caring is cool.

dream journal.

2010-01-03T10:30:00.000-08:00

i dreamed last night that i found a secret basement in my grandparents' old house that was full of my grandmother's amazing vintage clothing, arranged by decade, from the 1940s through the 1980s. there were purses and shoes and tons of dresses, hung on rolling racks. it was VERY exciting. all the clothes fit me perfectly! there was some sense that everyone wasn't going to just let me have as many clothes as i wanted, which made me feel upset, but mostly i felt confident that i was going to plunder that shit like a viking, regardless.

then i woke up and it was just a dream and i haven't been to that house since my family sold it 10 years ago or so. it was fun being back there, because i love that house and i was too young and head-up-the-butt to really do anything about it being sold and i've always regretted that. in my dream it was a little more 'marie antoinette's house in the country' that in was in real life, and everything was covered in drop cloths, but it was still an overall pleasant dream.

the cloud.

2009-09-27T13:30:00.000-07:00

i've done a lot of traveling this summer.

bali and los angeles and now i'm in new york. (i know. it's not technically summer anymore.)

on all of the trips, away from home, i hoped for something. i'm not sure what i specifically was hoping for. maybe just a lot of fun. LOTS of fun. like, amazing, face hurting, the best time ever fun. and all the trips have been/were/are wonderful. but i've brought this cloud of sadness with me everywhere i went. i think i must have been expecting to shake it at some point, like taking a vacation from my problems (a la 'what about bob'.) and that didn't end up happening. i stayed sad, and most of all, lonely.

i've never really been a melancholy person, nor would i have described myself as chronically lonely. i have a lot of really good friends, all of whom i feel totally comfortable being myself with. i don't keep a lot of me in reserve for special times or something. i feel pretty darn comfortable exposing all of my deepest, darkest secrets to nearly anyone. so this constant feeling of isolation is pretty new for me. not totally unprecedented (see los angeles years) but not my usual way of being.

but everything since my mom died is so weird and not normal to me. i look at my life now and i realize i have basically no idea who i am, what i'm doing, where i'm going, what i want - anything. i'm a total mystery to myself. if i run down the basic details of my life: marriage, living in petaluma, no job, pilates, mom dead, puppy, cat - they all add up to a life i totally don't recognize as mine. i think a huge portion of my cloud can be chalked up to Life Post-Mom.

i'm so much sadder, as a person, than i ever was before. my basic faith in the rightness of the universe, that things happen for a reason and i can trust that everything will work out for the best, is fucking shot to shit. that rationale - the idea that things happen for a reason - can go fuck itself. no, sorry. i don't accept happiness now as necessarily predicated upon my mom's heartbreaking, untimely death from a fucking brain tumor. so, i also have to give up the idea that "god" has a plan for me, and that everything is happening according to that plan, because any plan that requires the death of my mom can go fuck itself, too. so, rather than accepting there's a god that makes things happen and made my mom die in order for something good to happen for me is not welcome in my heart. i feel much more peaceful with a worldview where bad and good things just happen and we attempt to cope with everything gracefully. no smugness at the good, no bitterness at the bad.

anyway, i digressed onto a well-worn track. god: yes or no? not what i meant to talk about.

i am sad. i continue to be sad. i continue to be stymied about who i want to be, and what i want my life to look like. i am not sure who i am if i'm married and can't rely on my looks for attention. seriously, this is a question i am wrestling with. also, i'm not sure how to experience joy anymore. the happiest i've been in a long time was when i was meditating, so maybe i'll start that again, in hopes of recapturing that.

in the meantime, i'm just kinda schlepping along my cloud. lonelies, sads, uncomfies. not my favorite chapter of my life.

The Referendum - Happy Days Blog - NYTimes.com

2009-09-20T18:46:00.001-07:00

The Referendum - Happy Days Blog - NYTimes.com

Shared via AddThis

via emily.

a really lovely meditation on self-doubt and lifestyle jealousy.

white woman's guilt.

2009-07-16T01:04:00.000-07:00

i'm not sure what it means that i haven't been writing here.
i haven't been writing anywhere, really.
haven't worked on my book seriously in months.
haven't meditated.
i dunno.
i feel a little off kilter, but not dramatically so. just a smidge.
i'd like to be doing those things more.
but not enough to actually do them apparently.

one thing i have been doing is pilates.

did i mention i'm doing teacher training to become a pilates instructor?
i am.
here's where i'm doing it.
it's fantastic.
it's changing my life.
i'm excited, proud, challenged - everything good.
i'm doing pilates about 5 times a week, and feeling stronger, so cool.

that's not really what i want to write about right now, though. maybe a little bit not really.

i want to talk about me feeling guilt over my lifestyle.

so, i'm not working.
that's not new.
i've come close to looking for a job a few times in the last year or so, but shannon felt like having me at home, managing the house and taking care of the dog, would be worth more than whatever smallish amount of money i'd be bringing in. and, given my eternal 'nyeh' over working, and general lack of vocation to speak of, i am totally fine with that set up. i'm actually not that good at being a a housewife and have really had my shortcomings thrust at me through this, but i'm developing really helpful habits, which make me an infinitely easier person to live with, i think.

so, i'm not working.
i'm married.
my husband is really handsome.
though we have our ups and downs, and went through a rough patch there a little while back, we're really happy together and totally in love.
we own our own home. (well, the bank owns it and we're buying it from the bank, but you get my meaning. our monthly payments are going towards something that we will eventually reap the benefits of, unlike renting. the fact that most of the payment goes to interest in the loan isn't the topic of discussion right now, but it should be, some day. fucking banks.)
i have awesome hair.
i get many services, that are very pricey, done for me for free, or at huge discounts, by incredibly talented friends.
i have many of the things that one pictures when they're thinking of success in the modern world and money. (new mac laptop, newish iphone, multiple ipods, gucci sunglasses, etc.)
i spend a very large portion of my time working out, doing a type of exercise that is usually insanely expensive.
i travel to fun places fairly often (LA, NYC, BALI!!!).
my body is pretty close to what the magazines say it should be. i'd be a plus size model for sure, but i'm in proportion and i'm closer to the ideal, physically, than a lot of people are.
one of my main responsibilities is to look after my dog, who is pure bred.
i am able to shop at whole foods (whole paycheck) exclusively, unless i feel like going to trader joe's for something.
my hair care and skin care products cost more than some people's haircuts.
i don't have kids, by choice, which means i only have to worry about myself, my (ridiculously handsome) husband and my pets.

what i'm saying is, i am living a life that a lot of people might consider perfect.
i'm not complaining.
my life is freaking awesome.

but, because i'm a human being and this is our eternal struggle, i experience unsatisfactoriness.
sometimes i lie in bed and dread going to the dog park AGAIN.
my hair looks wonky, or flat, or boring.
my forehead is short (really more of a threehead) and i can't have heavy bangs like i'd like to.
my skin and hair care products refuse to change my life the way the magazines tell me they will.
i want MORE things.
i tried on bikinis at target yesterday and looked WRETCHED. like, dimpled and jiggle and bulgey. really, really bad.
for all my working out, i look nearly the same as i always have, as far as i'm concerned. i'm not in smaller clothing sizes, for one thing.
i feel like i'll never lose weight, never look good in a bathing suit, never wear shorts or a short skirt without a hint of shame and fingers crossed that no one looks too closely.
i wish my mom was still alive.

what i mean is, i'm just like everyone else.
i want things that i can't have.
i don't want to do the things i have to do.
i am not happy with the hand (or midriff) i've been dealt.
i wish i was younger still.
i regret choices i've made.

and every time i say anything remotely negative about my situation, or express anything other than blissful contentment, i get scolded by people for being unappreciative of what i have.

it's gotten to the point where i am leery of even sharing my negative feelings about things, for fear i'll offend someone.
i feel like i need to couch everything in apologetic terms "this thing happened and it sucked. (i know, rough life.)" "totally stoked on my life, but wish i didn't have this thing to deal with." why am i apologizing for having the feelings i have? am i not allowed to experience unsatisfactoriness because i have a great life?

and what makes people think that not working, or having money at all, automatically means blissful contentment? do rich people seem happier to you? their families more functional?
look at ebenezer scrooge, man. he was rich a hell and he was miserable!

so, spoiler alert, guys: having money doesn't solve all your problems. it solves some. it creates others. me not having to work doesn't change the fact that my forehead is too short for the bangs i like so much on other people. it doesn't make me 17 again. it doesn't bring my mom back.

all it means is that i have more hours in the day to myself, which also doesn't solve anything. still not writing. still manage to piss entire days away sometimes. still mismanage my money, wish i had more/new/better clothes. still wondering which handbag will complete me as a person. still not doing anything about darfur.

it's true, i'm not sacrificing my life for kids, or having to make serious budget cuts, or wasting hours of my day and years of my life at a job i resent.

but i don't have everything figured out, and i still struggle with life, and i have just as much right to wrestle with my problems as someone who lives in section 8 housing, or someone with cancer, or someone with alopecia. i don't feel like my not needing to work cancels out my right to expect compassion over the things i struggle with, even if they're not life or death struggles.

you know what?
i don't know many people who are dealing with situations that are literally life or death.
and agreed, in the grand scheme of things, i fully recognize that i am lucky to have a torso at all, or a threehead, or an undervalued home. yes, i am lucky to be alive and not being raped a bunch in a refugee camp. we all are. does that mean that the people who are facing foreclosure on their houses don't get to worry about their problems? are they supposed to just be thankful for the fact that they're not facing refugee camp rape, and shut up about their financial concerns?
because if so, i expect a GREAT deal less complaining from pretty much everyone in the entire world, outside of palestine and darfur, 'kay?

of course i am thankful for my life.
my life is amazing.
that goes without saying.
if you hear me posting FML stuff, then you're welcome to tell me to shut up.
actually, you know what? even then, i'm allowed to be bummed for a while.

body.

2009-06-08T01:08:00.000-07:00

hey!
it's been a while!
i'm not going to get into a recap.
i'm fine.
doing well.

but i'm here to talk about something specific.
i'm having some body issues.

i just started pilates teacher training.
it's very exciting, but mostly totally terrifying.
i never did sports. i never took dance or gymnastics. PE was often the only class keeping me from getting straight A's in grade school. i have never been in great shape. i've always been a reader, or a TV watcher, or a sitter-arounder-and-chat-and-smoker.
but when i was grieving so intensely the winter after mom died, i spent a lot of time working out. i did a lot of cardio and i did weight training at the gym. and i really liked it! i was very, very surprised because i'd never really enjoyed anything athletic before, but it totally hit the spot for me.
then i fizzled some on the gym, and i've been pretty sporadic about it, up until a couple of months ago, when i got really serious again.

i work out for many reasons, but the main one is that i want to lose weight and have a better body. when i was working out before i totally didn't see a difference, at all. shannon swears he did, but i don't really remember him ever telling me. i was mindful of what i ate, but i didn't sweat it too much. so i always assumed that the reason i never noticed more of a change, with my sudden dramatic increase in exercise, was that i wasn't eating right. maybe i needed to decrease my calories?

so this time around i've been trying to monitor really closely. i'm counting calories. i'm logging work outs. i'm measuring myself and weighing myself. and i'm still not really seeing anything.

so, it's only been a couple of months. that's one factor, i'm sure. i'm 30 and i'm sure my metabolism is slowing down, so i need to be patient. i still eat some carbs, and have to really struggle to keep myself away from sweets. i should probably quit all breads, but no carb diets just aren't sustainable, and i don't think carbs are inherently bad. i'm all about some complex carbs. but i should definitely quit sugar, and maybe gluten.

i dunno.

i'm just feeling really discouraged. i'm working so hard and it's hard to want to keep going when you're not really seeing the results. i know the goal is to be healthier overall, and it's a lifestyle change, not just trying to get thinner, but let's be realistic... I WANT TO LOSE SOME FUCKING WEIGHT.

i'm starting to get a little bit crazy. i feel like everywhere i go there are women/girls of all ages who have way better bodies and in my head i semi-obsess over what they know that i don't know. i lost a bunch of weight right before i met shannon, because i was eating these gross energy bars for breakfast and lunch and drinking tons of coffee and smoking cigarettes. one of his first orders of business after we met was to wrench the nasty bars from my hands, and shame me into smoking less, and i totally gained all the weight back, which is obviously fine and much better. but on some level, i consider buying a case of those bars from costco. i consider only eating bars, and taking vitamins and drinking water. i sometimes feel like i can only handle total control (basically anorexia, which i absolutely don't have) or no control (eating whatever.)

i don't really think i'm "fat" by conventional standards, and i'm totally within my healthy weight range for my height. but i don't want to be on the outer edge. i want to be in the middle, or towards the lower end. i am sick of feeling like i'm a bit chubby, or being embarrassed about my soft tummy. i feel like my difficulty losing weight is a total condemnation of my willpower, that i'm weak and a quitter and can't do it.

the person i see in the mirror is different all the time. somedays i feel nearly willowy, which is kinda my dream. many, many says i wake up feeling gigantic. not really gigantic. just kinda swollen. big. heavy. ungainly.

i'm trying to forge a new relationship with my body, after barely communicating with it for about 27 years. i don't understand how it works and i find it totally mystifying and very frustrating.

i wish i could see myself through a few other people's eyes, so i could get a better sense of how i'm doing and what i look like.

anyway, i'm not quitting. i'm going to be a pilates teacher someday, and so help me god, i will not be the chubby teacher. (i go to spin class and whenever there's a chubby teacher i can't help but wonder if they're doing it right, because if you're doing spin all the time, i'd think you'd we 90 lbs.) i'm not quitting, i'm going to keep on working on it and i'm not going to give up.

but i'm really discouraged and afraid nothing i do will make any difference, i'm just destined to be 'the birth of venus' forever. it could be worse.

it can't fail!

2009-05-03T21:21:00.001-07:00

okay, so i have had a brilliant idea and i am basically on the brink of becoming a millionaire.

here's where it came from...
shannon and i went out to dinner at a mexican place we used to eat at all the time but then stopped going to. immediately upon finishing the meal, it became clear why we never eat there anymore...it makes shannon ill.

oops.

so i thought, 'sometimes you eat something and wish you hadn't a kinda want to take it back...'
and VOILA!

you guys....vomitoriums!

wait for it.

yeah! I KNOW!

so, here's my thinking, just spit-balling...

ladies are out for a bachelorette party.
they want to eat a giant steak dinner, with baked potatoes and bread and rolls and everything. YUM!
but they also want to go out dancing afterwards and no have to deal with post-meal sluggishness or bloated food bellies.
so, they come to my upchuckery!
they rent a group room.
they check in and trade their clothes for some robes and slippers. (no terry cloth. getting vomit out of terry cloth is a nightmare. i think.)
they waddle into a large tiled room, with showers and stalls and troughs and sinks.
they do their business.
they shower, if they feel so inclined.
they leave the room and head into the powder room, where complimentary water (cucumber, lemon, fruit, bubbly, flat, cold, warm...so many types!) is available. also saltines.
there are sinks where they can use toothbrushes (which we sell, and which come with free toothpaste and mouthwash!), wash their faces, reapply make-up, use some perfume from the perfume bar, and get ready to go out again.
maybe they want to lay down a solid layer in their tummies so they can drink a bunch!
we have a cafe that serves tummy friendly foods!
chamomile tea, papaya enzymes, chicken soup, grilled cheese, salads with mild dressings, ginger ale...
so they eat some, get gussied up and head back out, skinny and smelling better, but having enjoyed a lovely dinner!!
IT CAN'T FAIL!

so, that's one market.
maybe we have a ladies' night package.

obviously the bulimic are an option, but we can't count on them. they're not going to be our bread and butter. (get it?)

another market is drunk people.

either they want to keep drinking, or they're too drunk and want to start sobering up somewhere that isn't a bar bathroom. either way, we're there for them.

we'll have private rooms (NO SEX!!), semi-private rooms, and public rooms.
you check your clothes at the door, and they're returned to you, smelling better.
maybe we have sober up specials, where you can rent some of those capsule sleeping pods that they have in japan for a couple of hours to help sleep it off, and then we'll throw in a free breathalyzer before you leave. overnight parking, for a fee. free shuttle with certain packages? (just riffing.)

obviously we'll open our first branch in las vegas, because where else will there be so many stupid people doing stupid things they wish they could take back, right? from there, we'll see. i'm thinking...the marina? hollywood?

my only problem...a name.

ideas? the upchuckery isn't going to sell itself. we need something less barfy.

by the way.

2009-04-04T20:43:00.001-07:00

hey, guys!

i'm embarking on a project, wherein i enter all my myspace blog posts into this one.

so, if you'd like to take a trip down memory lane, and enjoy more of my delightful insights, feel free to check them out.

they start in november 2003.

sorry i haven't had much to say lately.

i'm fine, so you know.

spring cleaning, mom, her scent.

