I'm feeling kinda bleh about my world lately. This acknowledgement is upsetting.
I know not everything is happy and roses all the time, but I only know that intellectually. The real true person in me says why not?
I feel drowned by work right now. Outside of it, I feel unproductive and lethargic. This acknowledgement is upsetting. I'm not sure how to fix that.
I quit caffeine yesterday. Perhaps I'll actually have more energy. Give my adrenal glands a break. I want to be as pure as possible; I want to see what that mountaintop looks like.
Dave and I are ttc. That's shorthand on pregnancy forums for trying to conceive. I am seriously absolutely rip-roaring ecstatic, like so happy I want to eat my arm. Cross your fingers for us. Send up a prayer.
I have a life in San Diego. Exhibit A? My weekend. Friday after work we met old friends of ours from AZ who now live in Del Mar who we once went to a party with when we first moved here. We met them at Dave and Busters for their friend's b-day party. Our other friend, Remy, who was a groomsmen in our wedding, who recently moved to San Diego for a job, he met us there too.
On Saturday after work, Dave and I met with my friend from the book club and her husband at a cutesy putoosie place in Little Italy for a scrumptitious Italian dinner of wine and pasta. We like totally clicked on our double date and we're ecstatic to have couple friends here!
On Sunday, my cousin invited me to a Chargers game. My first EVER pro-football game. I took the trolley in and her and I enjoyed the blatant displays of testosterone and the sunshine. The Chargers beat the Dolphins. For a second there, surrounding by the screaming masses, I kind of cared.
I think we're gunna be o.k. here.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Day 105 - A Short Short Story Called Grief
I sit at the kitchen table. The white sunshine diving through the blinds cuts the bland wood surface into stripes of light and dark. My newspaper warms.
I'm so sick of waiting. I read the story about the puppeteer who fashioned a hand puppet from his deceased dog's skin. I'm watching time pass. I'm trying not to. I skim the funnies.
When you open the door, I only see your silhouette. Your darkness fills the frame. And then like a negative, your detail and color reveal slowly, brilliantly.
The dogs cheer for you. They don't know what you've done.
If our children weren't dead, they'd run to you too. I hear their feet padding through the hallways. Their laughter ricochets in my chest cavity. The memory makes me want to pound my fists against my skull.
"Here's your oranges," you say, presenting the heavy mesh sack to me.
I motion towards the countertop. "Thanks." I pretend to read.
Later that night, you reach for my waist under the covers. I let your cool skin cover me. I become just a feeling, a sound, a movement.
Afterwards, you whisper "I need you" in between my shoulderblades. I start to cry.
The morning light blinds me. I start to pack my things. I know that I'm not good enough to forgive you. Even if you're not to blame...
I'm so sick of waiting. I read the story about the puppeteer who fashioned a hand puppet from his deceased dog's skin. I'm watching time pass. I'm trying not to. I skim the funnies.
When you open the door, I only see your silhouette. Your darkness fills the frame. And then like a negative, your detail and color reveal slowly, brilliantly.
The dogs cheer for you. They don't know what you've done.
If our children weren't dead, they'd run to you too. I hear their feet padding through the hallways. Their laughter ricochets in my chest cavity. The memory makes me want to pound my fists against my skull.
"Here's your oranges," you say, presenting the heavy mesh sack to me.
I motion towards the countertop. "Thanks." I pretend to read.
Later that night, you reach for my waist under the covers. I let your cool skin cover me. I become just a feeling, a sound, a movement.
Afterwards, you whisper "I need you" in between my shoulderblades. I start to cry.
The morning light blinds me. I start to pack my things. I know that I'm not good enough to forgive you. Even if you're not to blame...
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Day 104 - Hashimoto's Revenge
Soooo....remember how I told you I was going to get my thyroid checked? That Dave and I wanted to make wee ones and so I needed to check out where my levels were from years ago. Back when they told me I had what's called Hashimoto's--an autoimmune disease that eats the thyroid like a sandwich. Until its gone.
The disease itself is in the same category as psoriasis or arthritis. It's where an overactive immune system thinks that healthy tissue is actually foreign and toxic. It attacks. The wrong thing (my thyroid gland). Until its gone.
Being that in my (not-so) distant past, I've had quite the perchance to destroy things that are healthy, feed things that are toxic, I understand this disease's dilemma. My insides simply don't know what's good for them. I empathize.
According to many doctors, once the process of Hashimoto's begins, it's irreversible and untreatable. It simply runs willy-nilly, unchecked. It's only mission is to destroy. After chomping away at your thyroid, Hashimoto's eventually causes its consequence: a condition called hypothyroidism.
