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corduroy & control
You would think that on nearly the last day of October that one could safely put on a pair of corduroy pants and be able to walk the dog.
Except that it’s Florida and already nearly 80 degrees.
I am SO craving some gusty winds and sweater weather. I need me some shivers and wool sock love.
This is where I say thank the lawd that my New England trip is just around the corner. Just thinking about all of the SOCKS! and BOOTS! and LONG SLEEVED SHIRTS! I am going to pack puts me in my happy place.
I’m in need of a happy place in a fierce way at the moment. This weekend things got tense between Mother and I. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to but when it does it is just as explosive as our fights from my teenage years and her pre medication years.
Each time usually begins because we approach change and conflict so differently.
Before Mother went to her conference she told me that her Big Boss told her that she should take her work computer home and just work from home. This was a huge relief to me as it meant that GM would not be alone for any long period of time.
Last night I suggested that Mother bring home the work computer Monday so that we could make sure that she can get on to her network, etc. But Mother wasn’t planning on bringing home the work computer at all. No she is planing on working 1/2 days at the office while I am in New England. Now while this can still work- it was not what we had earlier discussed. And if truth is to be told- I flipped.
Here is the deal: I don’t like change. I don’t like surprises. I don’t like coming home to a house where all of the furniture has been rearranged. It makes me feel like I am out of control.
But I am not so rigid that I can’t deal with change- just as long as I am told about it in advance. A simple, “Hey I am going to do _____”. A heads up, if you will. Then I am in the know, in the loop, up to speed. I won’t be caught off guard.
So the news that the scenario for GM’s care that I had sketched out in my pretty little head was not, in fact, how things were going to be, floored me. I know I should be more go with the flow, but seriously, I would like you to name me one infertile chica that doesn’t try to control all the other aspects of her life. (really, is it just me? & was that kind of lame that I just attempted to blame this on the state of my ovaries?)
Eventually Mother & I both calmed down so that we could discuss rather than bicker. (I would like to thank my Alabama therapist for teaching me how to stop and listen.) GM will be ok, her care will not be lacking, everything will be fine. Yes. I heard that.
But the aftertaste of anxiety is still with me. As any of my friends can attest, when I am away from GM I worry. It takes a great deal of time for me to disengage and unplug from the routine that I have implemented. But I wasn’t always like this. (ok, maybe a little.)
Sure the foundation for being a control freak has always been with me, much like the Force was always with Luke. (um) I grew up in an ever changing world. A childhood where things were topsy turvy and distorted without any rational explanation. As soon as I was on my own I started establishing an environment for myself that was safe. A place where I say when, or how.
(This also taps into my reasons for staying single. As much as I crave being in a relationship it would take a very loving & brave man that would dare enter my world of control.)
In fact if you took a blank piece of paper and wrote CONTROL in big block letters in the center you could then draw a line to virtually every element in my life. It may also show you how a person such as me might really enjoy taking care of GM as it gives me control. It may also show you that I am so the person that you must never throw a surprise party for (unless you tell me in advance).
The unfortunate bit is that while there is a sense of calm in being able to control things I actually do not like being a spazz about it. I really wish that I could be carefree and whimsical. I wish that I was the kind of person that could really go with the flow (& not just look like she is).
Blatant Post Idea Thievery
Brooke posted a great list of 10 things she betted we didn’t know about her & since I really want to get to work on my November outline I have seized on this idea for my very own list. Well except I am way less interesting than Brooke so you guys only get 5 things to mull over.
So without further ado here is a list of things you may not have known about me:
1) The first LP that I ever owned was the musical score to E.T. It had a picture of ET and Elliot flying on one side and I would watch the image go round and round and try to hypnotize myself. The first cassette tape I ever owned was Whitney Houston’s self titled album. Ironically the song I played over and over again was Saving All My Love For You. The first c.d. I ever owned was Wilson Phillips and I still know all the words to Hold On.
2) The first car I owned was a very used light blue buick skylark with a luggage rack and a digital dashboard. It was given to me on my 16th birthday and it sat in front of my house, undriven, for nearly 6 months after it was given to me. I was TERRIFIED to learn how to drive. I wanted no part of it and the fact that my Mother had figured that she could lure me into the driving world with a car made me furious. The car became one of the wedges that drove my Mother and I apart for about two years. I eventually did learn to drive and was shocked by how free it felt. To this day most of my “I wish I could escape this world” fantasies involve me behind the wheel driving that ugly ass light blue buick.
