In the Hot Seat, Again…with Beowulf

Today is Thursday. Two days ago was Tuesday, and that was my second day back to therapy. Here’s what transpired:

This time, I wore lipstick. Ridiculously red lipstick. And some mascara. I’m in the business of just letting  myself be as ridiculous as possible these days. I’m calling it: being creative. I may introduce hats to my wardrobe, next. Right now, I have on a pair of leggings and have never felt so free in my life. I don’t care that they’re not really pants and they you “shouldn’t” leave the house in them. I fully intend to do so in about half an hour.

So. Jane loved my lipstick. She said I looked much better than the last time she saw me. And this is true. My meds have stabilized, I’m no longer exhausted, and I have my appetite back. These are all “good” steps. Now, all that needs to be done is another tune -up on the cognitive bullshit that keeps getting in my way. This means re-wiring my ultra-dark attitude and thinking. “Dark” was Jane’s word. I’m not the drama queen when it comes to mental illness. If I’m any kind of royalty at all, I’m merely the Ice Princess.

Jane still believes that I need to change my living conditions. Specifically she says that I “belong in Brooklyn”. Yes, I agreed. But it is a bit out of our price range at the moment. Maybe next year. Until then, my goal is going to have to keep as busy and creative as possible with my time in this wasteland. Less complaining. More doing. But complaining is one of my charming attributes. And no one makes complaining as funny as I do. I’ve turned it into an art. But when the complaining turns into a record stuck on a hook over and over in my head, that’s the darkness Jane was talking about. That’s when dishes fly and I begin to feel like a caged animal…held against my will in an unbearable situation.

Then we talked about Cate. She’s seen me in a really bad way. And now she’s old enough to see and understand that there’s something wrong. Jane agreed that she’s probably experiencing some anxiety over my moods in the previous weeks up until now. I worry that I’ve damaged her in a way that cannot be repaired. Jane assures me that all Cate will need to feel better is to see me feel better. There were years in my life when I sought no help at all. I was fine wallowing in my pathetic state. I think I even enjoyed it…like spending time with an old friend. Now, I’ll do whatever I need to so that my kids don’t get stuck with my baggage. I”m already lugging around my own plus some duffel bags from my folks. Hopefully, all Cate will have to check is one carry on bag.

Jess, I love you enough to begin reading your favorite epic poem: Beowulf. I want to experience your feelings of awe that you  have often expressed in discussing it. But do I love you enough to actually finish it? That is another story, altogether.

The LAST Holiday get-togther….we hope

…a very delayed, very strange family xmas gift exchange just took place.

These are the most disturbing/inappropriately funny tid bits worth mentioning:

1. Upon arrival to destination, all the lights are off, as well as the heat. My aunt is in her fuzzy slippers and rubbing her hands together for warmth. I’m thinking of keeping my coat on.

2. We are all seated in the dark, trying to stare at each other, when I notice my uncle take a bottle of pills out of his pocket on the sly and down a couple. Within ten minutes he’s asleep. (did anyone else just see that??)

3. It’s getting awkward. We’re all freezing, no one can see anybody, and the food is an hour late.  I forgot to mention that this whole time the tv is tuned to the Community Bulletin Board channel. Scintillating.

4. Suddenly at 5pm, my uncle checks his watch, gets out of his seat, turns on all the lights and the heat, and looks around at us as if to say: hello.

5. Dinner arrives with uncle number 2 and after one bite, he has to go to the ER to get his hoagie dislodged from his windpipe. ( very serious, but also, let’s be frank, the icing on the cake)

Here’s to a very uneventful slumber.

Never, Ever Live Within Five of Your Parents

This is how it usually goes when Rick is working abroad for a couple weeks:

The first three days or so, everything is fine. The goodbye has gotten worse, because the three year old is…well…three. She knows everything, feels everything, and there is no more lying to her to make her feel better.  It’s all rather inconvenient, if you ask me. The one year old just wants to be fed or he will bite you. This is easy. I can take care of this. Have carrot, will not bite. Done. Three is way more complicated.

Ok..fast forward to day five. My parents have already been here EVERY day minus 0ne. They’re cooking. They’re taking care of my kids. They’re pushing me to the side. They’re driving me crazy. I’m irrelevant in my own house. I’ve already kicked them out (nicely) twice.

Routines are being disrupted. The biter is being coochey-cooed and laughed at every time he bites….because it’s just so cute. And now I get bit all day long.

I know, I know. I sound like an ingrate. I can live with that. This isn’t just “helping out”. This is an invasion with a couple of mind fucks to go along with it just to spice things up a bit.

I want some goddamn peace and quiet. It’s hard enough to raise two kids on your own for a couple weeks. Add the mother ship constantly hovering over you and it’s enough to up the dosage of your anti anxiety meds.