Now, hypothyroidism IS treatable, much to the medical community's relief. Your thyroid is no longer functioning, therefore you introduce synthetic thyroid hormones to replace what you're missing. Simple as pie right?
Well, not so much. It gets a little dicey is in situations like mine.
I first found out about this civil war being waged inside of me approximately four years ago. It was a routine blood test, recommended by what I considered an overzealous doctor, after she learned thyroid problems ran in my family. I thought 'she-crazy.' I had no symptoms, no complaints, nothing. Imagine my surprise.
Her: "You have Hashimoto's thyroiditis."
Me: "What did you just say to me?"
Her: "It is destroying your thyroid gland, and you are now hypothyroid."
Me:" Huh? I feel great, how could this be?"
Her: "You need to take synthetic thyroid for the rest of your life. Here's your prescription. Have a nice day."
Me: (practically holding door open...)"Wait! What about eating better? Quitting smoking? I'm not the healthiest."
Her: "Nope. Sorry. It's unrelated. No reversing."
Me: wtf...
I went home and researched like crazy. For the most part, what she said rang true in nearly everything I read. Whether I read medical abstracts or Internet chat forums, I found the same information. Once you're hypothyroid, you need to take your pills. Once you're over a certain level (according to your blood test), about 100% percent of doctors agree: treat, treat, treat.
But the problem was, I wasn't over that certain level yet where 100% of doctors agree. I belonged to a small area of hypothyroid people called mild hypothyroid (approx. bt. 4 to 12 TSH). And in this little grey area of the medical community, the opinions of doctors swayed from one end of the spectrum to the other. Some say treat. Some say don't. There simply wasn't a clear answer.
So, I ignored her prescription. For the next three months before my check-up I did three things: I quit smoking; I ate better; and I did more yoga.
Lo and behold, on my next appointment, the doctor cheerfully remarked that my medication was working. I was within the normal ranges, and therefore not hypothyroid at all anymore. With pride and bitterness, I said, "I didn't take the pills." I never went back.
Since then, I've vascillated back and forth over smoking, eating well, and exercising. Considering my consconsistency, when I went to see my new San Diego doctor recently, I was sure my levels would be a complete and utter mess.
I thought, after four years of my slowly disintegrating thyroid due to Hashi's, I would definitely fall in the category of treat, treat, treat. And then, that I would take the medication. That I would succumb to this because I knew that if we wanted to conceive, it was absolutely necessary for the health of the unborn little guy. I wanted to lay down my sword, raise the white flag.
My new doctor agreed. And after hearing my story, his professional opinion bet that my levels would also be out of control. Imagine our surprise.
Turns out, I am well within the normal range. Therefore, I am not hypothyroid. Therefore, he does not recommend any treatment whatsoever.
Of course, my doctor did note, my little Japanese nemesis, Mr. Hashimoto, still lives in me. But he apparently isn't much of an eater because my thyroid remains intact.
I sighed so loud. I couldn't believe it.
And then I got pissed! Not just pissed in general, like pissed the cashier overcharged me, but like pissed off for the world in general. You're telling me, that had I listened to my previous doctor's advice, that I would have been taking synthetic thyroid hormone for four years?!
First, that would have been well over two thousand dollars in medicine that I didn't apparently need. And secondly, just by taking the medication, it reduces your thyroid's ability to naturally produce its own hormones. Therefore, I would actually NEED the medication, just by virtue of taking the medication.
How reckless of her! I mean, like I mentioned earlier, she's not alone in her opinion. Many doctors think you should treat mild hypothyroidism. But doesn't the medical community owe it to the patient to at least TELL you when there's a discrepancy in opinions?! She DID NOT tell me this. Even when I practically begged her for a different answer. I found all this out on my own, after hours and hours of research.
Why isn't there some form of regulation on this? Shouldn't the patient, in cases of grey areas of medicine, be given the information and the CHOICE???!!!
I imagine people with all sorts of other conditions run into similar problems. It's not fair! Most people trust what doctors say, and why shouldn't they, they went to fucking medical school for gawd's sake. We didn't.
How many people with mild hypothyroid are running around downing synthetic hormones, when a simple change of diet would have sufficed?
I hate the attitude of treat, treat, treat! What about taking responsibility for our health? Thank gawd for The Information Age or I would not have been brave enough to shirk her careless advice. (Mind you, I'm not saying all medical advice sucks. If you are regular hypo, you need your meds.) Arg. Arg. Triple Arg.