3) When I was in high school I was so clueless about new music that I made a bold choice to boycott it. I couldn’t keep up with who was in and who was out and was terrified of looking unhip. So I became all about the golden oldies and would only listen to radio stations that played Supremes and Otis redding. It wasn’t until I was halfway through my senior year that my friend Mandy told me about Tori Amos. Then I began to dip my toe back into the pool of contemporary music. I remember arriving as a freshman to NYU and seeing dorm walls plastered with posters for Morrissey and The Cure and The The and Nirvana and I felt very alienated. But soon I had found my sound thanks to Liz Phair and Luscious Jackson. I still have panic twitches about music. & I still depend on other people to tell me about new music. Feel free to tell me about the new hip band.
4) When I lived in NYC I worked, for 2 years, as a waitress at a very large theme restaurant. Everyone on the wait-staff was either an aspiring actor or model. There were about 15 of us that all worked the dinner shift. It was the best and most lucrative shift. We hated the people that worked the brunch/lunch shifts as we thought they were incredibly lazy and daft. The night shift was where it was at! But in addition to being competitive about such things as tip intake and how many pints of beer we sold each shift we were competitive about acting gigs. If anyone on the night shift landed a role we all celebrated, but if a brunch shifter got a job we booed and downplayed it. To this day if I see an actor that I remember from the brunch shift I still have a voice in my head that thinks, “lame ass bruncher!” Unfortunately I only ever do see brunch shifters working. It has been years since I saw a night shift on a commercial or tv show.
5) Since 1988 I have read the same book over 60 times. I found a copy of Salinger’s Franny and Zooey at a used book store. I remember buying it to make a statement. Of course everyone was discovering Catcher in the Rye that year and I didn’t want to be like everyone. So I decided to buy the OTHER Salinger book. It was left in my backpack, unread, for months. I don’t remember how I eventually began to read it but I do remember the feeling I had at that first read. I was Franny. It was the first character that I had ever found that I related to beyond wishing to BE them. I read about Franny’s fears and desires and it felt like it was something that I was thinking and feeling. It completely changed how I viewed books. Up to that point all of the characters that I had read were so unattainable. I always thought that a person read books to escape and be somebody else. It had never occurred to me that a character could be just as damaged and screwed up as I was.
Photo Friday: B is for ____
I’m going to tell you a random secret. When I first started blogging I was nervous about a lot of stuff. I felt like I needed code names for everything, including myself. So obviously I couldn’t let the world at large know the REAL names of my pets.
Looking back on that, I am quite amused. Well sort of. I mean it still makes a lot of sense for me to keep my real name a secret, but it makes zero sense to have spy names for the animals. Plus not all of my pets got code names. Which makes me wonder if I felt that some animals were in need of protection more than others.
For instance my dog Charlie? His real name is, in fact, Charlie.
However Admiral’s name was only part that. His full name was Admiral Wyatt, named after a real Admiral that wrote poetry from my Grandfather’s family tree.
And Talula is only part of my kitty’s name. Talula came into my life on the same day that I had to put another kitty, Mr. Edith, to sleep. I had taken Mr. Edith in to the vet to be neutered and they discovered that he had progressive FIV. It was so progressive that he was already becoming ill from it at only 6 months. So I spent all morning with Mr. Edith in my arms and watched him slip away from this earth. I was gutted.
I went back to the office, a busy production type place, and one of the executives there had decided that the best way for me to “get over” losing Mr. Edith was to have a brand new black kitty. (have I mentioned that all of my kitty’s must be black?) The new black kitty was presented to me like you would present a fruit basket to someone.
I didn’t want her. It was too soon. I couldn’t deal. But her cuteness won me over and I did take her home. Of course I didn’t want her to touch or play with any of Mr. Edith’s toys. And I couldn’t name her. Honestly- no names where coming into my head. I was worried that I might resent her.
That Sunday I went to church at the massive Los Angeles cathedral that I belonged to. I added Mr. Edith’s name to the list of souls to be prayed for. In the bulletin there was a write up about a woman that had recently died. Her name was Beatrice Grace, but she liked to be called Bea Grace because she always strived to BE graceful. I thought that was lovely and when I got home that afternoon and looked at this tiny ball of fluff I knew that it would help to always be reminded of grace.
