-she loves other kids, loves it when someone draws her into learning. I suppose that many of my fears are worries about the social aspects. I hate knowing that someone will be mean to her. I know that’s part of life, but I remember being that kid. How I’d love to spare her that. But considering how assertive and strong willed she is, I’m sure more than a few kids will have an issue.

But how do I teach her about that?

Meanwhile, I’ll sit here as she tells me “poof! Your computer is a dog! Poof! You’re a cat!” and adore the fact that I love my daughter, and her quirks. It’s the quirks I worry about being erased. She’s so much herself, and I never want her to question that.

I wish I had something witty to say

28 May

But I’m at a loss this week.

I still feel like hell. This has now progressed to sitting at the back of my throat it seems, making me hack and cough all night long so I get no sleep. I had 4 hours last night. There’s nothing on at 4am if you’re wondering.

I got my first sunburn of the year yesterday! ow. And before you lecture me, it doesn’t matter if I put on sunscreen, the bloody sun will burn through it anyway. I’m not some fair redheaded lass, but somehow, I burn within 10 minutes in the sun. Combined with the fact that I get sick when I’m out in the sunny weather (think nausea, headaches, etc) I try to just stay out of the sun. But since I had to mow the lawn from hell (I don’t know WHY it’s so healthy, but it is gawddammit) I ended up a nice crispy red.

Vivian took her first crap in bushes on the weekend. She made sure to try and tell me before Mogo had a chance to explain. They also described said poop. I really didn’t need the dimensions, especially since I was cooking spaghetti.

Rosalyn can actually say “flowers” now instead of “flies” as she was calling them. She can also sing along to many songs, and has the prettiest voice. But hearing her sorta making up the words is priceless. We really need to record it to play when she’s about 14 and super easy to embarrass.


Watched “The Family Stone” on the weekend, which was quite enjoyable despite being a little depressing. I only cried once.

Vivian has learned the “ask Mommy, try Daddy” routine already.

The cat likes me best of all.

It’s Monday, and it’s raining.


I want to like my 4 year old, really…

26 May

ok, so she’s not exactly 4 yet, but since she would have been driving me nuts in my belly at this point in the pregnancy, she’s 4 to me.

Something had snapped in this child lately and I swear I’m about to sell her.

The world owes her something, and dammit, she’s gonna whine to get it.

She’ll cry, she’ll scream, she’ll screech and whine and shed a few opportunistic tears.

I’ll feel the need to slap her into next week. I won’t, despite the temptation. But the worst one is the waking up at night. Sweet crap, one of them has woken me up almost every single night this week. Last night Ros woke up screaming, inexplicably missing her diaper. Freaking out when I out a diaper back on her. Then Vivian woke up screaming because she couldn’t find her truck.

I was just like, you woke me up for a fucking truck?

Now she’s in Ros’s face, she who just woke up and is stumbling around like a drunk. I have to tell her 50 times not to do things, and she still needs to be pushed or pulled away from things. She just will NOT listen, and she’s driving me insane.

Yesterday was fun as well. She said she wanted to have a nap in our bed, so we said ok. Silence. Then thumping. We go upstairs to find some unsent Xmas presents opened with teeth, the chocolates strewn through the room. Thankfully she didn’t open the liquor filled ones. I don’t think she likes Jack Daniels.

She’s just…ARGH she’s so FOUR!

Suddenly, I can’t wait until she starts school…

If you can believe it

26 May

I am STILL sick.

How long can one cold possibly last? I thought it was relenting and then BAM!-last night it was like all kinds of little snot people camped out in my nose.

Have I mentioned that being congested is one of my top pet peeves in life?

I don’t mind the coughing. Or the losing my voice. Or the overall feeling of ICK. I do however mind making that snuffly stuffed up anteater noise.

There’s no point in going to a doctor either, since they’ll just say “fluids and rest!”

Easy for them to say. If I have anymore fluids I’ll burst. And rest…heh. With kids-as if.

Ok you, even you in the back.

23 May

I want some comments. Today is comment whore day I’ve decided.

Remember this? Where I said you could win a book JUST by commenting? IT’S STILL OPEN. YOU could still win.

Even if you comment on this post. You don’t even really have to tell me a story, although the ones listed so far on the other post are excellent.

I’m lonely. Don’t make me beg…..

It’s selfish Asshat day!

10 May

And not just because it’s Nat’s birthday.  (Go say HAPPY HAPPY-She’s OLD!)

This morning I wrote a letter to the local paper regarding the ASSHAT ATV riders who have decided that the walking trail near my house is also an ATV trail. Despite the signs (written and in pictures) which say no motorized vehicles. Despite the fact that there are many kids walking, many joggers listening to music, people on bikes. Despite the fact that the trail isn’t made for that kind of weight.