In the end, my new doctor said to me about Hashimoto's, "Well, you're one of the rare cases where you know you're going to be hypothyroid at some point in your life. You just kind of watch it happen."
I nodded. But on the inside I said, "We'll see..."
(p.s. some doctors and others have seen Hashi's go away completely. Plus, it is not 100% certain that you'll become hypothyroid if you have Hashi's (although 9 times out of 10, you will). But still, how the f*%& would the doctor know that I couldn't be in that 10%??!! It pisses me off that doctors don't HAVE to tell you this.
A guy, like me, confounded at his doctor's cold-hearted diagnosis of Hashi's with mild hypothyroidism, actually self-published a book he wrote called "How I Reversed My Hashimoto's Thyroiditis." With research, alternative therapies and healthy habits, he changed his diagnosis. What's up now doc?)
The disease itself is in the same category as psoriasis or arthritis. It's where an overactive immune system thinks that healthy tissue is actually foreign and toxic. It attacks. The wrong thing (my thyroid gland). Until its gone.
Being that in my (not-so) distant past, I've had quite the perchance to destroy things that are healthy, feed things that are toxic, I understand this disease's dilemma. My insides simply don't know what's good for them. I empathize.
According to many doctors, once the process of Hashimoto's begins, it's irreversible and untreatable. It simply runs willy-nilly, unchecked. It's only mission is to destroy. After chomping away at your thyroid, Hashimoto's eventually causes its consequence: a condition called hypothyroidism.
Now, hypothyroidism IS treatable, much to the medical community's relief. Your thyroid is no longer functioning, therefore you introduce synthetic thyroid hormones to replace what you're missing. Simple as pie right?
Well, not so much. It gets a little dicey is in situations like mine.
I first found out about this civil war being waged inside of me approximately four years ago. It was a routine blood test, recommended by what I considered an overzealous doctor, after she learned thyroid problems ran in my family. I thought 'she-crazy.' I had no symptoms, no complaints, nothing. Imagine my surprise.
Her: "You have Hashimoto's thyroiditis."
Me: "What did you just say to me?"
Her: "It is destroying your thyroid gland, and you are now hypothyroid."
Me:" Huh? I feel great, how could this be?"
Her: "You need to take synthetic thyroid for the rest of your life. Here's your prescription. Have a nice day."
Me: (practically holding door open...)"Wait! What about eating better? Quitting smoking? I'm not the healthiest."
Her: "Nope. Sorry. It's unrelated. No reversing."
Me: wtf...
I went home and researched like crazy. For the most part, what she said rang true in nearly everything I read. Whether I read medical abstracts or Internet chat forums, I found the same information. Once you're hypothyroid, you need to take your pills. Once you're over a certain level (according to your blood test), about 100% percent of doctors agree: treat, treat, treat.
But the problem was, I wasn't over that certain level yet where 100% of doctors agree. I belonged to a small area of hypothyroid people called mild hypothyroid (approx. bt. 4 to 12 TSH). And in this little grey area of the medical community, the opinions of doctors swayed from one end of the spectrum to the other. Some say treat. Some say don't. There simply wasn't a clear answer.
So, I ignored her prescription. For the next three months before my check-up I did three things: I quit smoking; I ate better; and I did more yoga.
Lo and behold, on my next appointment, the doctor cheerfully remarked that my medication was working. I was within the normal ranges, and therefore not hypothyroid at all anymore. With pride and bitterness, I said, "I didn't take the pills." I never went back.
Since then, I've vascillated back and forth over smoking, eating well, and exercising. Considering my consconsistency, when I went to see my new San Diego doctor recently, I was sure my levels would be a complete and utter mess.
I thought, after four years of my slowly disintegrating thyroid due to Hashi's, I would definitely fall in the category of treat, treat, treat. And then, that I would take the medication. That I would succumb to this because I knew that if we wanted to conceive, it was absolutely necessary for the health of the unborn little guy. I wanted to lay down my sword, raise the white flag.
My new doctor agreed. And after hearing my story, his professional opinion bet that my levels would also be out of control. Imagine our surprise.
Turns out, I am well within the normal range. Therefore, I am not hypothyroid. Therefore, he does not recommend any treatment whatsoever.
Of course, my doctor did note, my little Japanese nemesis, Mr. Hashimoto, still lives in me. But he apparently isn't much of an eater because my thyroid remains intact.
I sighed so loud. I couldn't believe it.