But then the name was just too huge for such a little thing and so it eventually became shortened to simply BG. I was then lightly scolded by my family for such a name choice. After all EVERY pet that is owned in my family is named after an ancestor. So I had to find a middle name to tack on or little BG might not fit in with the rest of the brood.
I poured over GM’s genealogy books and traced back to the man that I am sort of named after. He had many sons and one daughter. The daughter’s middle name was Talula, spelled just like that. And so that is how BG became BG Talula.
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By the way, the fast is about to be over. You can follow my thought process here.
Who knew?
I am not going to remark on how many of you pleaded with me for my fasting link with the words, “butt pee! sign me up!” I started getting tired of e-mailing the site info, so in a move that is a bit bold I am going to just share it here. You are warned tho’.
There are approximately 18 ducks sitting in my backyard starting at me. Mom has gotten into the routine of feeding them organic duck food every morning and yesterday was the end of the bag. She casually declared that she would pick up some more food when she got back to town on Saturday, but I don’t think anyone told the ducks. There may be some kind of riot situation.
Even Charlie is nervous. He doesn’t look like duck food, but these ducks look so aggressive they could take him out or kidnap him for a food ransom.
I do have some ends of bread in the far regions of the fridge so maybe I can placate them with that.
Oh & did I mention that they are all QUACKING at me? Two ducks quacking is adorable, but when you get up into the double digits it is pretty fucking annoying.
When I watch SEC football with GM they discuss the scores and plays of other college football teams at half time. There is a college in Oregon (um, maybe Oregon University) and they are called the fighting ducks. Whenever they make a bold or daring play the announcers declare with glee, “it’s another quack attack!”
I want to call up those football players in Oregon and show them what a REAL quack attack looks like. It’s no shuffle pass or fake throw - it’s aggressive and loud.
It has begun.
So I have officially started my detox. The celebratory drink was one quart of warm sea salt water. Yes. 1 quart. As in 2 pints. For the next 10 days I will be starting my day with this and just thinking about that makes me cranky.
I am conflicted about just how much to share here about all the ins & (mostly) outs of this detox. I can understand how it might make some of you squeamish. In the past week I have read many other on-line journals detailing detox experiences and the information I gleaned has been scary. The things I have to look forward to are pretty nasty. Here is one phrase I learned: butt pee
So, um, yeah…Not sure how much you want to hear about that. Of course that doesn’t mean I will stop writing about it. It just means that I had to go and set up a detox blog and if you ask me nicely (& I know your e-mail address) I may share with you that link. Not that it is a secret, I just wanted to warn you as the butt pee talks will be there.
What I was most intrigued by, on other detox journals, was how many emotional issues were brought up- especially the desire to eat and where it comes from. I have long known that my wanting to eat has been very tied into how I am feeling, or more to the point, what I don’t want to be feeling. I can get comfortably numb with food. So what happens this week when I am actually feeling my feelings?
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ok. Enough detox talk for here. I have just discovered the coolest tv show. It is about this zany bunch of teens. One of them kills vampires. Yup, you guessed it- I have discovered Buffy.
The original pilot was on a few weeks ago and out of curiosity I tuned in and now I am hooked. Previously the only episode I had ever watched was one a friend of mine was in. Even then it wasn’t really watching it was more just yelling and pointing and being amazed at the makeup used on my friend. I’ll admit I was a bit of a snob about the show- that it was somehow beneath me.
Ha! Cut to several years later and I have long since gotten over my tv snobbery.
The show airs every morning on the FX and I play it back from my recorder as I get ready to go to bed. Last night I had my first “I have super powers” dream which was a nice way to wake up, but I attribute it solely to Buffy.
I’ll start tomorrow.
I really was planning on starting today. Had gotten myself all amped up for it and everything.
I went to the grocery store with my list, I was very prepared. The sliding doors opened & there, on a table before me, was my down fall: FREE Jujyfriuts. Free. As in, “help yourself”. While I aspire to have the most divine will power ever, I could not resist them. It was too soon to face them. Jujyfruits are my favorite.
And at least it wasn’t cheese, right?
Walk with me as I rationalize this: Mom is going to a conference tomorrow and will be gone until Sunday. It will be way easier to start something without having to cook big family meals. GM would rather have banana sandwiches and coffee ice cream for every meal - easy.