And yet ATV riders get up and arms when our provincial government wants to legislate the fact that their children shouldn’t be riding ATV’s, since it’s, you know, not very safe. These people can’t read signs-how can they possible supervise their children?

My father and I have also been bantering back and forth about people who can’t be bothered to reduce their impact on the world-people who look at me in horror for walking or taking the bus, people who can’t limit or eliminate their usage of plastic bags, people who won’t switch their light-bulbs either, or use less energy. People who think that none of it matters, or that global warming is “made up, cause we’d be dead already if it was true.”

How much can any of us take of such blatant selfishness before we implode? How much crap can the average person take before we snap? Is it really that hard to see beyond the point of your nose?

I really don’t understand-people who own vehicles, and drive them everywhere, as they complain about the cost of gas. People who are concerned about the impact of animal food sources but then buy products with enough packaging to mold a Frisbee. People who wonder why their electricity prices are so high, while they run heat pumps for their pool and leave their lights on all day.

Is there a way to help me understand why people cannot take such simple steps to help everyone? I can still improve in many ways, but we have drastically reduced our impact in the past few years. Hell, I’d like to be off the grid, but Mogo isn’t down with that action. I want my children to learn that stuff isn’t the end all be all. (Admittedly, this one if the hardest, since I also want them to not go without)

I look around and see people who have no concern aside from themselves, who cannot be bothered to look ahead, to think in terms of their children and grandchildren. It makes me tired, and makes me wonder why I even bother.

Consideration for others is a wonderful thing so long as it doesn’t effect me, right?

ETA-People who sit in offices WITH DOORS who have phone calls LOUDLY on SPEAKER PHONE also fall into selfish asshat territory today. You’re important. I get it already. Close the damn door!

I’m annoyed, with bonus

10 May

I’m annoyed that I’m always craving crap to eat, and then eating it. I’m annoyed that I seemingly have no self control. I stare longingly at runners swiftly moving past me, their bodies compact and ready. I stare down at my expanding self, and wonder how long until there isn’t enough room for me to spread into any longer.

I can’t control my eating. Why is there always one thing I seem to be unable to resist? And is this the trade off from not smoking? 50lbs or more? Why can’t I ignore that screaming need to eat the worst thing within my sight?

How do I retrain myself to eat only good things, especially when those around me are uninterested in trying to, or learning with me?

I’m annoyed that things that fit 3 months ago, loosely, are now tight. I’m annoyed that I haven’t gained any actual weight, and this is still the case. I’m annoyed that my foot hurts so much when I walk, keeping me from walking more.

I’m annoyed that there are days when I hate my body so much that I would tear it apart with razors. I’m annoyed that there are days when I hate myself so much, hate that I’m running out of sizes, annoyed that it’s all so far out of my reach and control.

I’m annoyed that I don’t have a doctor who will help me. I’m annoyed that I won’t be able to find on who will. I’m annoyed that all of this makes me feel even more helpless.

I’m annoyed that I have no will anymore, that it’s been leached out of my by childbirth, or tiredness, or by the simple sense of wanting to find something for me. Since I quit smoking, I’ve always been craving something, anything. I silent craving that seems just as, if not more dangerous than the smoking.

I’m annoyed that I want to cry, that I feel trapped within this body that isn’t me, within these feelings that I don’t own, behind this mouth I cannot stop.

I’m annoyed that I don’t know how to help me either.

5 May

I’m going to slam her through a window is Vivian doesn’t stop snivelling and whining and crying.

She’s been a fucking manic depressive all day long, culminating in some snotty crying about her not wanting me to forget her, and being sad that I’m going to die. She won’t stop crying, but then is miraculously fine after 5 minutes of reading some wonder woman.

I want to hurt her, and at the same time I want to crawl away, hide and cry my fucking head off. I KNOW she’s manipulating me, I know it, but somehow she finds the right way to shoot an arrow of guilt straight into my heart. I hate this. I hate it.

No wonder I’m so fucking fat. I can’t even get my head straight to deal with my kid.

I think I’ll go lay in my bed now.


3 May

I hate flipflops. I hate that flippity-floppity sound, the “can’t be bothered to pick my feet up” slide….

That is all.

I hate the dentist, but I hate waiting even more.

2 May

Irritating: Having to get a root canal on one’s lunch break

Fucking MADDENING: Sitting there for 30 minutes, only to be told there would be another 15-20 minutes wait. Since it wasn’t freaking apparent when I walked in the door that there would be a delay. Since I don’t have a limited amount of time to burn anyway.

WHY do these places seem to assume I have all afternoon to wait for them, while the dentist talks to salesmen? (Didn’t think I saw that did you Doc….)