And then I got pissed! Not just pissed in general, like pissed the cashier overcharged me, but like pissed off for the world in general. You're telling me, that had I listened to my previous doctor's advice, that I would have been taking synthetic thyroid hormone for four years?!
First, that would have been well over two thousand dollars in medicine that I didn't apparently need. And secondly, just by taking the medication, it reduces your thyroid's ability to naturally produce its own hormones. Therefore, I would actually NEED the medication, just by virtue of taking the medication.
How reckless of her! I mean, like I mentioned earlier, she's not alone in her opinion. Many doctors think you should treat mild hypothyroidism. But doesn't the medical community owe it to the patient to at least TELL you when there's a discrepancy in opinions?! She DID NOT tell me this. Even when I practically begged her for a different answer. I found all this out on my own, after hours and hours of research.
Why isn't there some form of regulation on this? Shouldn't the patient, in cases of grey areas of medicine, be given the information and the CHOICE???!!!
I imagine people with all sorts of other conditions run into similar problems. It's not fair! Most people trust what doctors say, and why shouldn't they, they went to fucking medical school for gawd's sake. We didn't.
How many people with mild hypothyroid are running around downing synthetic hormones, when a simple change of diet would have sufficed?
I hate the attitude of treat, treat, treat! What about taking responsibility for our health? Thank gawd for The Information Age or I would not have been brave enough to shirk her careless advice. (Mind you, I'm not saying all medical advice sucks. If you are regular hypo, you need your meds.) Arg. Arg. Triple Arg.
In the end, my new doctor said to me about Hashimoto's, "Well, you're one of the rare cases where you know you're going to be hypothyroid at some point in your life. You just kind of watch it happen."
I nodded. But on the inside I said, "We'll see..."
(p.s. some doctors and others have seen Hashi's go away completely. Plus, it is not 100% certain that you'll become hypothyroid if you have Hashi's (although 9 times out of 10, you will). But still, how the f*%& would the doctor know that I couldn't be in that 10%??!! It pisses me off that doctors don't HAVE to tell you this.
A guy, like me, confounded at his doctor's cold-hearted diagnosis of Hashi's with mild hypothyroidism, actually self-published a book he wrote called "How I Reversed My Hashimoto's Thyroiditis." With research, alternative therapies and healthy habits, he changed his diagnosis. What's up now doc?)
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Day 102 - As If I Knew
Here's where I want to take you...away from the steps of my daily life. You really want to watch me pour my coffee and watch the hills?
Plus, if I'm happy, won't you forsake me? So I won't tell you that...
But how far do we go into our interiors? Isn't there poetry in the mundane? Yes...
So let's teeter on the edge instead. See-saw between what we see and what we feel. Like we always do.
We'll drown ourselves one day and fly the next.
...Is this enough for now? It's experimental, jarbled.
It's like eating words raw.
I need to knead the sentences.
Roll them into paragraphs.
Keep em' stuck together with conclusions.
Decorate with adjectives...
blood-red, delicious, lead-like, and divine.
Meaning: irrelevant? Sometimes.
Just for the art of it,
I bury it blind.
Plus, if I'm happy, won't you forsake me? So I won't tell you that...
But how far do we go into our interiors? Isn't there poetry in the mundane? Yes...
So let's teeter on the edge instead. See-saw between what we see and what we feel. Like we always do.
We'll drown ourselves one day and fly the next.
...Is this enough for now? It's experimental, jarbled.
It's like eating words raw.
I need to knead the sentences.
Roll them into paragraphs.
Keep em' stuck together with conclusions.
Decorate with adjectives...
blood-red, delicious, lead-like, and divine.
Meaning: irrelevant? Sometimes.
Just for the art of it,
I bury it blind.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Day 101 - Random Gratitudes
O.k., obviously not a Wednesday, but does it matter? The Gratitude List, randomly placed...
1. I am grateful for a fresh oranges; it's a bit like licking sunshine.
2. I am grateful for the sunny softball field yesterday. I'm sore and old. We lost big time. I don't care.
3. I am grateful for movie theaters. Overpriced popcorn and candy make me giddy. Sitting with my legs rested on Dave's lap in the cool dark is delicious.
4. I am grateful that my kitty Diego's eye infection is not serious. I'm even more grateful that our new San Diego veteranarian ROCKS! When moving to this new town, we worry/worried about picking new docs and dentists and haircutters and vets. A random google search and we get lucky lucky.
5. I am grateful my little niece Nova is crawling! (p.s. because I know you want constant up-to-date info on my fave little girl, you can get it by going to/following my sister's blog http://stacy-interiorview.blogspot.com/. She might kill me for that, but I don't care.)