I walked through the store gathering the items on the list. And then I was tempted again: peppermint mocha coffee mate. I caved. Whatever. Still not dairy. I’ll be fine. I’ll just have some today. See? I just bought the little one.
But my final test was in the frozen foods. I was grabbing a big tub off coffee crunch for GM and a bit of red caught my eye. It couldn’t be. No. Too soon. It’s not even Halloween yet.
But it was. Peppermint Ice Cream.
Motherfucker.
This was just cruel. I picked up the tub, even rubbed my finger over the words. Then I put it back on the shelf and shut the door. Peppermint ice cream, while it is the panacea for most of my problems, would have to learn its place. And that place would not be in my freezer. Not yet.
So what is this that I am starting tomorrow? Detox, baby.
Tomorrow I will begin a 10 day fast. I consulted Dr. Google and have selected the lemonade diet. You know the one where you just drink lemons mixed with water, a bit of maple syrup and some cayenne pepper?
Of course I have shit will power so this will be very hard. The more I read about fastings and body detoxes the more it feels like it is something I should try. Unfortunately for you I will be writing about it every step of the way. I have a history of dieting in excess and being accountable on line is something I can do to keep that in check.
Have any of you done a detox or a fast?
What is my body saying?
I read somewhere that when your body has a craving it is most likely because you have a deficiency. Some times I agree with that and some times I most certainly don’t.
(Let’s just ignore the obvious ridiculous exceptions of that way of thought. When I used to crave a cigarette I don’t honestly believe that my body had a deficiency, but it had an addiction. More about that in a minute.)
I have had mornings when I woke up and didn’t think I could get through the day unless I had a massive salad with vibrant vegetables. Clearly my body was deficient in specific vitamins. Other days I have HAD to consume a boiled egg. Aha! Protein.
Usually I can decipher when I am having a yen for something verses having a hankering. Need vs. want. I need this apple. I want this large bowl of tater tots.
I feel great after satisfying a need that my body is expressing. How fantastic is that large glass of water when you are truly thirsty?
However, there is also something going on in my body when I succumb to the tater tot extravaganza. When I eat something that I want I have a sort of chemical release.
Yes, I see you nodding your head, and then pointing me towards all the other posts I have written about having a food addiction. But I have to wonder if my body is trying to communicate to me through my foods.
There is the obvious mood connection. When I am happy I don’t eat. Even if I am going out to celebrate something (had to take a moment to recollect when that last was…) I rarely eat a full portion of food. Now when I am virtually every other emotion from afraid to sad to irate to bored I must consume food. Lots of it. And I get that that is the addiction or the emotional ties that I have into food. In a way I eat to numb myself from those bad sorts of feelings because feeling full from tater tots is something more palatable than feeling like I am the biggest loser in the world.
I have been in a food funk for over a week now. It can easily be attributed to stress and anxiety. But usually I don’t go for the same type of food. I vary between sweet, salty, even healthy. (although I am not sure how healthy it is to eat an entire can of green beans)
But not lately. Lately it has been one thing: cheese. I have consumed so much of it that I have actually gotten snotty. It has made me so bloated and uncomfortable that it has given me nightmarish dreams for the last 4 nights.
So I have to wonder- if I know that the cheese is bad, why do I keep coming back to it? Is my body trying to tell me something or is this some twisted form of body abuse via cheddar?
According to this study cheese actually has opiates IN it. Some cheeses can have 1/10th the opiate oomph as morphine. This article then goes on to suggest that if you have issues with cheese the best and healthiest thing to do is to refrain from eating any of it. Complete abstinence.
While that will be very hard, I think I need to work towards that. I hate that I am, yet again, at odds with my body. Oh if only I was naturally lean with no food hang ups. How do you normal people do it? How do you not give in when your entire body is urging you to have a grilled cheese?
Is detox the answer & if so what is a good total body detox?
When R.E.M. turns on you
It happened again. I had one of those dreams that infertiles love to hate or hate to love, depending on your cycle.
In my dream I was a guest waiting for my friends and family at a cafeteria style restaurant in a mall. I was wearing tan, linen over-all shorts and wearing black chuck taylors. And I was HUGELY pregnant. HUGE. Slowly my friends and family started to arrive but we couldn’t be seated until the entire party showed up. This made me very anxious and worried. I began to pace around the mall.