2009-03-30T01:26:00.000-07:00

it's spring time, everyone. rebirth, fresh starts.

a fresh start for our storage space to not be a nightmare teetery box maze.

shannon digs, and i examine the finds. much of it is mine, from our moves and our tribulations. the pressure to decide, item by item, on the importance of any individual thing of my mom's was simply too great, and i'm afraid i erred on the side of 'put it in storage and deal with it later.' shannon politely, sensitively, but firmly asked me to reexamine the boxes, so they could be labeled and stored properly.

one box was CDs of music i will never, ever listen to. vince gill, enya, so much andrea boccelli.

one box had binders and files and folders - receipts and deeds and notes and letters, none of them useful, aside from copies of the birth and death certificate of my grandfather, the commander.

as i pulled the flaps of one box back, it exhaled the smell of my mom, a punch in the stomach. it was a box of her clothes, the ones i hadn't given to goodwill. and they had retained her smell, despite being in a manky cardboard box, in our musty, dusty storage space.

the smell, you guys.

it was still there.

those are the things we lose and can't ever retain. i know i've written about it before, but it keeps coming back.

the smell of someone's life.

the texture of her skin.

the shape of her nails.

the contour of her shoulder meeting her neck, where my head fit perfectly.

the sound of her blowing her nose, first thing in the morning.

these are the things that fade away.

i know HER, in my bones, back to front.

i don't need her here to tell me how much she loved me, or that she was proud of me.
i don't need to ask her what she thinks about things because i can already just know.
i wear her jewelry all the time, her clothes and purses and shoes and scarves.
the archaeological record of her life was remarkably thorough.

it's the soft parts that decay first, is what i'm saying. the hard bones of her life surround me, but the feathers and fur and breath are going and mostly gone now.

except this box - this amazing, miraculous gift of a box.

for a few minutes, i could bury my face in her scent.

and, being me, as i marveled at the discovery, i was already preparing for the disappointment of its loss. just by smelling it i was mingling my own scent with hers, corrupting it, exposing it to the invisible smells of our house, our life, and all the things we take for granted.

i've been through this a million times, with various pieces of her clothing. i'll find it and realize it smells like her. i'll keep it, so i can smell it carefully, with restraint. can one sniff away all the scent molecules of something? is that possible? just in case, i practice moderation in my sniffs.

but then the temptation is too great, and i wear the item. and for a day or two, it's magic. the primal message of safety and security just wraps me up and i lose my head, forget moderation and planning for the future.

and then the smell is gone and i'm left with another piece of my mom's clothing, special for its proximity to her, but now smelling like boring old me. or, i imagine it smells like me, since i can't smell myself.

so i open the box, and bury my face in it. the clothes are silk and velvet - quintessential mom clothes. i tossed the t-shirts and sweat pants and athletic socks because who the fuck cares about them, but these are the clothes of her soul, basically, and i couldn't part with them. i burrow deeper and deeper into the box, pressing the cool fabrics to my face and inhaling a little bit gluttonously.

the smell isn't exactly right, actually, but it is very much closer than i've been in months.

i watched her die, in that hospital bed in her bedroom at home. i held her hand as the last breath left her, and her smell was the same, even as she died.

now i haunt the world a bit, always seeking that smell, sniffing after strangers, just in case. i look completely normal on the outside, calm and mostly untroubled, and i am. but there is always a part of me searching for her in everyone i see. you never know. maybe there are scent twins in the world somewhere, and i will find hers by chance. maybe that scent twin will recognize my scent, and we'll embrace like long-lost family and i can bury my face in this stranger's neck and feel like i'm home again.

1:00am and all's well.

2009-03-16T01:20:00.000-07:00

hey, blog.

missing you.

thinking about you.

your time is coming.

it might be too late.

2009-02-26T18:11:00.001-08:00

hi!

a lot has happened, and i had written and REALLY long blog post about everything and all my thoughts about it with clever links and such, but i kinda ran out of steam. it might be too late for the really detailed recap, so i'll do a quicker one, with the highlights.

the biggest highlight is selling my mom's house, FINALLY.

after a bunch of stops and starts and it seeming like it might not happen, it finally happened, though up until we saw the money in our bank account, we were still hanging out in a 'we'll see' limbic zone. i know i was afraid to get my hopes up, after things falling apart with the sale the first time.

it's such a miracle that the house sold at all, in this economy, and makes me wonder why these buyers wanted the house so bad, but i'm certainly not complaining. just saying. it was really lucky for us. it was lucky for the buyers, too, since the house is gorgeous and obviously a good buy, being sold for considerably less than it is appraised for, but still. we were worried we'd have to sit on it forever.

with the house sold, we got to close the book on our involvement with allen. up to the last days it was looking like he might fuck the whole thing up, in his own special allen way, but it happened, anyway, thank goodness. it's nice to know there is no reason why i HAVE to answer the phone if he calls; nice to know all remaining ties between us, of unfinished business, are gone. i owe him nothing now, and have no reason to even believe i'll hear from him again. while there is considerable joy associated with that, and SO much relief, there's also some sadness. though he was a source of incredible discomfort and negativity in my life, he was also another connection to my mom. he was crazy and a total asshole, a weirdo and a giant problem, but he loved my mom just as much as i did, and he was the only other person who was as deeply affected by her death as me. i wish we'd been able to share that a bit more. it sucks that his insanity was like a solid wall between us, totally impossible to get through. he didn't seem very interested in connecting about it, anyway, but it would've been nice if we hadn't had so much negativity between us. for a lot of reasons, obviously.

with the house out of my name, and the mortgage paid off, we have a lot more money per month for other stuff. it also means shannon doesn't have to say 'yes' to every single job he's offered, because he can afford to not work for a bit, since we're not trying to digest two mortgage payments, two sets of property taxes. hello, fancy tropical vacation! i've been wanting a really big vacation pretty much since mom got sick, and have taken a bunch of smaller ones, staying with loved ones in LA and NY, but i really want a lying-around-with-drinks-in-coconuts vacation, that looks like a cerveza commercial. that's a possibility now, with the money from the sale of the house and the added money per month that we'll have. i can say truthfully, without a hint of self-effacing or bragging, that we fucking deserve one.

we each got new laptops! they're so sexy and little and light, it's awesome. obvs they're macs. i got the macbook and shannon got the macbook pro, since he's a bit more of a 'power user' than me. it's actually ridiculous how little of my computer i use, in general.

in other news, i've had the flu for a couple of weeks. fever and sore throat for two days in the beginning of last week, then fading to a gnarly cough and copious amounts of yuckiness in my sinuses. i'd like to get more graphic about them because it's a total medical freak show in there, but i'll save it. if you want to details, email me, i'm happy to supply more details. suffice it to say, it's not pretty.

i pulled it together for a saturday afternoon departure for los angeles with shannon. a couple of movies he worked on last year were nominated for awards from the sound editors organization (like the oscars for the sound business), a guy shannon works with was being given his lifetime achievement award, and lots of people from up here were heading down for the awards ceremony, so we decided to go to. in hindsight it was a really dumb idea, totally not worth the trouble, but we did it anyway. i still wasn't feeling the best, but i felt good enough, i thought, so we drove down. we got there about 45 minutes before the dinner started, so we rushed in and changed. shannon looked very dapper in his new suit jacket and shirt and tie, with jeans and some fancy man shoes. (we didn't have time to get his pants tailored and they looked a little silly, but the jeans looked awesome, and were actually more 'him' anyway.) i dressed up, too, looked totally fine, in a new dress and new fancy shoes. my voice had gotten really hoarse and croaky, so i had a rough night trying to chat with people. it was a struggle to make myself heard over the ambient noise, but i persevered. (like anne frank, over here.) neither of shannon's movies won, but it was still fun to see everyone all dressed up and chat with some of my favorites of shannon's co-workers. the meal was nyeh.

by the end of the awards show, my voice was pretty much blown and i was really tired, so i snuck out, without saying my goodbyes, which weighed on me, and headed up to the room to crawl into bed. i couldn't sleep because of the indecorous amounts of fluid in my sinuses, and the gods were cruel in their TV programming. (so unfair! i don't have a TV and only watch TV in hotels or at other people's house, so it's kind of a special occasion!) shannon stayed and hobnobbed for a long, long time, and didn't get back to the room until 1:30am or so, which was unfortunate for both of us, because we had to leave at 5am for the drive home because my friend's baby shower was at noon in marin. oof.

one of my skills is coping well on limited sleep, which is very useful. so, i told myself that i wasn't going to SLEEP, i was laying down for NAP. pretty impressive, huh? it worked like a charm! i woke up tired, but not groggy and miserable, though by mid-morning i was pooped. the drive was long and boring, as usual, though the rain has made the central valley really green, so it was less ugly than usual.

i got to the baby shower in time, despite some rain-related traffic on the way. my voice was pretty much completely gone, and i had a terrible sounding cough, so i checked in with the mama, to see if my wretched soundingness would be unwelcome, and after she checked with her mom, who's a nurse, she said it was fine. i'm really glad i went, too, because it was tremendously beautiful, in a way that i've never experienced with traditional baby showers.

first, a bunch of my best ladies were there, and we've all been friends for over ten years, and it was pretty amazing being there to celebrate the first one of us moving into motherhood. we don't get together a lot, aside from major occasions, and the last times i've seen all of them have been sad ones - my mom's funeral, ana's mom's funeral, some birthdays. it was nice to be in a not sad, not loud gathering with them, where we could really talk.

the shower itself was much more of a rite of passage ceremony, marking zoe's transition from the maiden phase of her life, into motherhood. her mom was there, running things, as were a whole circle of ladies of all different ages, celebrating the transition. there were lots of tears and lots of laughter. in my head, that kind of thing sounds uncomfortable and embarrassing, but it was perfect and lovely and warm and beautiful and i was very thankful to be included. made me a bit baby yearny, but not insanely so. just a little jealous, managably so.

it also made me miss my mom a lot, and wish she was alive still to throw me a magical, goddess-y baby shower. just another of the myriad things i wish she was here to do, but it was painful being in such a motherhood-centric space and gathering, knowing my mom is dead and i don't have that anymore. i've been a little raw about mom again, with selling the house and saying adieu to allen. it's the closing of another chapter of mom's life, and there aren't really anymore of those, that i can think of. yeah, allen was a huge problem for us, and the entire situation with him is still such a throbbing OUCH in my head and heart, but he was mom's partner and was a part of her and a connection to her life. with each chapter closed, it's almost like she didn't live. not really, but a bit. there are less and less reminders, as the physical artifacts of her life are dispersed, and the people spread out. being at the house was so good-bad, and inheriting it was like everything else that was left over, where the reminder was both extremely painful and also comforting. so, losing that was great, because i have one less irritant, but still.

as i'm struggling to recover from the flu, my wisdom teeth have begun to really bother me. lame timing, body. not cool. so, full of snot and coughing, i met with an oral surgeon today, to get them taken out. just the toppers. i guess i don't have bottom ones. (because i have absorbed them, and their accompanying wisdom already, probably. that's what got me through mom's death.) so, removal next week. i've never had nitrous oxide, and i get to take valium, too. so, that's something. i'm really sick of coughing and having to sleep with my mouth open so i can breath through my mouth. i'll be thankful when this all dries up.

i signed up for a workshop next month. i'll talk more about that later, though. it's a long story.

how am i doing?

2009-02-10T15:27:00.000-08:00

i'm okay.
thanks for asking.
lacking a bit in the joie-de-vivre, but i think it's unrealistic to expect myself to greet every day with a twinkle in my eye and a song in my heart. sometimes you're just plodding along, the best you can, keeping on keeping on.
i've been thinking a lot about time and mortality.
i feel a little silly getting morbid at 30, since my grandmother still referred to women in the 40s as 'young ladies,' but i have actually been having 'i wish i could go back in time and re-do things' thoughts.
i'm only getting older, guys.
i know we all are, and that's not a revelation, but it's sobering to be faced by mortality, even for a moment. given how much of our time is spent pretending we'll never die, it's a shock to get it.
TIME MARCHES INEXORABLY ON.

this is my only chance to be me.
i don't exactly feel like i've wasted my life up until this point. i certainly haven't been living large, or doing extraordinary things, but i also haven't been hurting people on purpose or causing harm or anything. my life so far hasn't been a failure, but it hasn't been what i thought it would be. i think teenage kira would be a little disappointed. of course, teenage kira was a bit of an asshole, so her opinions aren't the most reliable.
i just am feeling time passing, and myself getting older.
i have this weird thing under my chin, like i'm developing an wattle. that's time, right there. gross.
i'm meditating again, and reading my buddhism books.
whenever i remember that there is no 'good' or 'bad,' just things that happen and my evaluations about them, it's a relief.
working on mindfulness. working on stillness. working on doing no harm, which isn't hard in some ways (like not hitting people) but is hard in other ways (not thinking negative things about other drivers.) it all counts though.
also, letting go of the idea that i am going to change, going to get better, that my life should be different than it is...such a shock.
i am who i am.
not that i have no interest in consciously avoiding behavior that causes harm, because i do.
but letting go of the illusion that i am ever not going to be filled with concerns and insecurities and regrets and unfriendly thoughts. it'll always be there. and there's nothing wrong with it. it just is the way that it is.
what would life be like if we remembered all the time that we are fine already?
i honestly can't imagine.
and again, the goal isn't to never suffer again, because it'll happen.
i'll disappoint myself. i'll disappoint others. i'll make huge mistakes that i can barely face.
it'll just happen, so i can let go of being worried about it.
the goal is to be gentle about it.
to treat myself and others like my favorite person, for whom i have infinite forgiveness.
obvs not the point of letting myself be an asshole or letting other people treat me like crap.
i know that this isn't a life's plan, but while i am chewing over the idea of a life plan, this is a very nice way to spend my time.
not writing in my novel at all, but writing in my blogs a lot more.
that's something, i think.

compassionate fascism.

2009-02-04T11:08:00.000-08:00

so, i started a new blog, compassionate fascism.

i've been feeling like i might want a second place to share stuff that isn't at all related to my mental/emotional state. sometimes i'm not feeling like pouring my heart out, but i *am* feeling like sharing a youtube video of a cat riding on a roomba. it feels weird to post something that silly on the same place i post about missing my mom, so i thought i'd keep them separate. i know there are some people who read this blog to see how i'm doing, who may not be interested in the things i'm looking at on the internet, for whatever reason. uncle keith may not want to read the hilarious recap of this week's episode of the reality show 'the pick-up artist.' (though why he wouldn't want to is a mystery because duh. i don't even watch tv and i am interested in hilarious recaps of anything.)

i've also been compiling ideas and thoughts of different kinds and i wanted a place that made them easier to find. so, if there's a beauty product i love, i can put the suggestion there so it's easier to search for. or a list of kid's movies that i think are pretty good and won't make you want to die if you have to watch them a thousand times. so those will go there, too.

finally, i have been working on my political system, compassionate fascism, for a long, long time, but it's such a huge idea and huge project that posting about it here would take things in a different direction. so, since it's based on my own impeccable sense of right and wrong, and it being imposed on the country at large, it seemed appropriate to post ideas about that here, where i am already telling you what i think you should like or not like.

anyway, i hope you'll like them BOTH, for different reasons.

if you're feeling inclined, you can become an official FOLLOWER of my blogs. if you already have a blogger account, it's easy to do. it's nice to know who is reading this, and it's a nice way to make me feel like i'm not writing into a vacuum. no pressure. but it would make me happy if you did.

i'll be back soon writing about deep stuff. don't worry. it won't be ALL cats-on-roombas from now on.

the world, and what it's coming to.

2009-02-03T11:56:00.000-08:00

* i know capital punishment is a little stiff and an eye for an eye and blahblablah. but still. shouldn't there be a more serious response to this stuff?

* at least there's SOME good news. we should have civil war there all the time! (just kidding, they already do.) what kind of a monster would kill a fucking gorilla, by the way?

this actually brings me to something i have been pondering lately. both of these stories do, really.

are there some things, some behaviors, that are so heinous that they are deal breakers and deserve execution? killing someone in the heat of the moment doesn't count, to me. i've done some pretty heinous things to inanimate objects in the heat of the moment, so i can't judge. plus, there are totally cases where i feel like someone kinda needed killing. dude's beating his kid to death...should the mom/other kid/neighbor call the cops and wait, or should they just hit the dude in the head with a shovel, or shoot him or something? duh. (well, to me, duh. maybe not to you.) if it's a life or death situation, defending yourself is okay, i say. serial killers, though...

so most serial killers are so fucked in the head that it's unlikely that they will ever be rehabilitated. so, maybe we should just kill them, right? if there's 100% solid evidence, not based on anything debunkable, aren't we all safer if they're just put down like rabid dogs? you don't blame a rabid dog for being rabid because it's not his fault, and i think the same thing about serial killers. it's not their fault, they're just too sick and dangerous to live. a friend referred to it as 'weeding the garden.' if you let the weeds take over, they'll do it. they're not bad, they're just doing what weeds do, but if you want your garden to be harmonious, you gotta get those opportunistic, serial killing weeds outta there. that makes sense to me, though is a more cosmetic metaphor than is really accurate.

what about child molesters? should they be executed? most of them have been molested themselves, and, much like alcoholism, molestation is a gift that keeps on giving a lot of the time. molestation seems like an impulse control problem. i really want an expensive purse, but i'm not going to take it because it's illegal and there are consequences that i'm not interested in accepting. i think about being single sometimes, but i don't act on it. when mykhail is driving me crazy, i day dream about a tranquilizer or ether soaked rag, but i'm not going to take those thoughts beyond idle pondering. IMPULSE CONTROL. we can't help what pops up in our heads a lot of the time. maybe you're a person who has some criminally disgusting stuff popping up in your head. that's maybe not your fault. but when you act on it, THAT is your fault.