1. I am grateful for a fresh oranges; it's a bit like licking sunshine.
2. I am grateful for the sunny softball field yesterday. I'm sore and old. We lost big time. I don't care.
3. I am grateful for movie theaters. Overpriced popcorn and candy make me giddy. Sitting with my legs rested on Dave's lap in the cool dark is delicious.
4. I am grateful that my kitty Diego's eye infection is not serious. I'm even more grateful that our new San Diego veteranarian ROCKS! When moving to this new town, we worry/worried about picking new docs and dentists and haircutters and vets. A random google search and we get lucky lucky.
5. I am grateful my little niece Nova is crawling! (p.s. because I know you want constant up-to-date info on my fave little girl, you can get it by going to/following my sister's blog http://stacy-interiorview.blogspot.com/. She might kill me for that, but I don't care.)
What are YOU grateful for?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Day 97 - To My Old Friend 'The Cigarette'
So here we are. Three months after My Big Quit. A few drags here and there that I snuck in a drunken stupor--I've nearly forgotten them. Better yet, I've forgiven them.
Today is a bit like a memorial service. A memoir. A good-bye.
Dear Cig,
I've left you so many times over the last few years. Every time, I think this is it I'm done. But I always knew, if I was low and needy, you'd be there. I always tucked you away in this special place in my mind. Loving you in secret.
You are my life noir. My dirty little playmate. You make me feel delicious, dark, and carefree.
Each time I take you back I welcome you. It's right back where we left off. We hang out on the back patio together. We pour a glass of thick red wine. We look at the stars. We breathe each other in deeply, thinking, O I've missed you...
But as days turn to weeks, I start to feel your weight on me. I'm remembering why we left each other. Why this wasn't a good idea. Your old familar hug starts to feel like a noose.
You're so needy the way you cling to me. You demand that I stop at the nearest dingy gas station to pick you up at 7 dollars a pop. I don't have the money to spend on you, to pay the fees you incur. I start to realize you never really made me feel good anyway. You never give back. I resent you.
It's all so rocky--so love / hate. When I don't have the fire to light you, I panic. I think I'll lose my mind without you. You've always been so lovely in the mornings.
Yet our patio stints are more frantic now. Quick pulls just to quiet my rising anxiety. We don't even sit out there anymore and watch the sky. Worse yet, my friends don't even like you. You're controlling and smelly. You're no good for me. I know I have to leave you.
I pick an arbitrary date in the future. And then I relish our last weeks together. I get nostalgic and fearful. I start to think perhaps we could make it after all...
But I know better. We're doomed. As the day approaches, a knot grows in my stomach. It flutters around, kicking my organs. You start to freak out in protest. You use your best manipulations, begging to stay, distorting the truth, trying to confuse me. I see how desperate you are.
On 'Q' day I quietly put the pillow over your face to smother you. I can hear and feel you screaming. It breaks my heart. In the next week, you never stop clawing at my throat. I'm sad and mad and angry and weepy and happy and despite my mixed bag of feelings, I know it's the right thing. I want you to leave me alone.
It's easier and harder then I ever imagined. As the days melt into weeks and months, I've only snuck into your bedroom twice. And it's always been tinged with morning-after guilt. You mean nothing to me.
Most days I don't even remember you. I forget we ever happened. I realize how inconsequential you really were to my being. I think why didn't I leave you sooner?
But I must have you in my bones, because sometimes I walk by a cafe and there you are on the patio. You look bohemian and vibrant. You smell so good. I inhale deeply. I think, o my you're divine. Then I shake my head.
I remind myself to look behind your smoke screen. You look so pretty, but your insides are dusty ash. I crave the pink heart of life without you. My mind is cloudless. I am free to feel what I really feel. Without you, everything is brighter. The electric pulse of the city. The cool smell of the ocean in the air. The sleep without you cuddled in my pores. The light in my eyes is real.
So fare thee well my twisted companion. Sometimes I'll miss you, but mostly I won't. I've gone three months without you, and aim to go three hundred more.
P.S. F#*% you too.
Today is a bit like a memorial service. A memoir. A good-bye.
Dear Cig,
I've left you so many times over the last few years. Every time, I think this is it I'm done. But I always knew, if I was low and needy, you'd be there. I always tucked you away in this special place in my mind. Loving you in secret.
You are my life noir. My dirty little playmate. You make me feel delicious, dark, and carefree.
