Spinning my wheels, or something

I'm not sure where to start. On anything. Everything is so disorganized and scattered that I find it incredibly difficult to find a beginning. The idea is personified in the living room, where stacks of things are laying around waiting to find their new home. Yet nothing can be put away yet. My thoughts feel like the dining room.

I still haven't figures out how to type on my new keyboard, but I think that longer fingernails are impeding my progress. And to think I worked so hard to stop biting my nails. That bad habit would come in handy these days.

The craving to smoke is back. No lectures needed, I won't light up. But oh how the feeling is there...

A Bright Red Roar

When I was a child, our home was heated by a giant wood burning furnace.
It was red, with a heavy black door, and took up almost the entire room.
We weren't supposed to open the door, but I could see the dancing flames as I watched the adults stoke the fire.
The heat caressed your face until it was so hot you had to blink - and then the door was closed again.
When I was 10, it did not seem unusual. Chopping, hauling, stacking wood was a matter of course. Part of
Winter.

I always knew Autumn was upon us; the days were shorter and the colors changed but the real test were the long drives to "the farm."
Some acreage, mostly wooded, with a few ponds and a ravine full of our large trash.
Refrigerators, tires, worn out furniture.
One year: our white dog who had grown deaf in old age and too aggressive with children.

Some days at the farm I managed to sneak away from the buzz of chainsaws to walk around with little purpose.
Once, I found a long black snake sunning itself along the shoreline.
Once, I walked until I came to a fence where I was greeted by a white and tan horse.
He blinked slowly at me until I wandered away again.

Autumn trips to the farm packed the truck full of wood to heat the house.
We packed until sunset and drove home in the dark, tired and sticky with tree sap.
The pickup would sit to the side, waiting for daylight, and then we would drive through the yard and begin unloading.
Cords of wood lined the fence and by the time we moved the bottom layers were sinking, rotting, into the ground.
The stacks were always crooked; the yard flooded with every heavy rain.

Polarized

The weather has been a bit harsh the last season and so the
Usual beautiful trees are dropping their leaves all at once,
Shrugging off the changes with a distinct air of self preservation.
I have pity for the trees; the people I know with a similar approach never
Know when to stop.
I currently err towards self sacrifice; my religious upbringing left me with
Such an appreciation for the martyr.
At the back of my mind lies the need to be adored.
Recognized.

I went walking the other evening, casually, hands
Tucked into my jacket pockets
While I shuffled through the crackling green/brown leaves.
A lesson lies there, on the sidewalk, but I can only hear the whisper of meaning
Over the sound of my passage.

Happy Birthday to me.

It's officially official: I've turned 30. It doesn't feel any different and I don't think I really care about the big 3-0. It was a great excuse to go out to dinner, though.

Things are moving along no matter how I feel about them. I suppose that's he very nature of things. I realize this doesn't make much sense. Perhaps I'm only typing in an effort to acclimate to my new keyboard.

Appearances

I stood before the mirror today and carefully brushed my hair straight.
The gray dulls the shine I was hoping for but I've
Long become accustomed to the sight.
My body feels all used up these days. My brain
Assures me that this feeling will fade over time.
I am not convinced.
I do not believe my own lies.
I cannot discern the truth, either. The confusion deftly weaves through
Certainty.
I am still shocked by the sight of it.



I find myself craving water but eating chocolate instead. One of these days, I might be able to make sense of that. Or this post. Who knows?

I hate my birthday. Reminds me of all those who have gone away. This is the best part; the end of the day when I am the furthest possible from the next birthday.

But thanks anyway to all of you for your thoughts and cool stuff. :)

Slogging through the crap.

I'm tired.

It's a ridiculous little sentence that doesn't come close to expressing the true depth of my feeling. Exhausted. Drained. Depleted. Fatigued. Empty. Maybe those help paint a picture. But in the end, what of it? This is life as we know it. For now. It will change, it will get better.

The thing is, I'm not just tired. I'm all kinds of things. Tired is just the easiest one. I have this intense urge to cry but no energy to expend in that kind of emotional outburst. I don't particularly care of the feeling.

It was not a good week. Discouraging on too many fronts. Flare ups of temper. Fits of desperation. Flights of... well, something. My point is that I don't feel like things are going well and I hate the idea of it all. I'm too tired to pick myself up and keep going.

Odd Hours

When I woke up his morning, it was because the baby was crying from his bed
Though it might as well have been in my ear
So I dragged myself down the hallway and settled in to see to his Need.
As I sat there, half despairing, the room gradually lightened with the sunrise.
I wanted to appreciate the moment, to feel excited about a new day and all that
Over hyped crap,
But I never really got along with the sunrise.
Sunset, now there is were my heart lies.
The colors slowly fade away, leaving you wrapped in a gentle darkness, and at that moment I have the most faith in tomorrow.

I find myself awake at 4 am often these days, and discovered that the hour fosters strange thoughts.
The last few mornings I have forgiven a number of people I don't speak with anymore.
I offered the apology to the predawn light
Seeking solace in the diffuse glow.
At sunset, I was sure they all heard.



OK. So it's not terribly good. But what can I say? I'm too tired to think straight.