(side note: are the people who come up with torture porn movies like 'saw' and stuff monsters? again, you can't necessarily help that some seriously unpleasant ideas pop into your head, but making a movie out of them and then making jillions of dollars by spewing that into the mainstream of culture? pretty monstrous, i think. i know there's a market for it, and if they're not making it someone else will and everything else. but still. *i* think those people are gross and are possibly contributing to the slow and steady slide of our culture into total depravity. i also question what is wrong with someone that they would find those movies enjoyable to watch. i know some totally-mostly-normal people who enjoy them, but i am still concerned. is your head okay? are you a sicko inside? because indulging that kinda stuff doesn't seem healthy to me.)

so, impluse control. i think that we need to have more room in our culture for people to be open about deviant thoughts, if only to encourage them to ask for help. i'd rather a person be going to therapy to address their pedophile thoughts that skulking around in shame, being lurky and having no support in resisting the urges. are there support groups for that? there should be. LET IT BE SO.

i think that finding sexually deviant things arousing would be pretty distressing. i am taking it as a given that people can't choose to be, gay, which some feel is deviant sexuality. if you are from a community that finds homosexuality deviant, the social pressure to NOT be gay is so strong that it's inconceivable to me that anyone would decide willingly to live a lifestyle that possibly alienates them from their friends and family. sorry, that makes no sense. so, i think the same thing applies to being a pedophile, though i am in NO WAY implying that they are equally deviant. AT ALL.

as a culture, we have an agreement that children are not sex objects. (though the child beauty pageant people are waffling on that agreement, i think.) other cultures in the history of humankind have not had the same agreement, but we, in the western modern world think that, say pre-pubescent kids are absolutely not to be sexualized. so imagine the horror with which someone would realize they were having such deeply taboo thoughts. this is not the sort of thing they would choose willingly. but there it is, in their heads. how frustrating for them, to be forever completely unable to act on such a strong impulse. like being a black slave who realizes he's not really attracted to black women and just wants to marry a white lady. totally not ever going to happen. not your fault, but let it go. the frustration. but, given the rules of the time and place we live in, you are just destined to have to live without forever.

up until this point, i can sympathize, in the sense that i can really imagine that would be very painful. you didn't ask for this, you don't want it, but it's in your head and it's not going away. tragic, really.

but if you DO act on it, either in pursuing the acquisition of child porn or being pervy in other ways that don't include actual molestation but do cross into actively indulging your desires, i say you're guilty and that's on YOU, not your messed up head.

so, in that case, should the person be allowed to have another chance to work on their impulse control? should they be allowed back into society? let's use the best case scenario and have a sex offender who is genuine remorseful and absolutely does not want to repeat their behavior. should they be allowed to struggle with their potentially deeply damaging urges, or should we, as society, just say, 'sorry, man, not worth the risk' and, like, chemically castrate them? or should we manually castrate them, just to be sure? the ACLU says chemical castration is cruel and unusual punishment, and while i tend to agree with them and am all for rights, i think i might have to beg to differ.

this sort of gets into another issue. obviously other cultures have very different ideas about what rights humans inherently have. in cultures where there is tremendous poverty and overpopulation, people seem to have a 'swim or sink' attitude about each other. human life is a lot less precious than it is here. i think we can afford to think that each human life is precious, because we're living our lives much further from death than the majority of the world. but it seems like in much of the rest of the world, people are seen as darn-near disposable.
"whatever, it's another orphaned toddler huffing a glue soaked rag in a doorway. pesky kids. i'm gonna throw a rock at them!"
as opposed to:
"holy mary mother of god, that toddler is filthy and starving and is possibly huffing glue! that child is in danger and needs to be taken care of NOW! I'M ON IT!"

it's easy for us, in wealthy nations, to judge the inhumanity of another culture's attitude towards their less fortunate. (though we shouldn't be too smug, considering the state of our inner cities, which are barely better than shanty towns.) but this idea that each person is a unique, magical being who deserves to be allowed to pursue its destiny in freedom is based on the assumption that people have the luxury of thinking about their destiny and their heart's desire, which is a HUGE assumption. most of human history is paved with millions of people who lived at subsistence level, at best, and died hard deaths. they lived hard, died hard, and no one knows who they are or who they were. even US history. industrial revolution. westward expansion. the eradication of the entire indigenous people's population. those weren't places or times where people were spending much time questioning their heart's desires. their heart's desire was to not die like a dog in the street and most of them didn't achieve even that meager goal.

so who says that we suddenly deserve this? i'm not saying we don't, i'm just asking WHY we think we do now? because it's a pretty unrealistic expectation. the idea that we all deserve true love, deeply fulfilling lives, total self-determination... those are ideas we are lucky to be able to expect. certainly religion makes the pill easier to swallow, with a 'do your best now, it'll all work out in the after-life/next-life' rationale for waiting out the crappy parts.

but this is all human logic applied to circumstance.

what is true is that some people will live satisfying, joyful lives. some of them will be rich and some of them will not be. a lot of people will live lives in which they feel powerless, hopeless, loveless. they may or may not get another chance to work it out. this might be their only shot at living.

so, by letting a dangerous person muddle along, doing their best, but maybe making mistakes that ruin other people's lives, are we saying that the destiny of that one person is more important than the destiny of all their potential victims? i mean, there's not guarantee that they will be repeat offenders, though recidivism among sex offenders is discouragingly high. is preemptively punishing them cruel, because it doesn't give them a chance to NOT do it, or is it smart because it doesn't give them a chance TO do it? i don't have an answer, i'm just wondering.

there was a scene in the last season of 'the wire' where some kids are pouring lighter fluid on a stray cat, obviously getting ready to do some gnarly fucked up stuff. let's not get into how upsetting it was that the writers and directors had this be in the scene, though it was deeply upsetting to me and shannon, and how unnecessary it was to include it, though i think it was totally unnecessary. let's just say it's a real thing that happens, since it is. what is wrong with a culture that raises kids that think that way? or that raises adults to see street gangs of orphaned kids as no better than stray dogs?

there is a famous ethnography called death without weeping. it addresses what i think is the central cause of these levels of cruelty, where people live such grindingly difficult lives, without any tenderness at all, that the softness is just seared out of them. even in shannon's town, i see some of it. if you and everyone you know has been raised by alcoholics and meth addicts and you had the crap beaten out of you by your parents and older siblings and everyone who was physically able to beat the crap out of you, and every dog you've ever known has spent its entire life on the end of a 5ft chain in someone's yard, all year round, it's not hard to imagine you'd end up a hard person. no one ever did anything kind for you, so where would you learn that kindness was even a thing that existed?

so, those monster kids who were getting ready to burn that cat, are they basically destined to be future criminal and monster adults, given that they have been allowed to develop that kind of mentality? can people change?

again, i don't know. i'm wondering myself.

* on a lighter note, is "greasy bear" the best/worst nickname ever, or what?

Blogging via email?

2009-02-02T14:24:00.001-08:00

I've never done this before, emailing a blog post to Blogger.
Will it work?
We shall see.

Sent from my iPhone

loveliness.

2009-01-24T13:28:00.001-08:00

fleet foxes were amazing on SNL this week.

it makes me happy that there are young men who are expressing themselves this way.

grab bag, miscellany.

2009-01-16T18:23:00.000-08:00

this is our new doctor!

* um...ew. just...ew.

* my homeboy (in my head), gabe, at videogum, breaks it down about new reality show, bromance.

* i seriously, strangely, love me some posh spice, but this is just excessive.

* i dont get many chances to use my 'val kilmer' tag.

* i've been feeling so excited about obama lately, but i felt kinda sad for GWB and his final presidential address. being a lame duck must be a terrible feeling, after being the aggressive male duck of the walk for so long. don't get me wrong. hey, GWB, don't let the screen door hit you on the way out of office, 'kay? but still. i root for the underdog, even when the underdog totally destroyed the country and encouraged policies that dragged the entire world into financial catastrophe. he has feelers, too, guys! (i like the part in the second article, where he says, basically, "you might not agree with the tough decisions i made, but you can't say i didn't have the guts to make those really bad, horrifying decisions that everyone in the world thought were appalling." it's both funny and true, because (a) i don't agree with your decisions and (b) i can't deny you made those decisions.)

* it's so lame that someone as gross as this guy gets to have a bunch of money while people who work hard can't make it happen.

* i bought this for you for your birthday. or christmas. i can't decide which to use it for.

new year.

2009-01-07T01:18:00.000-08:00

so, 2009, huh?

2008, not my favorite year.

i know i said the same thing about 2007, too, but the statement is no less true for being repeated. basically, the late Aughts have been tough for me and mine. it pains me to become all eeyore about stuff, but i think i'm over hoping that next year will be better. pema chodron is anti-hope anyway, so i don't feel like it's the worst thing ever to let go of hoping things will be different than they are. thing will be however they will be (isn't there a song about that?) and i'll just keep moving forward. like a glacier. except they're receding with global warming, i think. still. i'll move forward like a thing that moves inexorably forward. (pulitzer price committee, there's no 'c' in fisher.)

i had a talk with lu and tab about my state of mind/heart a couple of days after christmas. certainly it fluctuates a bit on a day-to-day basis, and it might even change a bit within one day, but if we were to smooth the little ups and downs into a general curve, in order to make a blanket statement, i'd describe my general state of mind as 'poor.' i'm still In It, as they say. i'm trying to be done. i am trying to move on to the next phase, where things feel more manageable, and i even got there for a while, i think. but i'm not there anymore. i'm back in the wanting to wear pajamas all day phase. i'm finding it hard to get even the most basic things done. i have no energy for any of the things that made me feel happier before - writing, cooking, the gym. it's not happening for me.

i'm having a REALLY hard time taking care of The Kid. whatever stores of nurturing energy i had in reserve is completely tapped out right now. even the idea of having a baby is exhausting and deeply unpleasant right now, whereas a couple of months ago, i was pretty much set on it. i've been daydreaming about never having a kid lately, just having myself to take care of.

looking back over the last few years, i've spent a lot of time taking care of other people and creatures. no need to list them all here, though if you'd like one, i'm happy to supply it. i don't regret learning how to care for others. i think that was a muscle that was weak to the point of being non-existent prior to mom's cancer, so it was good for me to learn it, though it would've been nice to have a gentler learning curve. i am a softer, better person for it, absolutely. but i could really use some more time to take care of myself. i actually feel like my need to take care of myself is nearly impossible to satisfy. like, no matter how much time i have to focus on myself, i feel like i'll never be done with needing more. and i'm feeling an insatiable need for others to take care of me, too.

in my buddhist practice, i am working on compassion for myself and others. in fact, i have never been one for new year's resolutions, but i made an informal one this year, which is just that: to practice compassion for myself at all times, even when i feel like i don't deserve it. even when i am really sure that i am The Worst and totally shouldn't be treated with love and respect, i am going to endeavor to STILL greet myself with as much forgiveness and love as i can muster. the voice of compassion to me is my mom's voice, which makes the practice painful. when i'm really filled with self-loathing and shame, the way i often bring myself back is my imagining what my mom would say if i were discussing it with her. she had a low tolerance for other people beating themselves up, and an infinite capacity to forgive. there is something so comforting about the idea of her reminding me that i am doing the best i can do, and that that's enough. for some reason telling myself that doesn't mean anything at all. it has to be in my mom's voice.

i worry a bit that i have lost the capacity for self-forgiveness and receiving comfort from others because no one does it the way i want it done, because my mom is the person who i want to be comforted by. it's like every shoulder i cry on is just not quite right. no one pets my head the right way. but what do i do now, since that perfect shoulder is gone? i can't just spend the rest of my life unsatisfied with the comfort i am offered, by myself or others. that sounds shitty.

i feel like people are sick of me being so sad. i feel like everyone thinks i am faking. i think on some level i actually believe i am faking - that i could be trying harder, doing better, and i'm choosing not to, because i'm lazy or something. i feel like people are sick of me being so needy for reassurance. i feel like people hate the new sad kira and miss the old fun selfish kira. (i know i certainly miss her sometimes.) i guess all these things i am imagining other people thinking are just the things i'm thinking. "why aren't you better yet? it's been more than a year. you're not that sad. you just spent hours laughing with friends, so you can't be that sad. get over it. you're just pretending you're sad because you're lazy and you don't want to get anything done and this is a good excuse that no one will be allowed to call you on. look at other people - they're going through worse things than you and they're working, spending time with friends, calling people, grocery shopping, vaccuming. what's your fucking problem, aside from being a lazy piece of crap?"

that monologue feels way more real and truthful to me than the good stuff. the 'i'm doing the best i can. if i could be doing better, i would be. even when i fail, that was the best i could do that day.' that seems pretty flimsy to me. 'i really miss my mom' seems like the lamest excuse in the world.

but you guys, i really miss her.

today, right now, i'm not doing well.

maybe tomorrow it'll feel more manageable, but right now, i feel like i'm smothering under this and like it's never, ever going to get better.

i've been thinking a lot about john travolta and kelly preston. i finally understand why people write letters to celebrities, especially after tragedies like this. i thought a lot about jennifer hudson, too, after her family got killed. i just keep thinking about the sadness i struggle with, the loss, the hopelessness, and i think about how fresh it all is for them, and how terrible every morning must feel right now. before mom got sick, i think i consciously muted my ability to take in sadnesses around me. i don't think having a filter is wrong. without a damper, how would anyone get out of bed in the morning in a world with darfurs and gazas and the drug epidemic and the situation in the inner cities. so much misery. but being in the midst of it myself RIGHT NOW, i find my ability to mute it mostly gone. i don't know john travolta at all, obviously, but i find myself crying for him, and how sad him and his wife must be. it's sort of embarrassing to me, actually. mostly because it's involuntary, like hiccuping or something. i can't help thinking about them all the time, and since i'm always a bit on the verge of tears, there they are again. (the fact that they're scientologists and didn't get their probably autistic son any kind of treatment is beside the point. they loved him and showed it in a way that was meaningful for them, and their loss is no less profound for them being scientologists and wingnuts.)

i'm just really tired.

i wish everything and everyone would take a break from needing me to manage them, even a little, and i could have some time to do whatever i want or need to without any scrutiny. i mean EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. houseplants, cats, puppy, husband, friends, bills, dust, self-esteem...i want everything to stop asking me for something for some length of time - just take care of yourself or accept that i have nothing to offer right now, but still need a lot of giving from you - and i'll see if i can fill this bottomless pit.

(obviously i know everyone and everything have already kind of been needing to do this, since my capacity to fully participate in anything is entirely intermittent and has been for a couple of years now, and i totally appreciate everything that everyone has done for me. this isn't to suggest that i am not being given enough, or that i am being asked for more than is fair. quite the contrary. i am just still not done needing really intensive nurturing, i feel like, but i also feel like i have moved past the point where anyone finds that acceptable or an idea worth entertaining.)

i've had a few ideas about writing. i think i might have a kid's book floating around in my head. i'm wanting to write, but haven't gotten there in a couple of weeks.

the pup continues to be so cute it's a little annoying. he's just relentless. i want to talk all about him, but i think that might be boring for everyone, though why i should feel like the minutiae of my puppy's life would be less interesting that the minutiae of my emotional life is a mystery.

been doing some clothes shopping with my christmas money. lotsa good sales right now.

the puppy has mastered the doggie door, but i can't for the life of me master the art of walking my dog, the way cesar millan wants us to.

i need a hair cut and i haven't gotten waxed in months.

my house constantly looks like crap with the dog added into the equation. i was barely holding steady with the cats, but with the dog added in, i'm getting trounced.

i'm worried i've lost the ability to be cheerful, in general, and that i'm just going to be a sad person forever.

oh well.

a new year, another chance to do my best and see what happens, i guess.

the second year of my life that mom wasn't alive for.

adzuki bean mills.

2008-12-20T13:12:00.000-08:00

so, we got a dog. this is him. his name is adzuki bean. mostly zuki, or bean.
he's a shiba inu. as a puppy, he looks like a little fox kit, obvs, which is almost unbearably cute. when he grows up, he'll look like a fox mixed with a husky, kinda.
him and the cats are learning to cohabit. he thinks the cats are awesome, and would like to spend more time with them, maybe with their faces in his mouth. they are not enjoying his company.
i'm sure i'll have tons of mind-numbing anecdotes to share about him, but i'll leave you with this stuff for now.

the second picture is zuki on his first canoe ride with shannon.

i have more to talk about, but i need to get going on my holiday cards, if i'm going go get them done at all.

writing.

2008-11-20T22:57:00.000-08:00

my friend, cynthia, from my writing class, organized a writers' group tonight.

turn out wasn't fantastic, but i was totally satisfied with it, personally.

i'm already in a writers' group with her and another woman from our class, so this wasn't really about writing stuff together, or getting feedback on my writing, so much as creating a community of writers around me. we talked a bunch about how we wanted the group to function, and one lady wanted us to do writing exercises, like free writes, which sounded pretty unappealing to me, but i am open to whatever. free writes aren't my favorite and haven't ever been especially helpful for me, but that doesn't mean they're not useful to other people, so i'm certainly not aiming to be a kibosher or anything, and it's totally not MY group, so whatevs.

anyway, we mostly sat around and talked about writing and stuff related to writing, which is more fun than it sounds. (i'm sure everyone can relate. actors, midwives, burning man people, online gamers - everyone loves to chat with other people about shared interests and experiences.) pretty much everyone who came was a bit more established than me, which isn't hard to be. one lady has already written and published two nonfiction, self-help books. she's a pro. the guy who came was young - younger than me, probably - and he just got accepted to columbia's writing program. i was jealoushapppy for him. (side note: he started tutoring at 826 valencia, through which he got an internship for the summer. after the internship, he got a job. through his job, he met MICHAEL CHABON, who wrote his recommendation letter for columbia. dude. michael chabon. fuck. totally jealoushappy for him. luckily he was a likable guy so i didn't have to negatively affect my own karma by actively wishing him ill.) everyone in the group had attended conferences or classes or something. it was daunting and exciting. daunting because i haven't finished writing anything and even when i do getting published is fucking hard and even after you're published it's still hard. exciting because without meeting people who know about this shit, i don't know it, and if i don't know it, i'll never be able to do anything with my novel, if/when i finish it. and regardless of my own ego fluctuations, it was nice to just be in the midst of a group of people who do the same stuff i do, even though i'm not really doing it now.

made a deal with cynthia to start sending each other a set amount of writing everyday. she's already done with her rough draft, so she'll send me some reworked pages, but i'll have to send her 500 words a day. this is good. i haven't shared my book much with anyone, so having to share it will be good for me. also, 500 words is not that many for a wordy lass such as me. i can't sign my name with less than 200 words. i hope this inspires me to get writing.

gyming is still the best. second best thing, or, a supporting factor in making gyming the best, is the child care. i wish it was free, or included in the money i am already shelling out, but whatever. $3/visit is a small price to pay for a break from Li'l Bro, where i don't have to entertain him or feed him or pick up after him. also, working out is fucking tits.

shannon finally put my closet back together! when we boxed stuff up and took the house apart in preparation for the remodel stuff, i expected that everything would be done in about a month, so i pulled out a VERY limited selection of stuff. i've made it through spring and summer and early fall with, like, 5 dresses, 3 blouses, 2 sweatshirts and whatever is in my drawers, but the vast majority of my clothes were boxed up, waiting for my closet to be finished. (we re-drywalled the bedroom and had the doorway to my closet widened. also, s installed a light!) anyway, there have been some lingering things that never got finished because s went back to work and has had no free time to finish the trim and painting the new drywall and reinstalling the bar and stuff. well, this was the week for it!! you guys, i have a closet. and it's AWESOME. it's got a bunch of shelves and 2 (two!!) bars. i have some space to spare! and i have an entirely new-again-to-me wardrobe suddenly. it's just gorgeous.