Each time I take you back I welcome you. It's right back where we left off. We hang out on the back patio together. We pour a glass of thick red wine. We look at the stars. We breathe each other in deeply, thinking, O I've missed you...
But as days turn to weeks, I start to feel your weight on me. I'm remembering why we left each other. Why this wasn't a good idea. Your old familar hug starts to feel like a noose.
You're so needy the way you cling to me. You demand that I stop at the nearest dingy gas station to pick you up at 7 dollars a pop. I don't have the money to spend on you, to pay the fees you incur. I start to realize you never really made me feel good anyway. You never give back. I resent you.
It's all so rocky--so love / hate. When I don't have the fire to light you, I panic. I think I'll lose my mind without you. You've always been so lovely in the mornings.
Yet our patio stints are more frantic now. Quick pulls just to quiet my rising anxiety. We don't even sit out there anymore and watch the sky. Worse yet, my friends don't even like you. You're controlling and smelly. You're no good for me. I know I have to leave you.
I pick an arbitrary date in the future. And then I relish our last weeks together. I get nostalgic and fearful. I start to think perhaps we could make it after all...
But I know better. We're doomed. As the day approaches, a knot grows in my stomach. It flutters around, kicking my organs. You start to freak out in protest. You use your best manipulations, begging to stay, distorting the truth, trying to confuse me. I see how desperate you are.
On 'Q' day I quietly put the pillow over your face to smother you. I can hear and feel you screaming. It breaks my heart. In the next week, you never stop clawing at my throat. I'm sad and mad and angry and weepy and happy and despite my mixed bag of feelings, I know it's the right thing. I want you to leave me alone.
It's easier and harder then I ever imagined. As the days melt into weeks and months, I've only snuck into your bedroom twice. And it's always been tinged with morning-after guilt. You mean nothing to me.
Most days I don't even remember you. I forget we ever happened. I realize how inconsequential you really were to my being. I think why didn't I leave you sooner?
But I must have you in my bones, because sometimes I walk by a cafe and there you are on the patio. You look bohemian and vibrant. You smell so good. I inhale deeply. I think, o my you're divine. Then I shake my head.
I remind myself to look behind your smoke screen. You look so pretty, but your insides are dusty ash. I crave the pink heart of life without you. My mind is cloudless. I am free to feel what I really feel. Without you, everything is brighter. The electric pulse of the city. The cool smell of the ocean in the air. The sleep without you cuddled in my pores. The light in my eyes is real.
So fare thee well my twisted companion. Sometimes I'll miss you, but mostly I won't. I've gone three months without you, and aim to go three hundred more.
P.S. F#*% you too.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Day 94 - Speak, speak slow
Isn't it mundane the way we speak to each other sometimes?
As our interior words stay seated, we let out words without meaning. We hope you get it...even though what I say has nothing to do with how I feel. Perhaps you feel some moving, shifting one way to say the scars are deeper than you think. When glazed eyes fix on the floor do you hear I don't understand why it feels so empty...
We dance around our words, our bodies raw like open wounds. We do normal things--fetch the paper, pour the coffee, gather notes. All the while, our pasts our loves our fears ricochet against each other on the inside. Even those closest to us have only inklings of who we are. We try to give it to them, but we can't quite get there, can we?
We'll live out a thousand moments before we see each other clearly. And even then, It's so brief, like a lost raindrop that licks the skin. It's a pinprick. It's a private epiphany.
And you. In the dark rooms before sleep, the yellow lights burning. I see your shadow against the wall, the curve of your shoulders. Still sleeping, you don't remember that you begged I love you into the nape of my neck. As if you were losing me. What poem were you dreaming? I find comfort in your need. Shape myself into the shape of your body.
As our interior words stay seated, we let out words without meaning. We hope you get it...even though what I say has nothing to do with how I feel. Perhaps you feel some moving, shifting one way to say the scars are deeper than you think. When glazed eyes fix on the floor do you hear I don't understand why it feels so empty...
We dance around our words, our bodies raw like open wounds. We do normal things--fetch the paper, pour the coffee, gather notes. All the while, our pasts our loves our fears ricochet against each other on the inside. Even those closest to us have only inklings of who we are. We try to give it to them, but we can't quite get there, can we?
We'll live out a thousand moments before we see each other clearly. And even then, It's so brief, like a lost raindrop that licks the skin. It's a pinprick. It's a private epiphany.