ETA: I had to rescheduale for another time. Asshats.

Down with Bipolar.

22 Apr

I lost my fucking mind today.

I’m serious.

Wellbutrin isn’t working. Or at least, it isn’t working at this level. I’ve been feeling this way over the last 2 weeks or so, slowly. It’s been like a hole being filled, and suddenly, it was at capacity.

I woke up cranky. We went for coffee, where oddly enough, people were nice and polite and held the door for us. The coffee was good, which I expected since I NEVER put cream in my coffee anymore. We went home.

The screaming started. Mogo was trying to sleep in, and Rosalyn just screamed and screamed over everything, nothing. Vivian instigated her, making it even worse. She wouldn’t stop and I swatted her ass, something I never do. I stormed inside, tried to do the dishes. Down Mogo came, complaining about the noise.

That’s about when I lost it.

I vaguely remember slamming one of my favorite melamine bowls into my favorite drinking glasses. I came downstairs later to find both shattered. I ran upstairs, slamming the door, scaring the crap out of the cat, and I flailed and beat my hands against the door frame. If nothing else, being a teenager taught me not to use my fists. (I got lucky never breaking anything then-I didn’t think I’d be so lucky now. Once a doctor couldn’t figure out how I didn’t break anything considering the amount of swelling)

Then I stood there, panting, shaking, driving myself to tears. Rage filled my ears, my eyes, and I held myself back from heaving everything I could put my hands on out the window, or better yet, putting my fists through the window. I wanted blood, I wanted pain, I wanted discordant chaos and noise. I forced myself on to the bed, to curl up against my pillows and try to calm down.

Mogo came to see me, and the dam opened, and I screamed. And I screamed and I screamed. I wanted so badly to hurt him, to throw my fists and nails and teeth against him just so I could hurt something, so I could vent off my pure rage.

As usual, Mogo knew how to talk me down, talk me through it, force the anger out through tears-usually it’s sadness, but lately, it’s been anger.

It’s scaring me.

I’ve been known to get angry during mania, but this is different. This is rage through mixed states, and it’s freaking me out. I contemplated committing myself today very seriously.

But I worry. I can’t afford to be off work. What happens if it’s for more than a day or two? What do we tell the girls? What do I tell work? I can’t imagine they would be as accepting of a leave based on mental illness as they might be of one for say, cancer.

I’m scared.

More than anything, I’m so fucking frightened of myself, and my own brain. This fucking crazy I hate it. I hate that it might get worse. I hate that I have to sacrifice something of myself regardless of the treatment.

And I’m terrified that it will only get worse.

For years I saw only blackness in my future after 30. I’m 30 in September. Is this the year I succumb to my disorder? Will I lose my strength and take too many pills? This morning I told Mogo that it felt that my life was up on stilts, and that I’m scared that a big wave will come along and wipe it all down. I worry I worry and I take pills that seemingly only make it worse.

I just want a normal life. I just want a normal brain. Hell, I’d settle for always wanting to be alive.

Sometimes there’s no poison like a dream.

17 Apr

Ever feel really creative, but without the will to actually follow through?

Shit, I’ve been like that lately.

I used to paint, and stopped when we moved here since no one carried the brand of paint I liked. Then I had kids.

I used to write, and stopped because with kids I felt that my way with words, my ability to frame words into images in stanzas had slipped out with the placenta.

I miss it. I miss it with every bit of my being. I miss my attic room in Toronto where I could sit and paint and think and ponder. I miss that I never really took advantage of that. I’m inherently lazy, and hard to start. Once I get going, I’m fine, it’s just hard to get me moving.

I’ve had some short stories come out in spurts-bits and pieces of prose, but something is missing. I don’t know what it is.  I just can’t help but feel that I’ve lost some essential piece of my being, and I might never get it back. I was the girl who wrote-it was part of me, it helped define who I am. Someone I recently touched base with through Facebook, someone I hadn’t spoken to in years reminded me that she still has a story I wrote for her, “Cold Coffee and Flowers”. She kept it in case I was ever famous.  I want to be that girl again. I want to be passionate about my words-I want to keep them close-I want to be a better writer.

But I don’t think it’s something that can be taught. There’s a feeling to free verse, an almost invisible tone and measure that I follow. I don’t believe you can teach someone where their measure is. Either they find it or they don’t.

Perhaps the years of someone telling me I had a creative gift that I should exploit and work with made me think it was worthwhile to follow. Anymore, I feel the urge to create, yet no desire to do so since I see not the point. I guess sometimes you need the validation of a teacher or a mentor, someone to guide you, and help you form the words you’ve struggled to pull down onto paper.

I wrote once that I felt my words were stuck in my wrist, and I couldn’t shake them out. Maybe that’s why my wrists hurt so much lately.