Ah, the joy of infants and other stuff

Xavier is 13 days old now, and I stand in awe of this... well, all of this amazingly complicated messy joy. I'm unbelievably emotional, suffering tsunami category hormonal waves. I'm also exhausted by the critically short periods of sleep. The surgery incision is slowly healing, and I hope to actually sleep in my own bed sometime in the next week or so. I have reached a point where I'm seriously considering buying a new couch; I'm so sick of looking at/sitting on/sleeping on this one. [It won't happen, though, because I'm too cheap to replace a perfectly good couch just because I've been using it as a bed for over a month.]

In the midst of all of that insanity, Xavier's just plain cool. He looks at me with his old man wrinkles and I just have to smile back at him. I'm frankly astonished by how very small he his, and how distilled basic human need is in that little body. I'm looking forward to finding out how he will express himself, how we will all fit together.

On top of it all, I'm being constantly reminded how awesome people are. Marc has been running all over the place to take care of us. Ari has demonstrated amazing patience and sheer excitement about the whole thing. We've received kind words, gifts, food, and prayers - all equally appreciated and welcomed. I'm incredibly thankful to all of you, for everything.

The exhaustion and challenges in this process have made other things a lot harder for me. The bad things are always worse under stress. Sure, I can admit that the hormonal roller coaster is kicking my butt all over. Aside from that, though, I've begun to feel like I'm going to fall apart at any given moment. Or explode spectacularly. Once again, it's time to circle the wagons and guard against the darkness.

I'm doing the usual things; I'm off to therapy on Friday, I'm being careful to remain in touch with friends, I'm trying to take a little time for myself every day. Today, though, I tried something new. I talked a little about this with our church small group, and they prayed for me. I didn't stand up and say "The darkness is yawning and I'm about to be swallowed whole." I did tell them about the loud nagging voice in my head that constantly pulls me down and sucks away my energy/will to stand firm. This is not something I usually talk about.

The fact is that I prefer pretty euphemisms to the ugly truth. I can smile wryly while uttering some pointed reference. The ugly truth just makes me cry.

Years ago, my therapist urged me to come clean with some of the people in my life about the various problems I've faced or challenges I have. When I finally followed through and reported back to her she raised her eyebrow at me and asked "So? Did the world end? Or the sky fall?" I got her point. It's just one that's hard to put into practice every day.

Have you ever heard/read/found something that struck you so profoundly you could remember it years later? Over 5 years ago, Marc and I were talking about my cycle of depression. And he described it as a circular staircase. As I move along, I keep coming back to the same points over and over, only each time the perspective is very different. At least once a week I think about this idea and try to breathe it in. It's harder than it sounds but as important as you'd think.

I used to walk along bridges/overpasses and be unable to look over the side. I would blame it on a fear of heights. In fact, I really don't like heights but I can usually deal with them. Once a long time ago, I stood on an overpass and seriously consider jumping off of it. It's not the height that makes me dizzy, but the memory of that horrible, despairing moment.

I've decided to start remembering that I walked away. It's a subtle point.

I've acquired a very sore spot just below my rib cage on the right side. Sometimes I hardly notice it while at other times it aches so badly it brings tears to my eyes. I'm sure it will go away soon. In the meantime, it acts as a reminder to the thought: we carry our grief in our lungs.

I used to watch the TV show "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." I liked it - except for a season/episode here and there - and often miss the silly complacency it could evoke. But in a more serious moment, Xander says "Why blood?" Spike replies: "Blood is life, lackbrain. Why do you think we eat it? It's what keeps you going. Makes you warm. Makes you hard. Makes you other than dead." Ok, so it's probably pretty lame that I looked around for the actual quote (isn't the internet an amazing source of meaningless stuff?) but that's not the point. Blood, air, life, death; it's all tied together.

I'm thinking (as you probably are) "Of course it's all tied together." But seriously ponder the point. How often do you think about the simple connection? I don't think I consider it often enough. Consider this, as well: we are all tied to each other through these things. Setting aside the possibility of the undead being part of your private circle, no matter how different we all are we share this fundamental basis.

No, I suppose I don't really have a point. Today I feel a little like breathing out some of this... stuff inside and being a little more human. A little less complicated. It feels a little like the first drag of a cigarette after a long abstention - satisfying and a little dizzying.

I miss people today. Not in a depressed, sad kind of a way. More of a sweet meloncholia that doesn't hurt too much to hold on to or let go of.

The changing season gets me again...

Weather Walking

I was talking to the neighbor about the usual mundane things when the world went quiet and still.
I was dazed for a moment, then sat down on the sidewalk in desperation. I missed the full color saturation of existence in a visceral way.
Embarrassed, I clawed my way to my feet and stumbled to my own porch,
Waiting for the bend of reality to pass.
In my adult life, few things have frightened me more then that moment of dullness.

In combat readiness, I have tried to fill my mind with bright, shiny things. Mirrors surrounding sparkling pools of blue water,
As if somehow these things will hold the darkness at bay.
I stand quietly, so that the stillness cannot sneak up on me again.
I am not so naturally inclined to the bright; the effort is wearying.

My personal calendar has a beautiful page dedicated to the start of each season. If it is to be believed, Fall is coming soon.
The sophisticated celebration on the page uses the term Autumn, as if to fool me, but I am relieved to find the soothing night closer to hand.
Autumn feels safer than summer has been - I can sense a promise of change.