And you. In the dark rooms before sleep, the yellow lights burning. I see your shadow against the wall, the curve of your shoulders. Still sleeping, you don't remember that you begged I love you into the nape of my neck. As if you were losing me. What poem were you dreaming? I find comfort in your need. Shape myself into the shape of your body.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Day 92 - Balboa Park, In Pictures
For the day at Balboa Park, the family free-for-alled. Here's $40 bucks and a map, they said. Here's some snippets of the park journey....
Someone played alone behind the large steel ediface, filling the park with the sound of yearning without a face.
We tried to peak through the cracks and saw nothing. But the music still moved me...
Then, wooed by the promise of peace and zen, we followed the path to the Japanese Friendship Garden. At $4 dollars a head I thought 'this better be good,' and it wasn't, but then again it totally was. I do remember this...a room with a view...
Why does this big picture window with its rock garden view calm you? Who knows. But it does. Why ask why? That's so zen.
Maroon trees and bamboo forests. Bonsai trees and pithy Japanese paintings.
And then there was that koi pond...
We leave in a hurry, and I miss the tea pavilion. Next time, next time... We scurry to meet our sister at the lily pond.
Next, we meander through the cool shade of the botanical building. Where the caged birds sing...
We squirl at carnivourous plants and medusa's heads...These are the stories that incite the imagination...
At the visitor's center, I almost kicked somebody in the head when I found out the art museums were all closed on Mondays. Considering THAT was the ONLY reason I voted on the trip, I pouted like a little baby.
Luckily, the actual baby, Nova, was strapped to my torso, making it very difficult for me to feel negative emotions for long...
Music from an organ ambled into the air from a distance. My brother Cole and I hiked in the direction of the sound. It's eerie hollow yell led us to this door.
Someone played alone behind the large steel ediface, filling the park with the sound of yearning without a face.We tried to peak through the cracks and saw nothing. But the music still moved me...
Then, wooed by the promise of peace and zen, we followed the path to the Japanese Friendship Garden. At $4 dollars a head I thought 'this better be good,' and it wasn't, but then again it totally was. I do remember this...a room with a view...
Why does this big picture window with its rock garden view calm you? Who knows. But it does. Why ask why? That's so zen.
Maroon trees and bamboo forests. Bonsai trees and pithy Japanese paintings.
And then there was that koi pond...
We leave in a hurry, and I miss the tea pavilion. Next time, next time... We scurry to meet our sister at the lily pond.
Next, we meander through the cool shade of the botanical building. Where the caged birds sing...
We squirl at carnivourous plants and medusa's heads...These are the stories that incite the imagination...
I see an abstract painting in the flowers. I snatch the picture. I color it neon to make it mine.
We meet the rest of the fams at the IMAX to go "Under the Sea." My sis and I sat in a corner with Nova as she slept...and I wouldn't of had it any other way. When Nova awoke, she watched the gargantuan screen with us.
My fave part? At one point, Nova screamed, scared out of her wits, when a creepy crab pounced on a fish, chewing it to bits. I love that she vocalized that terror. Even at 7 months, it's amazing we already know what's f'ed up and scary.
Speaking of scary, we also saw the BodyWorlds exhibit. Creepy? Pretty? Smart? Educational? Hmmm....I got words waiting for this....
Day 91 - Gratitude Wednesdays
My weekly gratitudes for The Gratitude List...
1. I am grateful for the purr of little Diego on my belly right now.
2. I am grateful for discount art supplies.
3. I am grateful for fresh-squeezed orange juice.
4. I am grateful for a text from my possible new San Diego friend. Social life--here I come!
5. I am grateful our friend Remy got a job out here in San Diego and now lives here!
6. I am grateful for fun conversations with my coworkers today.
7. I am grateful for movies on demand here in SD. Phoenix is sooooo lagging!
8. I am grateful for etsy.
9. I am grateful that most people in my family live free from disease and live comfortably--we all have beds and cars and clothes.
10. I am grateful for the nice wood color of my kitchen floor.
Leave your gratitudes too! WHAT ARE YOU GRATEFUL FOR?
1. I am grateful for the purr of little Diego on my belly right now.
2. I am grateful for discount art supplies.
3. I am grateful for fresh-squeezed orange juice.
4. I am grateful for a text from my possible new San Diego friend. Social life--here I come!
5. I am grateful our friend Remy got a job out here in San Diego and now lives here!
6. I am grateful for fun conversations with my coworkers today.
7. I am grateful for movies on demand here in SD. Phoenix is sooooo lagging!
8. I am grateful for etsy.
9. I am grateful that most people in my family live free from disease and live comfortably--we all have beds and cars and clothes.