I remember feeling cramps and I looked down and my chuck taylors were now red with blood. I started screaming that all the delay was killing my baby. Some random, faceless person, tried to calm me down and assure me that everything would be fine that I just needed to relax.
(damn, even my dreams are patronizing)
I ended up delivering a baby in the waiting area of the cafeteria restaurant and then we had a big Italian feast. As we ate,* the baby was passed around so that everyone could look at it.
Then I woke up.
And you KNOW I was pissed off. Obviously there are many dream interpretations floating about when it comes to translating “giving birth in a dream” themes. But sometimes, I think it is pretty fucking literal.
I think the waiting and being scared is real. I think the fear that if I ever do get knocked up something horrible will happen is real. And the big Italian feast is just my sick need to pretend like nothing is bothering me. Eat and your worries will leave you.
And having a dream that you are pregnant, and having it feel so real, just sucks ass. Because what the hell do I know about such things? What business do I have dreaming something that most likely will never happen?
I’m going to attribute this dream to my increase of dairy this week. I have been so stressed and worked up that I went overboard in the comfort food self medicating. That’s right, I made southern style macaroni and cheese THREE times this week. And each time I had at least 2 helpings. AND I didn’t take a lactaid. I feel like I have a large brick of cheese in my gut.
And how are you feeling today?
*oops
Protected: Disconnected Moments
About five to ten times a month GM will have a disconnect. Usually she gets so frustrated over whatever it is that she has misplaced or confused that she will retreat into her room and take a nap. And usually once she wakes up she has effectively rebooted herself and whatever was unclear has either been forgotten or figured out.
But sometimes her confusion over something is so large that she has a meltdown. (something that I do as well which scares the fuck out of me)
This morning she had a pretty major meltdown and it took her an hour to approach me for help. I knew that something was troubling her as she kept going back to her bedroom to look at something. Every ten minutes she would seem to remember something, get up from the kitchen table, go to her room, and five minutes later she would come back hitting her hand or mumbling under her breath, “stupid, stupid, stupid.”
After an hour of this repeated behavior she took my hand and aggressively demanded that I come “get this thing”. So we went to her room and she pointed her finger at something large and black in the corner of her room. She explained that it was driving her nuts because she didn’t know what it was and that she did not think that she should have it in her room at all. In fact she wanted me to take it outside and destroy it.
I looked at where her finger was pointing. I then pointed to the only thing that was in the corner and asked, just to make sure, “that?”
“YES!” she screamed. “Get that ugly black thing out of my room!”
It was her television.
I asked her to sit down so we could figure out a plan. I said that maybe we could figure out what the black thing was. I explained that maybe there was a small black thing that could help us use it. We looked, and looked. In the trash can was the remote. I handed it to her hoping that it would trigger something. But she looked at it blankly and handed it back to me saying, “I don’t know what you want me to do with this.”
I handed it back (but waiting for the shoe to drop- she was either going to start crying or start hitting) and asked her if she could read anything on the remote. She read, “power”. So I said, “see what happens if you push that button” and the television burst into life.
And I swear my Grandfather or the Universe or both must have had a hand in things somehow because the first image that appeared on the screen was a close up of J0hn W@yne in El Dorado and immediately GM’s heart swooned. She relaxed into the curve of her old easy chair and sighed, “good ol’ John.”
She seemed to realize what the big black thing was used for as her next question was, “this is where the football is, right?” So we walked through how to use the remote, what each + and - meant and the calm was immediate. She had tamed the beast of the unknown.
Photo Friday & the possible job
As some of you have guessed (you clever people, you) photo friday is going to get alphabetical. This week’s theme was “A is for ____”, next week will be “B is for ____” and so on. I only tell you so that you can plan accordingly.
Possible job news is this: Mother came home last night with the news that one of her co-worker’s has a sister that owns one of the oldest restaurants in town. It is a very “old boys club” type of joint but “relaxed”. They are always looking for servers and hosts. And the hours would be flexible enough.
When I get back from my Northeast trip I am going to give the owner a call.
I haven’t waited tables or worked in a restaurant since I was in theatre school in NY so I am sure I would be very rusty. But in some sort of weird way I would so rather work at some ancient old place than some hip and young one.
My biggest fear is math. As long as I don’t have to do major math I could be into it.
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