some things i'm pondering:
-xmas is around the corner. i need to get my mailing list together.
-how am i going to pay off my credit card bill? it's killing me not-at-all softly.
-i'd like to be meditating more, but i have been exercising and i am going to focus on being stoked on that, rather than disappointed at my failures.
-for all my training, and a life of being alert to it, i am still mostly unable to tell my self-hating inner voice from my just-telling-myself-the-truth inner voice. it's always a surprise when i realize i have been falling hook, line and sinker for some self-loathing bullshit, and my detector didn't even go off.
-i repotted my mom's orchids for the first time this week. i've repotted other plants, and it always makes me kinda nervous, and orchids are pretty specific, and i've never repotted them, ever, but i went for it. some of them were looking really bad, and i'd be lying if i said it didn't take some casualties to alert me to the seriousness of the need. (RIP, plant buddies. you're in a better place now.) i've been looking at them, hoping for some immediate signs of their whole-hearted approval of the procedure, but so far, nothing. i don't think orchids work that way, though. patience is a virtue, so they say.
-lauren did my hair the other day and it looks fucking fantasic. seriously, maybe the best ever, i think. ashy, blondey, tousely loveliness.
-s shoveled up all the tanbark that was in the front yard, making it a ginormous cat box for the extraordinarily large local cat population. seriously, there are a fuckload of cats in the nabe, and all of them shit in our front yard. on warm days, it was unpleasant to linger in front of the house because the smell of sun-baked crap and pee was overwhelming. not a welcoming experience. so he removed it all and we scattered the wildflower seeds that brian and libby gave away as wedding favors. eagerly awaiting a wildflower paradise, still gently scented like cat excreta, no doubt.
-li'l bro was a lot easier this time than last time. he was being a butt last week, but he was freaking adorable this weekend. i am so much that annoying person who won't stop talking about their child/grandchild/nephew. want to hear some really cute stories? let me know. i've got some.
-i loaded tons of new apps on my iphone. not saving the world, but making it a little more entertaining. i'll let you know what i think of them iphone users. don't worry.
-second thanksgiving without my mom coming up. i was thinking about how my mom was dead, and not getting any less dead. in fact, because she wasn't alive to generate new memories or experiences, the old ones just ran the risk of becoming threadbare. even writing them down isn't the same. and my mom, who is still so real for me, and still such a palpably present absence (you know what i mean), will be totally unreal for my kids, probably. no matter how much i tell them, and how many pictures they see, she'll be a lady who died before they were born. they'll never know her, or really get how wonderful she was. you guys, she was really wonderful. i wish the whole world knew her, so there could be a global dialogue on the merit she contributed to the world. yet another of life's injustices/mysteries, is how one life can mean so much to some, and absolutely nothing to others. sometimes i still just can't believe she's gone. i'll look at a picture of her, from before the cancer, and she's so familiar, and so... real. not like a person who's dead at all. it's like we're just out of touch, not like she's fucking dead and i watched her die and held her corpse's hand. i paid money to have her body removed and watched them zip her into a body bag. that lady, smiling in the picture next to me. to rely on a terrible cliche, it's really like a bad dream, that seems distant but still has potency, but it's also still happening. the whole last year of her life, and the things that happened to me in my life because of it, really do blur together, and i am constantly surprised all over again that those things were real. it seems so far and so near, together. i wish that everyone could just tell by looking at me how deeply i am still sad. it's easy to gloss is over on a minute to minute basis, or talk about it like it's not that big a deal ('my mom died last year' is the beginning to so many fucking sentences now.) but that doesn't mean that i'm not still sitting here in front of my computer, crying quietly, again, trying not to wake up shannon. i still have trouble getting it together on a day to day basis sometimes. i still feel like i'm learning to live without a hand, or something, like something is still so wrong with my life. i just wish everyone could see it, so i wouldn't have to constantly feel like i needed to explain it. "i know it's been a year, but i'm still pretty fucked up." not like there's a statute of limitations on this stuff, but one year feels like a long time. i can see why people commit suicide while dealing with grief. i am not considering it, so no need to be concerned, but i can relate to the feeling of overwhelm at the prospect of facing an entirely life of missing someone. i will have no new memories to generate with me mom, ever. that seems nearly impossible to bear sometimes.
-sorry to end on a downer note. also, cats and chipmunks and that little girl telling stories in french all exist and that's something that's cool. laughing, cool. being compassionate with myself, cool. working out, really cool. it's like eating a dish you are LOVING, but regularly getting bites that include a specific flavor that you really don't like. you very much enjoy the dish and are grateful for it and actually wouldn't trade it for another version, made without that icky ingredient, because there is something inherent in that ingredient that is a crucial part of the tastiness of the dish. but that doesn't mean the ingredient tastes any better.

ugh, i'm such a fan dork.

2008-11-18T17:37:00.000-08:00

new gabe and max video, you guys!

i laughed so hard i felt like i was going to throw up.

this is HELLA my favorite one.

i posted all of them a little while ago (october 21 blog) so please feel free to watch them all, because they're pretty much all really good, but this one...

ohman, this one...

the cutest thing in the world.

2008-11-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

i think i spontaneously ovulated while watching that.

life and death.

2008-10-27T21:07:00.000-07:00

i was catching up on myspace a bit today, reading bulletins and blogs. i was way behind. i pretty much never go on myspace anymore. i go on facebook a little more frequently, but not much.

in reading blogs, i read an old blog from my godbrother, chris, recommending this blog called days with my father. it's about a man, who is a photographer, spending time with his very elderly father. some beautiful pictures and really simple, eloquent captions to go along with some of them.

it made me think a lot about my mom and time and how hard the passage of time can be to accept when we resist it and how hard it can be to not resist it. life and death.

it's a lovely site, and also pretty sad, with the whole 'old people are even closer to dying that most of us' angle.

sure miss my mom.
sure wish she hadn't died.

booktopia.

2008-10-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

this is via ithyle.

This is a list of the top 100 books ever published. Supposedly, the average person has only read 6 of these books.
This is what you have to do:
1. Copy the list on your blog.
2. Read through the list and mark the books you've read in bold.
3. Italicize any you started, but didn't finish.
4. Color the ones you loved in green. (Or whatever color, really.)

1. The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
2. The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
3. The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
4. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
5. Life of PI - Yann Martel
6. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
7. The Color Purple - Alice Walker (i've seen the movie about 100 times. does that count?)
8. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
9. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
10. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
11. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
12. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
13. His Dark Materials (trilogy) - Philip Pullman
14. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
15. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
16. The Hobbit - J.R.R. Tolkien
17. Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
18. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
19. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
20. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
21. Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis <---oh, i smell a rat. this isn't a book, it's a series and how can they have one book from the series alone beneath the whole series, as a separate entry? especially since they kept 'his dark materials' together? hmm...
22. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – C.S. Lewis
23. Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne
24. Animal Farm - George Orwell
25. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
26. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
27. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
28. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
29. Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White
30. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
31. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
32. Complete Works of Shakespeare
33. Ulysses - James Joyce
34. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
35. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
36. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
37. The Bible
38. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
39. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
40. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
41. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
42. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
45. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
46. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
47. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
48. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
49. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
50. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
51. Little Women - Louisa M. Alcott
52. Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
53. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
54. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
55. Middlemarch - George Eliot
56. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
57. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
58. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
59. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
60. Emma - Jane Austen
61. Persuasion - Jane Austen
62. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
63. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
64. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
65. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
66. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
67. Anne of Green Gables – L.M. Montgomery
68. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
69. Atonement - Ian McEwan
70. Dune - Frank Herbert
71. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
72. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
73. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
74. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
75. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
76. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
77. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
78. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
79. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
80. Bridget Jones’ Diary - Helen Fielding
81. Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
82. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
83. Dracula - Bram Stoker
84. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
85. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
86. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
87. Germinal - Emile Zola
88. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
89. Possession - A.S. Byatt
90. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
91. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell <---i can't overstate how much i loved this book and the author.
92. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
93. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
94. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
95. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
96. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
97. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
98. Watership Down – Richard Adams
99. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
100. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas <---remember in 'the shawshank redemption' where the dumb inmate looks at this book in the library and says, snorting, "alexander dumbass?"

i've never even heard of some of these books. faraway tree collection?
oh well. i'm certainly more well-read than most people, according to this highly scientific list.

also, some things i did not do today:
-go to the gym
-eat well
-leave the house
-do anything productive at all
-meditate
-write

oh, the onion.

2008-10-27T11:02:00.000-07:00

Cindy McCain Claims Sheâ��s â��Just Like Any Other Female Humanâ��

i'm not saying john mccain shouldn't win, i'm just saying that it's true that cindy mccain seems scary and maybe like an alien.

grab bag.

2008-10-25T11:30:00.000-07:00

* feeling sad for jennifer hudson

* feeling impressed with myself because my internet crush said my comment was the best one of the week. also deeply embarrassed to be so pleased with myself.

* found a hecka cute diaper bag. seems premature to buy it since we are not actively trying to make babies, but it was tempting. too early to buy it for zoe? diaper bags are too personal to buy for someone else. i have already begun imagining my possibly endless search for the Perfect Diaper Bag. i'm probably going to show up at my kid's wedding with it, having just finally found it.

* i would for reals like to live here. the website is full of information and links and stuff. i love it.

* i've been searching the internet for chord tableture for mom's autoharp. so far i haven't had much luck, though. since the autoharp has set chords, you can't use any chords other than what they offer you, so if the song you want to play has lots of minor chords in it you're pretty much screwed. so, no depeche mode. i've had the best luck with cat power songs. also some james brown and a saves the day song. should be an interesting repertoire.

* tried some new foods when i grocery shopped yesterday. here are my reviews:
- rice yogurt: completely disgusting. too sweet. too watery. really, really icky.
- cassava chips: super tasty. i got the bbq flavor but i'd like to try the sea salt ones.

* i've been fretting a little bit about the election and my concerns about how jacked up this election could get because of how big the turn out will be. i worked the primary and it was a nightmare, and that wasn't nearly as big a deal as this election is going to be. but mostly my fretting was idle, because working the last election sucked so bad, i didn't want to do it again. except a lady called me the other day to ask me to work a polling place that was down one person, so i said yes. again, the precinct captain has never been the captain before and isn't going to know what to do, which is exhausting. there is one other person who has worked the polls before, probably the guy named harvey, because it's mostly senior citizens who do it. it's nice to have some good old people ju-ju, but it was hard explaining the newer stuff to them last time...you know...like electricity. (i kid.) they give each polling place a palm pilot that we can use to find voter info, if we need to. the very cranky old lady i worked with last time was deeply suspicious of the palm pilot, resentful that they changed the system that she felt worked fine, and also dead set on us showing her how to use it, even though she wasn't ever going to get it and she totally didn't need to know because other people could have done that. is it patronizing to feel like it's not work her effort to master technology she will probably never use? possibly. so, i'm working the polls. at least i know now what i need to brush up on because the accounting at the end of the day is fucking HARD and our group messed it up a bunch because we didn't know what we were supposed to be doing. i'll go to the info session again this time to brush up and i'll stay the WHOLE time and then basically have to run the precinct, but that's fine. it'll be like a group project in college, where you just assume everyone else is lazy and stupid so you do it all yourself.

* a couple of weeks ago shannon vivisected my laptop. my optical drive was all messed up, so my man took lappy to work and removed the old one and put in a new one. he also stoked me with more storage (like, 10X more) and more RAM (like, so much more) AND gave me leopard! basically, my good old lappy came back a brand new computer! i have pretty much every application open that i can think of right now and you'd never know it because it's working FINE. awesome.

* bought some new lip gloss. the color combo i go was daredevil and sandpiper. the picture on the website really doesn't do it justice, though. the daredevil color is really a red-pink. very berry colored. and the gloss is a nice shiny nude, which takes the intensity of the red-pink down a bit. i'm lovin' it. also was given a free DELUXE sample of some other lip gloss that i am loving. i got a sample of this stuff a while ago and i liked the smell and taste and consistency, but it was clear with silver sparkles which isn't super useful. this new one is 'dolly' which is pretty much my lip color, but a smidgen more oomphy. i highly recommend this brand.

* been hitting the gym again. stoked on it. not gonna talk it up too much, just saying: i'm back, i'm happy, i'm sore from training.

i'd vote for a president with moves like those.

2008-10-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

something non-partisan, for the kids.

i feel like sarah palin is only so-so and john mccain barely dances at all, though that shoulder scooting thing he does was cool. also, he seemed to be really enjoying himself.

this dance off does not change my vote.

(this was via my boyfriend, videogum.com.)

more funny.

2008-10-21T18:15:00.000-07:00

so, i have a little bit of an internet crush on this guy whose blog i used to read. his name is gabe delahaye and i feel like i'm gonna die of embarrassment even writing this because it's so dorky, but still, he's awesome and funny and i wish we were friends, even though he'd probably be mean to me. (he was on 'this american life' one week, with a story about finding out that all his friends think he's an asshole. so, you know. he's probably not that nice.) his personal blog is called corporatecasual.com and i already have the link to it here, to the right, but he's not writing much there right now because he writes for another blog (videogum.com) as his job now, which must tap out his funny juices or something.

anyway, long story long, him and this other really funny guy, max silvestri, who also has a funny blog, do these movies together on youtube and such and i wanted to post them.

this was the first one.

the second one.

the third one.

here's the new one, in partnership with details magazine.

the production value is a little high for me, but whatever.

i just want some people who i know to see these, so i can reference them and have people know what i'm talking about.

wocka, wocka.

2008-10-21T17:04:00.000-07:00

so i went to the gym again today, and it was the best again. yay, gymin'!
there was a video crew there, filming the step/dance class i was taking, for some 24 hr fitness commercials, and i wanted to share the footage with you.

just kidding.

retail lust.

2008-10-20T13:32:00.000-07:00

sigerson morrison for target launched today.
i've been reading about this in the magazines for a while, and checking the website to see if it had dropped, and today was the day.
i'm a little embarrassed about how stoked i am about this news. i sent out an email to my fashiony ladies, telling them. like, i'm not sending out anything about the elections because 'nyeh' but i HAVE to email people about some shoes at target. i might be part of the problem.
that being said, i am a big fan of sigerson morrison, while also being filled with resentment over their absurdly high prices. seriously, $400 for a pair of little suede heels?
well, maybe the prices aren't absurd.
maybe the shoes are stuck together with unicorn hair and archangel spit.
but for reals, they're very, very spendy.
so this is my chance.
ugh, the economy, you guys.
someone should really buy my mom's house.
that would be nice.
in other news, i went to the gym today for the first time since august and it felt fantastic. i made a training session for tomorrow, too. time to start getting my read literally and figuratively in gear again.

election '08.

2008-10-09T13:28:00.000-07:00

hi, guys!

i'm not really getting very emotionally invested in the election this year because the guy who i'd like to have as president will never win (NADER/GONZALEZ '08!!!!), but i agree that obama is young and dashing, and he's less of a butthead than mccain, probably.

also, guys, sarah palin.
whoops, mccain! you chose her as your running mate! hope that minute bump in your numbers and campain dollars was worth the election, 'cuz she's a total wooden nickel.
npr was hypothesizing that mccain must be kinda bummed he chose her over mitt romney now, given romney's strong financial background, and since this campaign is going to be won or lost on the basis of the economy. and, since sarah palin doesn't appear to have any really solid experience at anything other than being sassy, she's not really that reassuring to a panicked electorate.

you know who should be the president?
my uncle, keith.
he's funny, he's a straight shooter (literally, i assume, and figuratively.) he's got a solid military background, which means a lot to many voters. he's a good guy. he's old enough to make us feel safe in his care, but not so old that we're worried about him falling and breaking a hip all the time. (did you see mccain wandering around like a confused old man during the debates? yikes.)
my uncle keith and i don't agree on every issue, probably, but i don't really need to agree with the president on everything. it's unrealistic to expect to agree with the opinions/views of anyone but yourself, basically. i just want to have faith that my president is a good person, who is thinking things through carefully, is consulting experts when necessary...that's probably my uncle, guys.
so, next time around, we'll try to get him nominated.
UNCLE KEITH IN 2012!! maybe i could be his running mate! i'll bring my own heaping serving of sass to the ticket!

the internets have been humming over mccain referring to obama as 'that one' the other evening and how disrespectful it was, but i don't really see what the hub-bub is about. it's not as respectful as it could be, but it certainly isn't the worst thing he could have said. so, i say it's no big deal and the internet is just trying to stir things up, like they love to do. oh, internet. all the pundits were surprised that mccain wasn't more aggressive in the debates, after hinting that he was going to take the proverbial gloves off. i wonder why he didn't.
i wish they'd quit it with the finger pointing. what if our elections were two people explaining their policies and what they feel makes them a good candidate, and no one ever did any attacking or negative ads? would that even work?

so, in honor of the election excitement, here are some videos for you.

this one is an amazingly prompt viral video about the 'that one' thing.

this one is by a friend of friends, in his role as mc jelly d. it also features the lovely and talented shaye troha and another gentleman who i'm not familiar with.

i was going to post some really unfortunate youtube stuff with mccain supporters rambling like total wingnuts, but i don't want people to feel like this is a totally probama blog, so i'll see if i can find something that makes obama's supporters look stupid, so i can feel like i'm being fair.

this is our life.

2008-10-08T17:22:00.000-07:00

only our cats are not so fat and there are two of them.

also, this is funny.

2008-10-06T19:34:00.000-07:00

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

mr. and mrs. halpin.

2008-10-06T16:32:00.000-07:00

you guys, the wedding was so fucking magical.
just....gorgeous and perfect in every way.
i laughed, i cried, i danced.
THE BEST.
i had one of those night where i felt like i was a cup full of emotions, and only the surface tension was keeping it all from just splooshing all over the place. oh, except i sometimes splooshed all over anyway.
so in love with my life and so grateful for all the love in it.

this just in...

2008-10-03T18:13:00.000-07:00

oh, hi!
haven't been here in a while!
i mean, i posted that 'west wing' thing, because duh, but i haven't really been keeping this thingie up-to-date. here's a grab bag of things going on...

1) lucy is in town right now, visiting from NYC. her fam is having some health stuff going on, so she came home to see them. lucky jerk gets to go to hawaii to visit her sister and the kids in a week. yo soy hellsa jealous. it's VERY nice having her here. it's like visiting home when you move away, where it's so good it kills you a little and you almost wish you hadn't gone home because it just makes it harder to be away. we went to get our hairs did all fancy today, washed and styled and stuff on account of...

2) brian and libby's wedding is tomorrow. i am feeling for them because it's supposed to rain and they had NOT planned on rain. i'm really excited and nervous for them. i know how much stress they've gone through to get everything ready and how fucking relieved they'll be to have it done with. also, afterwards, they'll be mr. and mrs. halpin, which is pretty exciting. it's made me think a lot about how sure me and brian were that WE would get married and how not correct we were. it's also made me even more and more grateful for how beautifully everything has evolved with our friendship. i consider my ex-boyfriend and his soon-to-be wife some of my closest, most important friends, and i am very, very lucky to still have all the benefits of our relationship, as well as a fantastic partner of my own.