10. I am grateful for the nice wood color of my kitchen floor.
Leave your gratitudes too! WHAT ARE YOU GRATEFUL FOR?
Day 84 - Gratitude Wednesdays
Because I(we) can get all crappy about life...I am stealing my step-second-cousin's friends idea, and adding it to my blog as a Wednesday staple. So please welcome, The Gratitude List, to your hump day. So every week, I(we) focus--plain and simple--on what rocks about life. Please comment and add your lists!!!! I love to learn about people in that way. What they're grateful for is a lovely way to get to know people....
1. I'm grateful for the week I just spent with Nova--she is just a treasure.
2. I'm grateful that my dad and stepmother pay for the rental of the Carlsbad beach house every year.
3. I am grateful for the final paying off of my car recently; our debt reduction techniques are paying off!
4. I am grateful for the recent hot hot heat here in California--I love it HAWT!
5. I am grateful for Trader Joe's near my house. How is it so cheap and so good?
6. I am grateful that my brother loves to play board games as much as I do--we could entertain ourselves for days.
7. I am grateful that Dave got some time off while my family visited.
8. I am grateful for the sound of the waves and the view of the horizon on the beach.
9. I am grateful that I live in a city that most people want to vacation in. It's packed with things to do and see. Beautiful.
10. I am grateful that my friend Bethany is enjoying grad school!
WHAT ARE YOU GRATEFUL FOR??!!!
1. I'm grateful for the week I just spent with Nova--she is just a treasure.
2. I'm grateful that my dad and stepmother pay for the rental of the Carlsbad beach house every year.
3. I am grateful for the final paying off of my car recently; our debt reduction techniques are paying off!
4. I am grateful for the recent hot hot heat here in California--I love it HAWT!
5. I am grateful for Trader Joe's near my house. How is it so cheap and so good?
6. I am grateful that my brother loves to play board games as much as I do--we could entertain ourselves for days.
7. I am grateful that Dave got some time off while my family visited.
8. I am grateful for the sound of the waves and the view of the horizon on the beach.
9. I am grateful that I live in a city that most people want to vacation in. It's packed with things to do and see. Beautiful.
10. I am grateful that my friend Bethany is enjoying grad school!
WHAT ARE YOU GRATEFUL FOR??!!!
Monday, September 7, 2009
Day 82 - Dictators Rule
Every year we convene for our annual McGaugler vacation, we arrive fresh-faced and gleeful. We hug and kiss cheeks. Each of us throw our bags into some room down the hall, eager to ask the usual barrage of questions--How was the flight or drive? Job? House? Kids? In the beginning, we're all bendy and flexible for each other...
But soon enough, we settle right back into our usual roles. I take on the role of instigator, inciting heated arguments due to my lack of patience with group democracy. My sister, she's a frustrated mothering type. My brother, he's a snarky mediator. My stepsister is simply vocally annoyed by the whole thing. And my stepbrother is the 'keep me out of it' guy.
Add to that my father, whose the poster dad for "tough love" (i.e. "don't expect any kind of break just cause you're my kid"). Then, my stepmother, the opposite of my father, overreaching her attentiveness i.e. "do you need anything, what about this or this or that?!" Lastly, throw in a couple of moody teenagers, a beautiful baby, and some half-terrified spouses. THEN, it's a party.
We must all sense the impending boom because most of the adults, minus the recovering alcoholics, grab beers as soon as their suitcases hit the floor. We cross our fingers that our impulses aren't a sign of our own future recovery. But Fuggetaboutit. We swig.
It's normally all fine and dandy until the family meeting. Every year we circle around the living room floor and, according to my father's rule book on how to run a meeting based on we-have-no-idea, we discuss/vote/change/keep any and all aspects of our week-long beach side event.
There's so many differing opinions in even this small of group that I often wonder how Congress gets anything passed at all. I sigh and understand the slow uphill groan of bureaucracy. It's times like these I think, despite popular opinion, dictatorship ain't half-bad. The fact of the matter is: Most people don't know what's good for em'. Case in point: George W. Bush got elected. Twice. (Well at least once; that first election is debatable...)
Now our gathering is, of course, much more evolved than the half-wits who elected W., but still, I lose patience for our slow decision-making process of majority rules. (Note: my family and democracy-lovers in general just gasped and threw tomatoes at me. Whatev. I ain't taking it back!) See how I am? An instigator.
Anyhoos, besides everything, one of the major things we discuss is our family day. What San Diego attraction will we descend upon this year? We vote and much to most people's delight, it's a day at Balboa Park!
Stay tuned...
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