3) so, in preparation for the wedding, which feels pretty high stakes, as far as social events go, with all the long-time friends attending, i have purchased my first pair of spanx. my dress isn't super va-va-voom, but it's made of a clingy jersey material that will do a person no favors, so i bought some crazy girdle bike shorts to smooth stuff out. totally embarrassing and old-lady feeling, but if they let me relax in my dress and know everything is where it should be, then it'll be worth swallowing my pride.

4) mom's house (a.k.a. money pit #1) is officially On The Market. anyone want to buy a lovely house in redwood valley, ca for a good price and save me and my husband from impending destitution in the process? anyone? anyone? it has taken a lot of stress and annoyance but it's up and running. please aid us in thinking desirable thoughts about the property. please envision the PERFECT buyers being drawn to it like magnets. allen tried his hardest to alienate all the real estate agents by totally losing his shit today, as only allen can, but i think it's going to be fine. oh, allen.

5) 2 or 3 months ago i started meditating regularly. me and LW took a seriously life changing class together in berkeley, led my a freaking amazing teacher named james baraz. on the first day of the class he made the statement that meditation has made the difference in his life. liesl and i came away wondering what he meant by that, and feeling admittedly skeptical, but i can honestly say i get it now. the change for LW has been the most dramatic, just the level of peace it has brought her, but i have experienced a profound transformation, too. (ugh, with the healie-feelie talk, i know. but really, homeys. it's unlike anything i have ever experienced.) you might recall that i read a lot of pema chodron while i was coming to terms with mom's illness initially, especially 'when things fall apart.' i found that book to be so comforting and calming, in a way that nothing else was. believing in a god whose plan is for my mom to die slowly of brain cancer is totally unacceptable, but the idea that there is only this moment and how i live it and the courage and wonder with which i greet it feels true to me. so, taking it a step further and meditating felt really natural. i have slacked a bit on it, not doing it everyday like i was, but i am in it to win it. more on that forever, probably.

4) lots of mykhail time. we watch him two days and two nights a week now. he is funny and HARD and growing so fast. (such a cliche, but still true.) seeing his verbal skills develop is just mind blowing. from "dat?" (what is that?) to "cow!" to "see cow!" to now "auntie, see cow eating!" dude, that is language, RIGHT THERE. no wonder linguistic anthropologists love to study speech and language development in kids - it's so easy to see the changes! and so satisfying! my last blog was me being scared and feeling like i might suck as a parent and not be able to take it, but things are fine now. it's still overwhelming sometimes, but also really gratifying to know i am good at this. dudes, seriously, i am GOOD at this. i'm like the dog whisperer - totally the pack leader. i have healthy boundaries, i am good at being fun. i am getting a lot better at working myself out of snits when he's being crabby. having kids is going to be fine. not a piece of cake because duh but totally fine. shannon is so cute with kel that it makes me spontaneously ovulate just listening to them.

5) we have two cats now. they were my mom's cats and, rather than give them away to strangers or something, we took them. we love/hate them. one might call us 'frenemies' with them. love the funny animalness they bring to the house. hate the fur, the smell of cats, the catbox, the sometimes scratching. oh well. we sometimes joke that i am a part-time crap handler now, since i spent so much time taking bags of crap out to the garbage can, between the cats and kel. i'm mostly used to it. i think i might be allergic to one or both of the cats because of the re-occurrence of an uncomfortable, unsightly rash, whose presence i have been free of for years, but i am not yet ready to jettison the cats to save myself. getting there, but not quite.

that's enough for now.
i'm going to try not to be such a stranger, though.

i miss you, west wing.

2008-09-24T09:31:00.000-07:00

mykhail.

2008-07-25T06:37:00.000-07:00

so tired, guys.

so, so tired.

i've had to watch mykhail a lot this week and it's pretty much destroyed my sleep schedule. because stef works at 6am, when i watch him at her house i have to get up at 5am, to get to her house by 5:30am. then, i go to sleep in her bed until the kid wakes up, around 9ish.

but i am always nervous about oversleeping, so i don't usually sleep well before the 5am wake up. i don't sleep soundly. and then, once i am at her house, i don't sleep soundly. partly because i have already woken up and driven for a while, so i pretty much awake, and partly because i am listening for the kid. so, on those days, i just don't have much sleep. thank god for nap time. mykhail had never slept over at our house, so we tried it out last night. we'll keep him for a few days, to give stef a break. the timing stinks, but oh well, right?

last night was not good.

shannon's dad is visiting, so he's in the spare room. we tried putting mykhail in there to sleep, but he woke up crying so we had to bring him out, into the living room.

he seemed fine, so we went to bed. i slept for, say, an hour, and then mykhail woke up again, crying.

shannon went out to check on him, but i never got back to sleep.

i spent the entire night just lying there, staring at the ceiling.

about once an hour, mykhail would wake for a second and make a crying noise, then go back to sleep.

around 4:30ish, i finally fell asleep.

at 5:30am, he (mykhail, not shannon) woke up crying, and got out of bed and started walking around the house. we grabbed him and brought him into bed with us. he fell asleep, but lying on me, so that if i moved, he would wake up and whimper. i just lay there, staring at the ceiling.

eventually, i extricated myself and snuck out into the living room. i would have loved to just hang in the living room all night, since i wasn't sleeping, but mykhail was in here. i didn't want to keep shannon awake, with my typing or a bright light from my reading. shannon and his dad are re-roofing our house, so he needs the sleep.
but guys, watching the kid is really tiring and i needed the sleep, too, and i didn't get it.

what if i don't like being a mom?

i mean, i know it's rocky in the beginning, and you're tired all the time and you're probably scared since you don't really know what you're doing, but you get the hang of it. i'm sure that, given enough time here, mykhail and shannon and i would get the hang of it, too.

but i am resentful of having to 'get the hang' of another really hard thing.

remember my mom's cancer?
remember allen?
remember money drama?
yeah, me, too, and i'm still pretty exhausted from all that.

i was looking forward (foolishly, perhaps) to a chance to just take care of shannon and me for a bit. i know there was no reason to believe that nothing dramatic was going to happen for a while, or that life would get easier. there was no guarantee of that, so me hoping for it was folly. but still, doesn't that seem like it would have been fair?

i know, i know. there's no such thing as fair.
still.

i'm just tired.
tired of stuff being so hard.
tired of having to handle stuff.
tired of not getting enough sleep and always having such a full plate.

a conversation that happened day before yesterday:
me: you're my special guy.
mykhail: no, auntie special guy.
me: auntie is your special guy?
mykhail: yeah.

that's cute.

so cute that it compensates for no sleep?
not quite.

but it's still really cute.

i think i'm doing a good job with him, but it's just hard. i've been googling 'temper tantrums' and reading about picky eaters. i'm asking strangers for advice. i want to make sure i'm not screwing him up. then again, i can't really remember anything or anyone from when i was 2, so probably very few small things will even make an impact on him at this point. i guess i just want to make sure i am using an overall good approach. firm when it matters, fun and easy-going and silly when it doesn't. since we're thinking of babies soon, it's hard not to think of this as an indication of how we'll do parenting our own kids, and the results are kinda mixed.

course, toddlers are pretty tough, and it would probably be a little easier if we were his parents, and knew him more intimately. i mean, we know him intimately and have spent plenty of time with him, but i bet it isn't the same.

i don't know, guys.
just really, really tired.

p.s. i wrote yesterday for the first time in months. not for long, because there was a kid emergency, but it was something!

the track.

2008-07-13T18:51:00.000-07:00

i haven't been writing at all.
obvs. not here, but also not on my novel. since probably may.
i was feeling fine about it, like i was just shifting focus a bit to take care of my life, but now i'm feeling antsy about it. i started re-reading my novel up to the point it's at, to get myself reacclimated with my book and my writing and stuff and, while i haven't taken that to the next step of writing, i have been impressed with my book, which is nice, right? there are totally sections that make me cringe, but, overall, i think it's great.

i think about things to write about here all the time, but for some reason i haven't been translating that from the thought to action...

i have a meeting with my writing group in two weeks, at my teacher's house, so i HAVE to have something to share by then. not because i need to impress them, but because i really want to. so, i will.

me and shannon are remodeling the baker ct. money pit. our house is worth substantially less now than it was when we bought it, so we're clearly not going anywhere for quite a while. might as well get comfy, i guess. i have pictures posted on myspace (not that anyone seems especially interested, but that's okay), but i've been wanting to post them on shannon's homepage, so i'll work on that so you guys who are far away can see the progress. the biggest news right now is that we refinished the existing hardwood floors and had new hardwood put down in our bedroom. previously it was carpeted, which was fine, but also pretty ugly and i'm allergic to carpet (literally), so a friend of tab's installed some lovely red oak, which matches the stuff in the rest of the house. also, we repainted the new drywall. the bedroom is a blue red (not yellow red), the hallway is grey and the living room is green. the living room has been a (not-very-interesting) odyssey, in that we chose one color, tried it in some spots on the walls, decided it was wrong so chose another color, which we put all over the walls and which was also disgusting. so, third time's the charm, right? we ended with a green tea ice cream color that looks really, really good. shannon rented a sander from home depot and spent a couple of nights sanding the floors, and then i spent two days painting on layer-upon-layer of varathane, so the floors are looking a lot lighter and also lovely. i'll see if i can manage some before and after stuff.

i spent all day yesterday (seriously, all day) looking at dogs on the internet. shannon and i take turns really wanting another dog, and i guess it's my turn. there are some freaking CUTE dogs in the world. i'm really loving pit bulls right now, but shannon says 'nyeh.' how else will we protect the meth lab, though, am i right?

i finally bowed to pressure from the universe and started meditating. while i was doing my community service at spirit rock i found a handout with a reading list for people starting on the buddhist path, and i checked one of the books on the list out from the petaluma library. it's called 'a gradual awakening' and it is really, really wonderful. it's thin, maybe half an inch thick at most, and it's full of the most easy to swallow, perfectly articulated wisdom. i'm loving it. also, i am taking a meditation class in berkeley with LW. this week will only be the second session, but so far i'm appreciating it. i meditated by myself TWICE this week, which was quite a coup. in a world so full of pain and difficulty and disappointment (i know, and happiness and love and wonder, too), it is calming to cultivate peace in my life, and just general acceptance of reality.

lu's mom is having some health stuff, so please send her and her whole family some positive thoughts. it's been hard having them go through it, so soon after my mom. it's bringing up a lot of sadness for me. not that the sadness is hard to get to usually.

we're having allen problems again. we've given him august 1st as the date we want him out of the house and he's really resisting it. we may have to go through legal channels to get him physically removed from the property, but hopefully it won't come to that. shannon has taken over the responsibility for talking to allen. my dad heaved a huge sigh of relief when i made that decision. he's been bugging me to never talk to allen again for months, but i wasn't ready to get that i couldn't handle it. i kept feeling like it was my job or something, and i would be shirking if i had shannon handle it. and i didn't feel like having a lawyer be the go-between would be appropriate. and i always harbored hopes that i would find the magical formula for dealing with allen, so that i could tell him something and be sure he would really GET it and not freak out, but i was totally deluding myself. allen is a person who is mentally unstable and he can be counted upon to be crazy and expecting him to not be crazy is unfair to him, and expecting myself to be able to cut through the crazy is unfair to me. shannon doesn't get freaked out by him, so he's the perfect person to talk to allen. daddy said he feels like my fearful, open energy just feeds into allens crazy, angry energy, giving him permission to be a bully. i hadn't ever thought of that, but it seems like he's right.

i can't say enough how much i am looking forward to having my life free of allen. whether the house sells or not, i want him out of the house forever. the days of him being my responsibility are over. over. it fucking sucks that things have to end like this, with me so thoroughly DONE with him, but that's just the way it is. he has sucked every ounce of patience and understanding out of me, leaving a profound fatigue and also some serious revulsion. just for his selfishness. i know he's having a hard time with mom being gone. obviously, since he's drinking all the time and the house is looking crappy. but his sadness isn't any excuse for him to treat me like shit, nor is it a license to sponge of me and my husband for the rest of his life. i so wish things had been different. not that that's an especially fruitful line of thought to pursue, but i do. i really wish things had been different. imagine if he had stayed semi-normal and not been such a selfish wing nut. oh well. he did, so there you go.

tomorrow i'm watching le bebe, so i have to get up earlyearlyearly. i'm feeling so tired these days. it might be from the remodel stuff. it might be sadness. it kinda lingers and leeches the energy out of you. whatever it is, i'm tired and sad and really, really ready to be done with the house for a while. i need a break.

i rented a storage space for all mom's stuff from yumi, and i am going through that stuff. that's tiring, too. a lot of it is actually my stuff that i thought i could avoid for a few more years at mom's, but it's coming back to haunt me. toys, magazines, journals, notes from middle school...all of it is back, in addition to stuff from grandparents and great-grandparents.

not my most interesting or sparkly journal entry, but it's something.

justin timberlake.

2008-06-10T10:15:00.000-07:00

my passion for JT has cooled a smidgen.
not because his album is any less amazing, but i've just moved on.
but this clip kinda restoked me.

videogum said everyone has been saying he's been a douche on this press junket, but he's pretty much solid gold from what i can see.

I WANT TO BELIEVE.

2008-06-03T08:34:00.001-07:00

(that makes me think of 'The X Files,' which makes me miss that show...oh fox mulder...)

as i have rattled on about, at length, i have been chewing on the issue of my spirituality, and how i kinda gave up on the idea of god after mom got cancer. i could believe in god when other people had bad things happen to them, but i just couldn't believe he'd make something so bad, so fucking terrible, happen to me and my mom. that seemed to totally negate everything i'd thought was true about how the world and the universe worked.

as part of my process working through this, my therapist, barbara, recommended that i go to see this woman, karen peterson. she's a medium, and she does bereavement counseling sessions, for free. she also does group sessions, for money, where a bunch of people come and she just kinda passes along messages. usually she does her bereavement stuff every other month, but it just so happened that at the time i decided to try one, she canceled several, to give herself some more time, which kinda sucks, but oh well.

i had to schedule months in advance. i think i emailed her about coming in march or something. it felt kinda silly, since that was so far away at the time, and it seemed like i might not need it very much, but i kept the spot saved for me, since barbara had suggested it. on a side note, barbara's mom died not long ago, and barbara went to one of karen's sessions and the experienced really helped her, and gave her a different, positive perspective on death and stuff. so, even if i wasn't a walking open wound of sadness, it couldn't hurt to get a better perspective, i thought.

the meeting was last night. i felt yucky all day yesterday, like maybe i was coming down with something. i called the registrar of voters to tell them i couldn't work the polls today because i had the flu, and was considering not going to the meeting, with the logical rationale that if i am too sick to do something i didn't want to do very much (work the polls) then i am too sick to do something i want to do, too (the meeting.) but then i decided i've waited an awfully long time for this thing, and the next one was in december. so, i went anyway.

i had asked a few people if they wanted to come, but none of them worked out for whatever reason, and i ended up going by myself. i've been listening to the 'west side story' soundtrack in my car for the last couple of days, which always makes me think of mom, since she loved that movie when she was young and she had a crush on the SUPER gay jet, whose nickname is 'ice.' when i got to the meeting place, there were a bunch of middle aged ladies lurking around their cars, in the parking lot. and then there was me. i felt a little weird, partly because of the brewing illness and partly from unsureness at the situation. the woman parked next to me was in a metallic blue suv, with magnetic rose decals on it. i expected to see a plastic angel air freshener hanging from her rear-view mirror, and worried it was going to be all ladies like that. seeing a medium is awfully...i don't know.
something.
embarrassing.
inspiring of skepticism.
not the sort of thing an intelligent, well-read person would usually be open to.

i was early. i thought i was on time, but i was early, but it looked like a lot of other ladies were, too. in my head, i had imagined 12 people in a circle, but we were led to this meeting room, with rows and rows of chairs, like it was a workshop. karen was really normal looking. pretty. young. dressed cute. friendly. she said that 'they' had told her to set up for 80 people, in this particular format. she said 'they' had told her she was going to teach tonight, so she was just rolling with it. i felt an inner cringe at the references to 'they.'

i sat in the second row of the section farthest from the door. a bunch of ladies already knew karen, and there were lots of hugs and stuff. i was actually in the minority for not having beek before. i felt shy. i brought my 'new york review of books' (to prove i am an intellectual heavyweight) and i just read and watched the room fill up. and it filled up.

seriously, it was more than 80 people. they had to go get more chairs from her office. lots and lots of people. i was disappointed because i wanted more of an intimate experience, but i tried to stay open-minded.

she answered some questions while people were getting there, but mostly it was about her, and all her info is on her website, so if you want to know, check it out.

when the session started, she just said she was going to teach a bit, so she would explain to us how she communicates with the people on the Other Side, and so we can learn to do it ourselves. she said she was feeling like she should lead us in a little guided visualization, about grounding us, opening us up, inviting our loved ones to visit, and protecting ourselves. it was short, which was nice, because i am pretty much crap at that stuff. i can't visualize well at all.

she gave some general info, about how the information comes to her, all of which is also on her website, but which was informative. she talked about meditation as a good way to quiet ourselves enough to receive messages. if we're listening to the chatter in our heads all the time, our peops might not be able to get through the buzz. i already know i ought to be meditating, so that was a little annoying. could i get the messages from more places? I KNOW. I SHOULD WORK ON MEDITATING. sheesh.

then she had some questions, that she said she had been told to ask.

so she asked these questions to the room. they were kinda general questions/suggestions, but she used them as jumping off points to get info out.

so, she had us visualize a room in our houses. then people began raising their hands and she would call on them, asking them what room they pictured. she'd ask them questions, like, 'did your son spend a lot of time in that room?' and it would just kinda go from there. like:

"i thought of my family room."
"did your person spend a lot of time in that room?"
"yes. we spent all our family time there."
"do you have a lot of pictures of your son in there?"
"yeah, we have a corner with the pictures in them."
"okay. i'm seeing a bunch of pictures of the same person, in a line. is that meaningful to you?"
"yes, my daughter just reorganized my son's pictures and put them all in a line."
"okay. i think that your son just wants to let you know that he spends time in there still, and that he saw your daughter move the pictures. would you tell your daughter? i think this is a message to her, letting her know he's watching."

that kind of thing.
sometimes it would start with someone, but the message wouldn't really be for them, and karen would spread out a little, asking other people in that area of the room if the image she was getting was meaningful to them. and invariably someone would say yes, and there would be more of the questioning and answering.

the biggest, most meaningful, most difficult to swallow thing she said is that if you think that something is a message from 'them,' it is. and that communicating with them means trusting yourself, and trusting the message. she said it will feel like you're making it up, like it's wishful thinking, like it's a coincidence, but that there are no coincidences. she said that when she started getting messages, she had thought she was just making up stories, but when she would tell other people these little stories they were really meaningful to these other people, so she had to start accepting that it might be real. but she admitted, it's hard to believe at first.

of course my skepticism alert went off. duh, it's totally wishful thinking. yeah, we want to believe that our people are hanging out, watching us, supporting us, in a place that is beautiful and perfect, but that's just not realistic, right?
but i kept thinking, 'so what? if it makes me, or these people, feel better, who cares if it's true or not?'
and then right afterwards i'd think, 'yeah, but what if it's wrong? like, WRONG? what if it's totally not true and it's pathetic and sad and desperate?'
and again, 'who cares? why can't you just choose to believe something that brings you peace?'
i didn't get to a good conclusion with this debate, and it's still raging inside my head.

anyway, the session lasted two hours, and the whole time she was just talking to people, asking questions, answering questions, getting messages, interpreting them, trying to find the person the message was for. she was really kind and open and loving, so much it made me kinda embarrassed, but, as always, i think my embarrassment is a defense mechanism against looking like an asshole, and being a totally gooey, cheesy loveball all the time.

she asked us to think about a bird. of course, i thought of chickens, since i was already thinking of mom. i didn't feel like that was meaningful enough to raise my hand for. but right afterwards
another woman in the room told a story about buying her (now deceased) son a calendar made up of pictures of different outhouses, which was kinda weird, since mom bought allen the same calendar. that seemed like a pretty crazy coincidence, since who beside this lady (who was a bit of a weirdo) and allen (totally a weirdo) would be taken by this calendar? what are the chances of that happening? so, huh.

karen said wearing our loved ones' clothing or jewelry as a good way to connect with them, that their energy was strongly in their clothes. that made me cry, because i wear my mom's jewelry more than my own these days. and, interestingly, i had changed out of the sweater i had been wearing into my mom's flannel shirt right before i left. i didn't even really think about it, i just grabbed it. so, that felt kinda meaningful.

she said that when our loved ones visit us in our dreams that it's a 'true visit,' and that that sort of thing takes a lot of energy for them, and it's a big deal. i raised my hand and shared about the dreams i had about mom right after she died.

(have i mentioned them? i think i did, but to recap: right after mom died, i had three really vivid dreams in a week - which i noteworthy since i never remember my dreams clearly. in the dreams, all of which were different in their details but similar in their tone, mom was back. not that she wasn't dead, but she was back to visit. rather than feeling glad to see her in the dreams, i was filled with anxiety and questions. how long will you be here? can you come back all the time? should i tell other people, so they can see you, too? i just felt really upset and worried in the dreams. i would wake up feeling unsettled and unhappy. so, i told mom, right before bed one night, 'i don't know if this is you communicating with me, but i'm not ready yet. i need to get used to you being gone before you start coming back.' and the dreams stopped. i haven't had a dream like that since, not really. i've had more vague dreams, but nothing so clear.)

i shared about the dreams, and how estranged i felt from god, and not ready for her yet.
karen asked me if i had been part of mom's hospice care team, and i said yes. (i felt like it was kinda amazing that she knew mom did hospice, but i did mention mom had died of cancer, so maybe it was obvious.) she said that mom wanted me to know that she knew how hard it had been for me. i said how funny and embarrassing it would have been for mom to have been present to see herself in diapers. mom would have had a lot of jokes to make about it, and she would have hated to inconvenience everyone.

karen said that the stuff that seems like a big deal here isn't that big a deal on the other side, which seemed obvious to me, but was nice to hear.
she said we may not ever come to understand why things happen, and that that's okay. it's okay to not know why, and the best thing we can do is seek acceptance. that also seemed a little obvious, but maybe only because i am me and that's how i think.
she said that mom wanted me to know that i should think about doing some kind of work in hospice later on, that i had a healing energy and that i could do a lot of good helping other people go through their hard times.

karen asked us to imagine, if there were jobs in heaven, what job would our loved ones have?
i told the story about my dream, where i had asked mom if she was going to get in trouble for showing up and she'd scoffed at me, saying 'kira. i'm a pretty big deal up here.' like it was silly for me to even worry about it, because she was the VP of heaven or something. everyone laughed.

it was all kinda like that. like, you could choose to believe it or not, i guess. but her message is 'believe it.'

at the end of the session, i started chatting with the lady next to me. in the middle of us talking, a young woman who had sat in another part of the room came over to give me a hug. she said she just really felt like she should. we were both wearing necklaces with initials on them. a lot of people checked in with me, to make sure i was okay, because i cried a lot. it was nice having everyone be so considerate, and it was nice to feel surrounded by people who felt like i do, who were still struggling and finding it hard sometimes.

i feel really supported by my loved ones, and still, it was different being in this room full of strangers, for whom their grief and loss were real enough to bring them to this meeting. everyone was so hungry for peace, for understanding, for some kind of validation of their loss and their desire to feel connected to their lost person. even though going was scary and i felt like a yokel, one step away from sending money to jerry falwell or something or believing in faith healing, it felt safe because all these other people believed, too. they weren't people i would have normally put myself with, but there was a kindness in the room.

i don't know what i think now.

i am reluctant to just go for it, believe it. maybe i am afraid of being wrong again. i felt so wrong about god when mom got cancer, and it was a terrifically painful shock. maybe i don't want to open myself to that kind of pain again, so i'd rather be safer or something.

but so much of it was stuff that mom said, that she believed and felt was true, so all this felt like mom just telling me the same stuff in a new way, so i could hear it again. and i know that mom would be sad that her death was the thing that left me estranged from god and 'spirit.'

so, i have some stuff to mull over.

what do you think?

some distance.

2008-05-15T14:07:00.000-07:00

with mom's birthday (april 2th) and mother's day (whenever that was - last sunday?) coming so fast, i've been thinking more than usual about mom.

in a way, mother's day wasn't any more difficult than any day is, being without mom. i mean, it's not like i forget that she's gone and then i had to remember on mother's day.

but, in another way, it is more difficult, because everyone else kinda remembers that i might be having a hard time and asks me, in the pointed loving way that people do, how i'm doing about it. i have no feelings of anger or upset, and it's totally not their fault, and the thought is deeply appreciated, but i can manage my own levels of thought and feeling about missing her, and having everyone else's increased interest in it makes it a little more stressful, and harder to put aside.

i'm dealing with allen a lot more, and selling mom's house. have i already talked about this? i'm selling the house. i'm amping up the removal of all artifacts, in preparation for putting the house on the market this summer. august 1st is my goal. it's a reasonable and totally achievable goal. but me selling the house means i am in closer communication with allen that i was for a while, and it means that all the simmering resentment and discomfort i feel towards him is back on the front burner - or, to stay consistent with the cooking metaphor, heated from a simmer to a rolling boil.

thus far, i have taken an entirely appeasement-based tack for dealing with him. i have capitulated on basically every point, for a number of reasons, which are overlapping, but can be articulated thusly:
1) i'm scared of him and don't want to antagonize him.
2) i was exhausted from dealing with him and things being so unpleasant while mom was dying and i just wanted a break from the insanity
3) i am deeply uncomfortable with the probability of him going bat-shit and things being completely out of control bad with him, and my aversion to that keeps me from being unyielding in my patrolling of my boundaries with him.
4) i have no experience with someone who is really, seriously mentally unbalanced, and whose behavior is so erratic. my brain flinches away from unleashing the full force of his craziness, and so far it has been more important to me to keep him mostly under control, and eat shit, than it has been to just say what i need to and risk the lid on his jar of CRAZY flying off and getting totally lost.

in talking with my dad and linda (and lillon - hearts, lon!) they said, and i certainly knew but needed to hear again, that there is a spectrum of possible responses he might have to any situation, and it's best to be prepared for them all. (they have a certain amount of experience in dealing with a crazy person.)

so, i know i need/want allen out of the house before we put it on the market. i know it's possible to sell a house with the previous owners/tenants still living in it, but i don't want to do that, for a lot of reasons that are solid, but mostly just because i don't want to. that means i need allen out by august 1st. i am afraid to tell him he needs to leave. i was hoping to throw the real estate under the proverbial bus and make her explain to him the importance of the house being empty, but she seems resistant to that (damn!) then i had this idea of having a group talk about the plan, with allen and my dad and shannon and me and maybe my real estate agent, ostensibly to chart the course, but really so we could gang up on allen and overpower his resistance to leaving. but that's another way for me to avoid taking responsibility for the situation, and the situation is this:
i want allen out of the house by august 1st, because i day so, and that is enough of a reason to ask for it.

i floated the idea when shannon and i were up this weekend, and allen just said, flat out, absolutely not possible. he says he's not going to be able to afford to find a new place to live until he gets his share of the money from the sale, which is fucking preposterous and totally understandable at the same time. that's like saying you can't afford to pay the deposit on your new apartment until you get the deposit from your OLD apartment back, which happens all the time, cause a lot of people don't have an extra thousands hanging around, but is also kinda tough shit. yeah, that sucks. been there. also, not my problem.

so, i predict when i have the conversation with him, which i will do in the beginning of june, with my dad and shannon there, he's going to resist and say 'no way' again. i just need to be firm.
'allen, i hear that that is going to be difficult for you, and i really feel for you, AND you need to make it happen.'

and yet, as i plan to have this bowel-looseningly terrifying conversation with him, i find myself already feeling like a total asshole. i mean, what the hell kind of person says 'tough shit' and offers to alternate deal or help? that seems really insensitive.

i know.
he should have thought about that before he tried to strangle me on my birthday. if he was planning on appealing to me soft heart, that might have been an action to avoid.
but still. i feel like that is almost insupportably harsh.

because, really, we are capable of selling the house with him in it. we are. it'll be scarier, since he's a fucking wingnut and might get upset for no reason and chase the prospective buyers off te property with a bow and arrow (won't be his first time), but it is possible.

am i so conditioned to give in to him that i am unable to defend my right to stand up?
or, am i going overboard to say he needs to go and i don't care if it's tough for him?

i seriously have no idea.

i know that i have erred far onto the side of over-giving with him, i have not even remotely stood up for myself, never defended my boundaries, and i've created a situation in which he believes he can say anything, ask for anything, do anything he wants, with minimal, if any, resistance from me.
want me to help you pay for pet food?
sure!
want to deduct a portion of your materials expenses and taxes from the money you give me in lieu of rent?
sure!
want to carry on with the deluded belief that maintaining the property is of equal financial value as paying me some real human american dollars?
sure!
no resistance from me!

i hemorrhage money, spending the bulk of my inheritance on housing costs, bills, etc. so he doesn't have to pay me rent, and then he accuses me of financial mismanagement, suggesting i am not mature enough to manage my money alone or make decisions by myself.

and still, i really feel like maybe kicking him out, or rather, giving him 60 days notice, no ifs ands or buts, is maybe not fair.

and i really genuinely have no idea whether or not that's accurate.

i'm just tired of him.
i'm tired of thinking about him, telling stories to explain how difficult he is to deal with, worrying about his feelings and his future, worrying that i'll never be free of him, letting him talk to me like i'm an idiot, hearing him marvel that i could have 'lost' so much money in such a short period of time and then having to explain to him that, while it's none of his business what i do with my inheritance, it wasn't LOST, it was spend on bills... i'm sick to death of him. i'm just over it. over him hanging off my back like an over-sized baby monkey.

bottom line, i just want him fucking GONE.

in some ways, it would be nice if things did go totally ape-shit with him, like i had to call the cops to have him removed, just so i could get over avoiding it. i mean, at least the worst would happen and i could stop fearing for it and just deal with it.

but really i just so want it to go smoothly. i just want him to understand, to say okay, and just move out. that's probably not really realistic, but it's what i want.

i'm in new york right now, visiting lu.
it's been really nice taking a break from home, from the stress of allen and yumi and money and everything and just enjoying time with her.
her neighborhood is magical.
i'm in a local cafe, with free internet access, readily available power outlets.
i ordered a tasty-sounding sammie, and it came with a truly excessive amount of groders yellow mustard and mayo, which you know i would have asked to have off if i'd known.
so, i tried to be easy going and wipe it off, but it was a lost cause and i got too grossed out, so i had to take it back to the counter to have them re-do it.
they were nice about it, and re-did it, but the new version how is dripping this honey mustard stuff, which is nice, since it's what the menu said was going to be on it, but is over the top in its proportions. like, gooing out of the bread's pores.
what's up, cafe staff? why so much condiment?

however, on this visit to lu, i have found myself really resistant to talking about what's going on with me, when talking to people who don't already know all about it. not because i'm embarrassed or something. mostly because i'm so bored by the subject. i think about it constantly, talk it through with my friends, cry about it, go to therapy and talk it through - i'm just sick of my stories right now. i don't feel like i have anything interesting or exciting or funny to share. i must have left my vivacity at home or something. i think i'm feeling a little quiet and protective of myself again, and i really only want to talk to my friends. it's weird and not like me, but it's where i am.

i think maybe i am going through a new stage of grieving. it's totally not the only thing i think of anymore. it's not The Thing on my mind. but it's more prominent now than it has been recently, and i back to feeling like nothing will ever be normal again because she's gone and i can't imagine that ever feeling normal. i mean, not good or acceptable, because it'll obviously never be those things, but it feels again like it's almost not manageable again. like anything good that might happen will happen in the shade of this sadness.

oh good.
now i've brought my 'crying in public places' tour to fort greene, brooklyn.
what a treat.

the weather right now is of a type we just don't really get in the bay area. it's overcast, with a slight breeze, and warm. not hot, necessarily, but warm enough for people to be wearing short sleeves. i am enjoying it. this is one of my favorite types of weather.

but not really.

a quick question...

2008-05-01T13:24:00.000-07:00

does anyone know anything about adsense?
it's always offered on blogs, and it says you can make money from your blog, according to the number of people clicking on the ads that google puts in the margins of your blog.
it seems like something like that would only be useful for people with tons of traffic on their blogs. my own meager traffic would probably not be worth it.
does anyone know more about it than me?
and is the idea of allowing ads on my blog gross?
am i thinking about selling out??!

body acceptance.

2008-05-01T12:49:00.000-07:00

while researching magazines and their submission requirements, i came across the magazine bitch, which i don't read usually. it's a feminist magazine, calls itself a feminist response to pop culture. i was poking around the website and i read a couple of the articles. both of them were interesting. i mean, not pulitzer prize winning, but addressing interesting topics.

one of the articles, about the fat acceptance movement and how it (allegedly) shuns members with eating disorders, was especially thought-provoking. it made me think a lot about my own prejudices about weight. the comments the come after the articles itself were pretty interesting, too. the entire idea of a fat acceptance movement really got me thinking.

i totally understand the purpose of the fat acceptance movement. i can't even imagine how hard it must be to be seriously overweight in america. one of the commenters referred to the decapitated 'fatties' who they show on the news all the time when referring to the menace of obesity. those are real people, those decapitated fatties. they're people with feelings, and they're used (against their wills) as examples of morbid obesity, and what were they doing when they were photographed? eating with their families. walking down a street on a sunny day. all the jokes on tv that hinge on someone being really fat (the 'monica in a fat suit' sequences on "friends," for example). all the magazine covers showing some celebrity who lost 30 lbs in 30 days. there's just so much pressure to not be the way you are. even i feel it, and i am nowhere near obese. but even i feel a little twinge over those things, so it must be exponentially more painful if you're the object of all the scorn.

but i do seriously question this idea that being fat is just fine. not because it is a moral failing or because it indicates some sort of moral decay on the overweight person's fault, but because it's not a healthy choice. (we're going to disregard eating disorders for now, while acknowledging that they are a factor some of the time.) i also question how being seriously overweight can be unassociated with some sort of disordered eating behavior, or disordered living choices. not that all overweight people are binge eaters, but that letting one's weight become dramatically overlarge or oversmall is a sign of imbalance, which deserves attention.

i'm trying to think of comparable lifestyle choices. smoking? it's a choice you're making. it's hard to quit. there's a lot of societal mixed messages related to it. a certain (though much lower) degree of social stigma attached. it will probably kill you... but then you think about how quitting smoking is hard for people, but they do it by just not smoking. you can't not eat, totally avoid the substance of choice, so the comparison breaks down. i don't know. i can't think of a good comparison.

i don't know many people who are terribly overweight and feel good about it. i don't know many people who are overweight because they choose to not care about their weight. i know mostly people who struggle with their weight, who struggle with making lifestyle choices that are healthy.

if someone is overweight, should one be supportive of behavior that one thinks is unhealthy? even if the eating isn't the issue, even if not exercising is the issue, isn't it possible to support the person, love them, want them to be healthy and happy, not because being fat is gross or ugly, but because they are hurting themselves? is that healthist?

p.s. i can't even believe there is such a term as 'healthist.' it's true, there is a prevailing agreement in modern culture that being healthy is good and being unhealthy is bad. there are agreed upon (sort of) idea of what is healthy and what isn't. so, how does healthism show up? would encouraging someone to get more exercise be healthism? what about me harassing shannon about putting neosporin on his cut? it's such a weird idea. of course, not so weird that i am going to do research on it and find out more. i think i'll just idly wonder...

april 24th.

2008-04-23T22:32:00.000-07:00

tomorrow is my mom's birthday.
i'm feeling sad about it.
this is her first birthday that she hasn't been alive for.
also, her birthday last year was a fucked day for me. i got really, really upset at her and yelled at her and she just kinda accepted it. like so many times last year, she agreed with me and told me i was right and she needed to hear that stuff, which wasn't what i wanted.
anyway, the birthday is bringing up a lot of emotions for me.
i'm just really missing her, i guess.

not enough time.

2008-04-20T20:15:00.000-07:00

hi!
it's been a while!
i've been thinking about you, but i've been pretty busy.
i don't even have time now to explain what i've been busy with, and if i did, you'd be underwhelmed, but i'm feeling pretty good and happy, so that's cool.
i have some exciting things brewing, also some scary things, and my life is feeling like an armload of stuff that i'm just barely carrying successfully, with the occasional dropped sock, and intermittent panicking over fumbling it all.
i'll update more this week, promise, but i had to add this link in, because it is one of the most impressive things i've seen in a while. especially geared towards those of you who enjoy both film AND shakespeare. (seth? austin? maybe lu? shaye? tab?) other people might not get the joke, but for those of you who do, it's gonna blow your mind.

J: Speak 'What' again! Thou cur, cry 'What' again!

this guy is a freakin' genius. there's another version later on, in the comments.
i had forgotten how full of magic metafilter is. wowzers.

better than i thought.

2008-04-12T10:03:00.000-07:00

i went up to redwood valley yesterday with tab, for the first time since before christmas.

i know i talk/write/complain about this situation all the time, and it probably seems totally solvable from the outside, and it actually is, i'd guess, but it doesn't feel like that most of the time.

it feels like i'm an ox, yoked to a house i am ambivalent about, and an weird old guy who i'm a little bit afraid of.

i've been chewing on the 'what the fuck am i going to do about yumi?' question for MONTHS, mostly in my head and by yakking about it, but with little real action on it. after therapy last time, i felt feeling like i had a really short, pretty manageable list of things i needed to do in order to get the ball rolling on it.
1) call the real estate agent my agent, lisa, recommended to me. this recommended agent is actually the listing agent for yumi when it was sold to mom, so she'll know a lot about it. she'll be able to say whether it's pure folly to try to sell it right now. (is it unrealistic for me to assume she'll be honest? i mean, business must be rough for her right now, so she'd probably inclined to say anything she can to get that place listed...but still...) if it seems like selling it right now is just not smart, she'll maybe know something about how i'd rent it, instead, and how much i could reasonably expect to get in rent for it. that's an easy call, right?

2) get up to yumi to keep moving on going through mom's stuff. it's such a hard, unpleasant task, it is almost impossible to look forward to it, but i can neither sell nor rent it if it's packed to the gills with mom's stuff.

3) have The Talk with allen, where i tell him i can't afford to keep the house with the situation as it stands right now, and unless he's going to pay me more, we'll have to sell, or he'll have to move out of the big house, so we can rent it out. the thought of this talk turns my bowels to water, so i've avoided it. in discussion with everyone in the world, it was agreed that i couldn't possibly have The Talk with him in person, alone, because he's so unpredictable, so i'd either need to bring someone with me or do it over the phone. i felt like the phone might be easier, since i could lay it all out, then get off the phone, so he could think about it, then we could talk when he'd calmed down. but then i also thought that maybe i'd write him a letter, which seems like the ultimate in cowardice, but whatever.

yesterday, i got step 2 rolling, by going to yumi with tab.
linda and i had gotten mom's closet and bathroom cleaned out before christmas, so yesterday we stared on mom's office/bead room.
i'm not going to lie - it was harrowing. everything was covered in dust, from the cat sand that they use in the cat boxes, and also just disuse. there were years worth of magazines, all organized chronologically, in little cardboard holders. we just chucked them all. (duh, recycled, sillies!) me and tab both have a bit of the hoarding gene ourselves, so we resisted the urge to keep them all for collaging, but it was not easy.
i went through the drawers that mom used to hold the first aid stuff and all her beauty products, the extras.
seriously, i found about 20 containers, unopened, of dental floss. roughly 10 toothbrushes. multiple full bottles of hand wash, lotions, shampoos...so much stuff. so, i took what i wanted, grabbed good stuff for lu (don't worry, bestie, we're keeping you in mind.) and then tab looked through them, and we packed everything else up, according to "Someone Might Want This" and "This Is Grody And Needs To Go."
i went through mom's journals, and found an amazing book, like her book of shadows or something. fucking so good. also, a good photo album, seeing pictures of mom and daddy when they were young, just married, it was conceivable that those two people could be in love at some point, but that gets harder and harder to imagine, the older they get, until now, when, if i hadn't seen it first hand, i'd never have believed that they were ever in love.
we found some hoarded art supplies, SO MANY PENS, an entire drawer full of post-its, tons of unused notebooks and hanging files.
we got rid of all her computer games, her home electrolysis kit, (which i would bet money had never been used because wtf? - seriously, how did sharper image make it for so many months after mom died?).
it's sobering to see one's life reduced to the crap your survivors will have to get rid of.
it makes me look at my belongings in a whole new way, like, really? really, kira? do you want to make your loved ones delve into the complexities of your unused stationary hoarding problem?
it's exhausting, and also pretty special, finding unexpected treasures. i found some really personal journal stuff, which i am reluctant to read, but which i know i will. ew to reading about your mom having sex, but still.
we just powered through, didn't stop for lunch because we wanted to get the crap outta there.
so, as we're loading the car with our stuff - stuff to keep, stuff for goodwill, stuff to donate to the local elementary school (boy were they excited!) - allen says he wants to show me some stuff.
he wants to show me his breakdown for the money he'll give me for january to march's woodworking.
last time he sent me a check for a bit over $300, with a breakdown, and i was mildly-to-strongly disturbed by the fact that he took taxes and the cost of his supplies out of my portion, like i should have to pay for those.
so, he did the same thing this time, and i asked him why. he said it was because we were business partners (???) so we had to share the expense.
i said i was not his business partner, i was his landlord, and landlords don't accept less rent because of your expenses.
he wasn't trying to hear that. he was getting a bit upset.
he started telling me how little money he was making for all his hard work, and how he was having money troubles (testify, brother) and he needed to borrow $7k from somewhere to get his teeth done, etc.
so, i rolled the dice, and i explained to him how expensive keeping the house is. i explained property taxes, bills, homeowner's insurance, the home warranty, motherfucking mortgage...not to mention all the expenses attached to settling mom's estate. i told him that mom's money was almost gone.
he got a little bogged down with 'i can't believe you lost $160k that fast' but i corrected him. it wasn't lost, like, oops, it was spent, like, property taxes cost $7k and the second loan on me and shannon's house is killing us so i'll pay it off for $50k. he simmered down. also, as jimmy said, if i had spent it all on coke and hookers, it'd be none of his business because it was my money, but still.
so, he said, well shit. maybe you should think about selling the house.
it was like bells started going off, like i had hit the jackpot on a slot machine, with lights flashing and stuff.
PERFECTION.
basically, he had the talk without me having to do it.
and, it ended on a really good note, with it being a decision we needed to make together, not a huge weight that i'm handling alone.
this talk, which i have spent a cumulative estimated time no less than 2 months of solid worrying on, spread over 6 months, went better than i could have possibly imagined, in my wildest of mental wanderings.
the relief was huge.
then tab and i dropped off the best office supplies to the local school and they were really excited about then.
then i drank my usual celebratory espresso shake and got all cracked out because i hadn't eaten enough.
me and tab kicked the office's ass and had a really, really good day.
i had my real last session with jimmy which was so hot, so hard, so sweaty gross that i teased him about being kinda glad he was leaving. we bro-ed out and i have sunken my friend-hooks into him and will probably not let him go. he's a good one.
i came home and showered and my shower was glorious and i sang in the shower, which i haven't done for a while, and then brian and romi the dog came over and we drank beer and ate a tasty-ass bread salad and got our chat on.
such an amazing day. so wonderful and sad and happy.
it was HOThothot in redwood valley yesterday and the property looks so pretty it could break your heart.
then petaluma was so lovely, open door weather.
i'm missing shannon, who is still in LA.
now, i'm going to go to my writing spot and get my write on, since i barely wrote thursday, didn't write friday. i'll drink some gunpowder tea, i think.

quick.

2008-04-10T16:15:00.000-07:00

The Fall: holy smokes, this looks amazing.

downer/upper.

2008-04-01T18:55:00.000-07:00

things i'm not stoked about:

this is fucking terrible, but not surprising.

things i am stoked about:
-carrots (so good!)
-broccoli (if i had to only eat one vegetable for the rest of my life, it'd be broccoli.)
-trace minerals (shannon is a big believer in these, but i don't really like the way they make the water taste. nonetheless, they're really good for you and they kick canker sores in the pants.)
-the gym (i know, old news, but i have fallen back in love with it.)
-writing (again, yawn, but i am deep in the midst of a passionate love affair with it. hopefully long-term.)
-flip-flops (i used to wear them everyday, and then i backed away from it, but i have been enjoying it being warm enough to wear them again.)
-peter hoeg's new book, 'the quiet girl.' ('smila's sense of snow' is one of my top 5 favorite books, so i was THRILLED when i saw that he had a new one. i'm listening to it on cd and LOVING it. so much so that i am looking forward to reading it the normal way already. there was a sense of restraint and distance in 'smila's' but this one is so much more passionate and funny and warm. i mean, he's danish, so there's still the scandanavian-ness, but not nearly so much.)
-joyce carol oates (am i boring you by talking about her books and her all the time? she's just so amazing. i'm reading 'my heart laid bare' and it's wonderful.)
-frigoverre (in me and shannon's on-going mission to eradicate plastic from our lives, this was a landmark discovery. i fret about plastic food storage and this stuff has a glass base. we've got tons of it and the thrill hasn't worn off yet.)
-making smoothies for breakfast (gina got me started and now i can't stop. i actually did stop for a couple of weeks, but only because we didn't have any food in the fridge. but i went grocery shopping yesterday and came back with organic blueberries and raspberries, some frozen peaches, more rice milk, spinach....i already had some of my favorite rice protein powder and some sprouted raw flax seeds. so, super tastiness this morning.)
-the liam finn album. remember i posted a video of his performance on david letterman and said i'd bought the album? well, it's good.

seriously, though, guys.
please use your hands-free headset with your phone, and even when you're kicking it hands-free, keep your phone somewhere aside from on your person. not to be all preachy, but brain tumors are sons of bitches, and i love you guys and i want you to live.

blahblahblahwriting.

2008-03-28T16:55:00.000-07:00

i flew back from LA yesterday for writing class.

i thought it was the last one, but i guess it was the second-to-last one.

i've been feeling a bit unenthused about my class, kinda aimless and drifting, and was toying with the idea of just not going, but not seriously. maybe old me might have done that, flaked out, but i know myself well enough to know that if i'm resisting something that much, then i should probably shut up and do it, so i went.

my travel day was mostly fine. at LAX to early, since traffic on the 405 is a total mystery and could potentially have taken hours, but in actuality took minutes. some drama in my head about missing my shuttle back to 'Luma, but it didn't happen, so overall, fine. uneventful. no gavin newsom to gawk at. i got home with enough time to hang a little, change clothes, eat something and then head into the city for class. again, thought i was going to be late for class, which i have really tried to avoid after being so late to the first class, and time bent enough for me to make it.

my big resistance to the class lately has been reading my new fiction project. as much as i knew i should share it, i was really afraid of negative feedback, do kept feeling like i didn't want to share yet. but what the hell am i wasting my time writing for if i'm too afraid to share anything i write? in theory, the writing itself is the reward for the writing, because you're releasing things out of your brain that would otherwise just build up and smother you. so, it should be a relief to let it all out, whether or not you share it. but really, why bother if you won't share it? how do you know what you need to work on? how do you know if it's any good at all?
so, i brought my laptop to class, with the intention of reading my new stuff.

when it was time to read, i almost chickened out, and i got all flustered and nervous, but i did it anyway. so, i read, the first 10 or so pages of the book, and heard a few noises from the rest of the class as i read, some 'hmm' and some laughing. that's a good sign, i thought. after i was done, everyone was wildly enthusiastic. everyone applauded me at the end of class. lee, who is sparing with his praise, said, not just yeah, but fuck yeah. alan, my teacher, referenced dickens and kafka and margaret atwood. i think, after the difficulties and the repetition of my mistakes in the memoir, me reading this was a surprise for everyone, because the novel is more me. the memoir was artificial and forced, but the novel is me writing the way i want to. everyone was really interested to see what happened next, and there was lots of discussion about directions to take it and what should happen to the main character. alan sent me an email today, about some authors he thought i might want to read, that he was reminded of by my writing, and he said that my piece was still with him, he'd been thinking about it. he said it was "really, really amazingly good." yay!

it was very exciting. after being so scared and protective of it, and so afraid of it being ripped to shreds, or just left kinda soggy and damp, to have everyone be so positive, so impressed, was terrifically validating. *this* is how artists keep themselves going. yes, you have a feeling you're good, but you need periodic validation to keep you going when you have forgotten, or when other people have told you you suck. these are the memories that light your way when you need some illumination. so, i am jealously, feverishly clutching this feeling to my heart. i can do this. i can do this. i am good at this. sometimes i'm not sure and maybe i even think i'm crap, but i have it in me.

alan did a bit of a wrap up for the class, with some general words of wisdom and encouragement, that really hit the spot.

i've actually hit a bit of a wall with my story. i imagine it like this: i'm in a car. i set out filled with excitement, a really clear plan in mind of my route. my tank is full, i have snacks, i have good road music and i'm GOING FOR IT. so i'm going! and it's awesome - as awesome as i'd imagined, maybe better! man, the scenery is so good and i've got the windows rolled down and the music is blasting and i'm singing at the top of my lungs and drumming on the steering wheel! then, as time passes, i start getting tired. my trip has taken less time than i thought, and some of the stuff i had planned turned out to not be that cool so i skipped it, but don't have alternate plans. it's getting dark, i've eaten everything i brought with me, i don't have anywhere to stay, and i might have taken a wrong turn. i'm driving slower and slower, down a road that i thought i knew, but am realizing i don't actually know. slower and slower, until suddenly i am stopped completely on a deserted road, in the middle of the night, surrounded by huge trees. i don't really know where i am and i don't know where i am headed and i am feeling overwhelmed and scared by the confusion. it was all so well thought out, you know?

this is me, lost and scared in the middle of my project. i have run out of gas, i have lost the map.
and this isn't the first time this has happened to me.

i realized that this happens every time. i have a bunch of started but unfinished projects, short stories or something, where i started off really elated and clear and slowly rolled to a stop at some point, unclear what to do, so i abandoned the car and walked home.

but i'd like to end this habit.

alan was saying that writing your book can be a chance to work through all your problems? are you a quitter? work it out on your book. lazy? superficial? fearful? pour all of it into the writing of the novel. he said that when he wrote his book, he was at a really low point. but he surrendered to the process. he said, alright, this is me - whatever i am. pathetic, angry, sad, frustrated, everything i am, i'm not going to hold back, i'm going to pour it all in.

so, i'm in.

he talked about being in the middle of his book and being at temple, for yom kippur. the rabbi is lowered to the ground my two other people, prostrate before the torah and god, on the day of atonement, and he says something in hebrew that translates to 'here i am.' and that's what he imagined doing with his novel. here i am, face down, prostrate before you. i am hiding nothing.

i got tears in my eyes when he said it. partly because of how beautiful that image of total surrender is, and partly because i reminded me of one of mom's ubiquitous labelmate messages, one on her bathroom mirror. it said 'here i am lord.'

admitting we have no control and we're flailing around trying to make it happen when really we have no idea what we're doing - it can be terrifying. but it's what's true most of the time. we have no idea what we're doing. we're scared and confused and just doing it, whatever it is, and hoping for the best.

i appreciate the liberation of surrender. once you surrender, it's out of your hands, which is a relief.

i've been feeling like a failure because i don't know what i'm doing with my writing and i'm worried i'm going to quit and be entirely without a goal again and that i'll waste this new sense if clarity, which was so hard earned through mom's death, and that i'll just sit here forever, waiting for something to happen to me, because i don't know what to do. i want to really Be this new me, in the world. i feel so different and so much more capable, or, i did, but it feels like it's going away without opportunities to use it. like, being me, in my house, at the gym, isn't enough. like i can only shine and know myself in a state of crisis. i don't want to lose this sense of purpose, of ME, this version of ME that i really admire, but i just can't seem to figure out how to translate ME into a post-crisis life. i am all filled with fears again, hesitating because i can.

so, i'm pouring it all into the book. so help me god, i will finish this book. it will be hard, probably, because most things worth doing are, and i am going to dig deep and mine everything i have and i am going to just pour it all in to this project. every ounce of my insecurity, my needing my mom, my doubts about my future and what i am capable of, my fears of repeating my mom's mistakes, my fears of failure, my hunger for success and to make myself proud, my need for approval, my shame, my anger, my quitting, my regret - ALL OF IT. fucking all of it. if i have anything to offer the world, if i have anything good or bad in me, i hope to show it in this damn book. i'm sorry it wasn't the book about mom, but i'm just not ready yet.

i get mail addressed to The Estate of Jenna Fisher.

it's so weird, because getting mail to her just feels like a mistake, but that mail, to The Estate, is like a little electric shock of realization - mom has an estate because she died. she died. my mom died. she's dead. she's no less dead now than before. it can be so painful still sometimes, even though most of the times it's not. sometimes something will hit the scar in the right way and it just stabs me again, the realization.

i heard that sharper image is filing for bankruptcy. it's probably because mom is dead. i think she might have been single-handedly keeping them afloat.

today was my last training session with jimmy. i tried to figure out how to buy more sessions, but i just can't afford it without screwing myself financially. i'm feeling really sad about it. he's leaving at the end of april to move to ventura to be a cop (the good kind, not the criminal sodomizing kind), but i had hoped to stay with it at least until he leaves. maybe something will turn up. i'm have a really hard time letting it/him go. it's embarrassing to admit, but he was one of the biggest things that helped me get through my grieving. it feels painfully appropriate that he's going now, as i am realizing that i am out of the woods with the grieving, so to speak, and that it's time to figure out how to live again. like my crutch is getting yanked out from under me, and i need to wobble around unaided. i mostly kept it together, saying goodbye, but i had to go down into the locker room and cry a little bit.

okay, i haven't worked on my book today, so i'm going to log some hours.

p.s. we have a reading scheduled, as the culmination of our class, and i'd love it if you'd come, if you'd like. it's on april 13th, a sunday, from 2 to 4pm, here:

Bird and Beckett Bookstore
San Francisco's
southernmost literary & jazz joint
in the heart of the city's
Glen Park neighborhood

653 Chenery Street,
between Diamond & Castro
in Glen Park
1-1/2 blocks from Glen Park BART station
& MUNI lines 23, 26, 44, 52 & J-Church

don't worry, i'll remind you.

peep.

2008-03-25T15:52:00.000-07:00

peeps diorama competition.
it happens every year!
so happy-making.

i'm in la, visiting shannon for a few days.
it's more wonderful to see him than i could have possibly predicted.
i think i ignore/avoid thinking too hard about how much i miss him, because if i did, i might never stop crying.
i told him the other day that, while i am capable of keeping myself alive while he is gone, i am incapable of thriving without him.
going through the loss of mom makes feeling so dependent, so needful of someone very scary. you know, one of us will die, eventually, and the other one will be really, really sad.
but until then, he makes me so happy i just can't even believe it.
i am staying an extra two days because i just couldn't bear to leave him.

on a personal note, i am having a little bit of a crisis, trying to determine what i am doing with my life. now that i'm not in school, and not ready to get back into it, thinking about babies soon, but not quite yet, know i want to write but not sure what that looks like...what the hell am i doing with myself? i'm having trouble writing, which sucks. i'm feeling scared and confused and lethargic and aimless.

it'll all come together eventually, but the not-together-yet phase is particularly painful.

david suchet and shasta marie.

2008-03-19T20:59:00.000-07:00

this is the actor, david suchet.
i'm having a little bit of a love affair with him right now.
why, you ask?
well.
you may or may not know that i listen to books on cd quite a bit, and by 'quite a bit' i mean instead of the radio or music, in my car. i am always listening to something when i am driving. i'm surprised mykhail didn't start speaking in an english accent, after listening to agatha christie for 3 days.
anyway, i am going through an agatha christie phase, and this is all because of the wonderful
david suchet.
he is most famous for playing hercules poirot in the agatha christie movies on the bbc and he reads the books on cd. not only is he adorable and charmant (as the french and, like monsieur poirot, the belgians, say) as poirot, but he does the voices for everyone else in the books, creating AMAZING voices. i seriously can't stress enough how impressive his vocal range is. he can play poirot, who is a pompous little belgian man with a french accent, a blowsy middle aged american woman, a well-bred young irish man, and a blustery old british general, each distinct, each entirely consistent. and then he has his normal voice for the narration. AMAZING, you guys.
so, i'm on my third book on cd by him.
here's a clip of him talking about the making of a video game version of 'murder on the orient express.' it's not amazing, but he does the poirot voice and you'll see how different it is from his own voice.

tonight, i popped in a movie that i had rented from netflix and HE WAS IN IT!! yeah! i know!
it was 'the falcon and the snowman' which was dated and featured a very young sean penn and his huge nose. seriously, it looked like he had a fake nose on or something. was it always so big? did he get a nosejob?
anyway, david suchet plays a russion diplomat and he is fantastic. so suave and self-assured.
then, from doing research on him, i find he's won tons of awards and was nominated for his performances in 'who's afraid of virginia woolfe?' and 'amadeus.' oh, and he was at the royal shakespeare for, like, 100 yrs and played caliban and iago and tybalt.
also, he's 5'6", which is so poirot.
anyway, it's exciting. he's great, and he actually works quite a bit. good for him. he deserves it.
***********************************************************************************

on a totally different note, i haven't talked much about putting shasta marie to sleep yet. i think i am avoiding it, since it's hard being here at the house without her. she deserves a tribute, but i'm not ready yet.

mall madness,

2008-03-15T16:38:00.000-07:00

ladies, payless shoes is doing some good stuff right now. look at those shoes! the blue ones look almost exactly like some calvin klein ones i saw later in the day, only the payless ones were more comfortable, and, duh, a fraction of the price. also, i'm not sure if i was able to capture it, but the slip-on tennies are covered in japanese-y cartoon figures. there are some scattered fug sequins, but those would be easy to take off.

just saying.

maybe check out payless soon.

i didn't *want* to go to the mall in santa rosa, you guys. but my phone died, in an unavoidable, no-way-to-fix-it way, so took it to the apple store in santa rosa (i know! who knew they had one there?) and they gave me a new one, thank god. shannon had made me nervous that they would want to send mine to the factory to have it tinkered with, and i was feeling decidedly twitchy at the prospect of being unphoned for a while. what have we become? remember when we didn't even have pagers, or when phones weren't cordless? and now, i can't stomach going a few days without my cellphone.

anyway, they were nice and gave me a new one, probably because mine had gone from illin' to non-responsive dead while it was there.

so, elated from my new phone swap-out, i felt like i had to check out payless, since i was right across the hall and there had been a pair of sandals that i was considering. and, lo and behold, the selection in SR was amazing.

but i didn't buy anything because i am a smart person.

then i went to macy's and tried shoes on but didn't buy anything and then i went to forevs and bought one shirt and a bag, making it the only time i've ever left forevs having spent less than $100.

i was woozy and light-headed from hunger, so i went to lunch. the restaurant was insanely busy, and i waited and waited without complaint, only to be told that the thing i ordered wasn't available, a piece of information i could have used BEFORE i'd waited for 20 minutes for my food. so, i ordered something else and waited some more. my food came and it was fine, but not as good as what i had ordered before, but i read and drank pellegrino and had an espresso and a piece of coffee cake and everything was pretty much fine.

now i'm home, and new iPhone has been implanted with the intelligence of old iPhone and it's almost like the rift between us never occurred.

i know. this is a pretty fluffy journal entry.

sometimes it's nice to not have to write about angst and sadness and self-doubt. sometimes it's nice to just talk about a nice pair of cheap shoes, you know? also...

they seem to have misspelled my name on my clothing labels. i should talk to someone about that...

hypocrites, music and departures.

2008-03-11T10:55:00.000-07:00

"an oily, fetid substance." nice, bio-deisel industry. very nice.

i like how he's known for ethics. whoops!

after seeing this video on goldenfiddle, i bought the album from itunes and it's tasty.

shannon is leaving today for los angeles for a while, to finish the last stage of the new 'indiana jones' movie. i'm missing him already, even though i am at work with him today to have lunch.

this is pretty amazing. wait for it.

2008-03-07T17:27:00.000-08:00

Santogold "L.E.S. Artistes"
by bluntedsoul

kanye feels like this is maybe the best ever, and i have to agree, a bit.

2008-03-07T10:21:00.001-08:00

also, you guys, i really want this bag. ideally i want the one in the navy blue, below this, but i would also be happy to take the bronzey one to the right. it is currently on sale, at revolveclothing.com, for $2oo-something, marked down from $400-something.

if you're really dying to buy me a present, and can't seem to figure out what to buy, this would be a safe bet. oh, but you could also buy me the sienna bag by deere calhoun, also available on the same website. i'm partial to the three pocket version, in grey.

not sure...

2008-03-07T08:16:00.000-08:00

how do i know if the difficulties i'm having with the memoir are healthy challenges, to be transcended for a glorious finale OR the natural obstacles of something that needs to be given some space and rest, i.e. take a break from the memoir for a bit?

i don't want to be a quitter, and give up because it's hard, because writing is hard, and that's part of what makes it satisfying, is grappling with something so slippery and occasionally feeling like you get a handhold on it. and yet....

i am not enjoying writing the memoir. since i started the fiction project, writing the memoir feels like homework. fiction feels so much more natural, but still hard, whereas the memoir writing is just hard, in general. after writing so much about what happened this way, in my blog, letting it all come out as it would, sitting down and writing it all over again, in a more rigid way, with forced dialogue, just isn't working. after discussing it in class so many time, i am SO self conscious, SO concerned about making the dialogue gel, making sure it's not too much in my head and that i'm setting it firmly in a concrete place, that the story is moving along at a steady enough pace, etc. etc. etc.

you know what i've realized, guys? i write crap dialogue. i can't write it for shit. it sounds dumb and stilted and unreal. at least, i can't recreate dialogue from something that actually happened and have it not sound bad.

i felt like my writing on here was good, strong. it felt real and honest. and the things i am writing in my memoir don't feel honest or real. they feel forced. but the feedback i got from my writing class, both the teacher and students, was that having everything be like this, like my blog, was suffocating, there was no perspective and no air. i can understand that, after reading a couple of smothersome books, with narrators that barely ever come up for breath out of their own consciousness. you want to know what the air smells like, what the nurses look like. you want to be able to sink your feet a little in the setting before being carried off in someone's rickety little rollercoaster of a train of thought.

but how do i do that, if this is what feels the best? and i don't mean the writing of it feels the best, though it certainly feels better than what i have been doing, but this writing, to me, is more honest. i can remember and recreate what i was feeling and thinking and how i responded to a certain situation and why, but i can't remember what was said, specifically, and every time i try to bring it back it immediately bleaches all the color out.

i just don't know.
maybe i have already written everything i needed to about this, in here.
maybe i need to focus more on THIS, the writing that's here, and fill in periodically with setting and stuff.
maybe i need to just write about it the way i want to write about it, if i want to write about it at all, and let go of writing it the way my class is encouraging me to write about it.
it just feels like i am trying to walk around in shoes that are too small. yeah, i can probably get used to it, but there have got to be shoes that fit better, right?

last week, after having some stuckness problems and feelings like i wasn't enjoying my project, my writing partner, clara, suggested that i take a break from writing episodes and just write for a while on characters. i was having trouble creating everyone with my writing so she thought, why not JUST write about your characters, to make them real for you?
so, i did.
in the midst of my illness, i did some writing, describing my mom. i wasn't really trying to tell a story or even writing anything that fit in any obvious way into my memoir, just writing about her. anne lamott wrote two of her books for other people, one for her father as he died of a brain tumor (fuck you, brain cancer) and one for her best friend as she died of breast cancer, i think. (fuck you, cancer, in general.) her goal for writing them was as a gift, as they died, a love letter to them. she talks some in her book about writing your stories not for publication, but you have them written so other people can read them and know you better. so, i felt like i was writing about my mom for me, for when i miss her, and for my kids, who won't get to meet my mom, but will hopefully be able to know her through me, and you, too. so, i wrote and wrote and it was fun to just write without the self-consciousness.

i read that stuff in class last night and two people said that they liked it the best out of everything i've read thus far, which was nice to hear but really surprising, because i was totally ignoring all the rules we've been taught and just 'going for it,' as they say. my teacher was one of the people who said it was my best work, and i was just stumped. i didn't really follow any of the rules, there is no dialogue or anything, it's all just skipping from one place to the next, one time to the next, but that's the best? why isn't that suffocating? because being smothered by mom is interesting and evocative but being smothered by me is boring? i don't fully understand. i'll need to email him about it.

an interesting thing happened, later on in my writing about mom.
i switched from talking about her past, before me, and was writing about her with her cancer, trying to describe the change in her from the cancer.
one of the hardest things i have had to chew on, while processing my mom's death, has been how hard a time i had connecting with her, in a way that felt meaningful to me. i felt farther away from her at the time of her death than i ever have, because it came after years of living apart, where allen had taken up so much space in her life.
she was so close-mouthed about her illness, and i just wanted to talk and talk and talk about it.
are you scared?
are you mad?
are you sad?
do you have regrets?
she just wasn't really open about it. all of my tearful monologuing led to not one instance of her really opening up with me about what was going on inside her.
it was so frustrating and scary for me, kira fisher, who can't have an emotion without observing, labeling it and discussing it. i assumed she had all these teaming emotions inside of her that she wasn't dealing with, because she wasn't talking to me, she wasn't talking to allen, she wasn't talking to her friends... there was so deep depression when faced with her mortality, no dizzying highs of elation over the preciousness of life, and i really wanted that, with her, because that was what *i* was having.
but, while writing, i thought about her, and how she processed things.
she didn't seem like someone tormented by inner demons. she was peaceful, all the way up to her death.
yes, she was probably avoiding some of the unpleasantness, but she didn't seem troubled.
and i thought about how she didn't talk to us about hew feelings and how she was doing much, in sickness or in health.
and then i thought about her relationship with god and how supported and confident she felt through that.
she found peace in giving things she couldn't process by herself over to god. she described this place, her mental altar, to me once. there is a dense forest, and in the center of the dense forest is a clearing, of grass and sun. in the center of this clearing is a boulder that's flat on top. and when she is troubled by something, she'd go to this clearing and lay out her problem on this rock, to dry out in the sun. she'd tell god that she had done everything she could with that problem and she was going to give it to him to handle. and she felt like letting it dry out in the sun, flattened out on a rock to bake clean, was usually enough for her. she'd taken it as far as she could and now it was out of her hands.
so, why wouldn't she have done the same things with her fears about death?
all of my questions:
are you scared? duh.
are you mad? duh.
are you sad? duh.
do you have regrets? duh.
but she didn't need to talk to me about those things because what could i do about them? nothing. i couldn't give her peace. i couldn't take those fears away.
but talking to god could.
she could take all those fears and regrets and angers and she could lay them on her altar to dry out in the sun, so nothing was left of them but powder, and so she was left with just the sweetness of it all.
doesn't that make sense?
there will always be regrets, it will always be too soon. but it seems like the goal would be to end your life in the presence of what worked and what was good and what joys you brought and received.
and it seems so much more like her to have been there at her death, rather than tormented by the loss of it all.
the realization brought me a whole new sense of peace about her death. i would have loved to be more a part of her processing but just getting that she processed it successfully in her own way, and that the pain came from me wanting to see her process MY way, rather than recognizing her own ways, was a big relief.
i think mom was probably totally at peace with herself and me and everyone when she died. i think she was ready, in every sense, as best she could be. i think she felt safe and protected, like she was heading home. which sounds corny, but is nonetheless true.

earth first.

2008-03-06T08:49:00.000-08:00

very clever. yes, please.

hey jealousy.

2008-03-04T18:43:00.000-08:00

(remember that song? i wonder what the gin blossoms are doing now... not much, i'd guess.)

anne lamott, who wrote the book on writing that i talked about a little while ago, talks a lot about jealousy. how jealous she feels when a writer friend of hers is succeeding and she's not. she talks about the illusion of 'getting published,' like getting published is the beginning of everything unsolved in your life getting handled. she talks about filling the spaces inside yourself with the writing, not the dream of being published.

i'm feeling jealous of other people's connections. i'm feeling caught up in the illusion of getting published, being a gajillionaire and having all my problems solved. i am feeling empty, not writing enough in the last week from my sickness, not feeding myself with the stuff i have in front of me - the writing - and hungry for what's not in front of me - making money doing this.

there's no moral or anything, i'm just stating this stuff publicly, to get it out of myself, so it doesn't feel so sneaky and secret and moldy.

my cough lingers on, making me feel like a pariah in my own home. i mean, i am grossed out and repulsed by my cough, and i imagine myself cringing away from someone else with my cough, so i cringe from myself every time i am wracked by a coughing jag that leaves me crunched up and heaving. i'm so embarrassed by uncontrollable coughing. i wonder why. i recall a time i was on the bus, having a tickle in my throat that i couldn't get out, and needing to cough in that kind of unbridled way that can feel so urgent. like, eyes bulging, deep breaths for deep explosions, that feeling like every time you inhale you're choking because of that goddamned tickle. and i remember trying to cough a little bit, on the bus, demurely, really aware of all the other bus riders and how bummed they'd be about me having a nasty coughing fit, how worried they'd probably be that i was sick. and i remember this feeling of panic because i COULD NOT get that damn tickle handled and every inhale was torture, and barely breathing until my stop came, so i could get off the bus, bend over, and cough myself hoarse. that's how i feel now, with this damn cough. so urgent, so embarrassing, so painful. why do i give a shit if people think i have TB? why was i so okay with choking/smothering to death, so i didn't bum a bunch of strangers out? weird. so unlike me.

i'm reading a book by joyce carol oates. for my writing class, we're supposed to be reading books by one author, submerging ourselves in this writer's work, in a kind of dialogue with them while we are writing. i chose philip roth, mostly because i had a book by him that i'd started but not finished. so i read one book by him and it was good, moved well, i felt good about it. i chose my next one by him, a pulitzer prize winner, and was struck by how similar it was to the other one. i mean, the story was totally different, but both narrators were jewish guys from newark. lots of details about newark and being a jew. the stories were about other things, but the voice, if you will, was dang near identical. also, the majority of this second book takes place in the mind of one character, him imagining the mind of another character. there was setting, but it was very much mental. i have been struggling with this in my memoir, my difficulty setting my story in a concrete time and place, with details that let the reader settle in, so i thought it was ironic that this book, very good, was entirely based on the exact same thing that i was trying to NOT do. and i saw how tricky it can be, and i saw where some of the feedback from my classmates was coming from, how being led by the train of thought of the narrator can be dizzying and disorienting. it can really work, but it's not easy, and even a well respected author like philip roth was struggling with it.

so, my teacher said maybe philip roth wasn't right for me, given the navel gazing, so he suggested i find another writer. so, i went to the library and was looking around for an author with a HUGE section. we're looking for someone prolific, so we don't run out of books by them before we're done with the project. i ended up with joyce carol oates, which is a bit of a cop out. my teacher read joyce carol oates for his memoir writing, and he recommended her to my writing partner, who was having trouble finding the right author for herself. so, that i ended up with her too seems kinda uninventive. but, i will say, that woman is prolific. sheesh. does she even sleep? but this book, which i chose basically at random, is EXACTLY the same thing as the others - this hallucinatory, out of it, stream of consciousness. the physical setting is unclear sometimes, because the characters are mentally unhinged.

it's just so weird that, of all her many, many, MANY books, i chose this one. clara, my writing partner, was saying how she was really compelled to keep reading the JCO book she was reading, but couldn't really figure out why, and i kinda agree. i am not really enjoying the book, in a traditional sense. it's unsettling, filled with isolated, crazy people. and yet i am continuing. interesting. even if we factor in my personal weirdness about finishing books once i've started, there is no good reason for it.

tomorrow i head back to the gym for the first time in a week. i've felt bad about not going, but also shy about my cough and how wheezy i am with the coughing. plus, a little weird and light-headed off and on. so, it'll be nice to go again and i hope it feels good and not depressing because i have become a jelly donut in the week that has elapsed.

i inched my way back into the real world today, after my week of sickness exile. well, i got groceries yesterday and went to therapy, so i was started inching then, i guess. today, the dentist for a teeth cleaning (i was a year and a half overdue, which is actually pretty good for me) and then to a cafe for an iced coffee. i sat in the sun drinking my drink and eating a piece of coffee cake. made some phone calls, paid some bills, wondered where my money would come from.

who do i appeal to for help with things, now that i don't feel connected to god or the universe? if the only thing that's real is >this<, our physical bodies and our mental capabilities, how do i make things happen that feel impossibly big and out of my range? usually i'd talk to the universe about it, but since i'm not sure that i believe in it, it seems unfair for me to ask for a favor. so, who do i ask? how do i make it happen?

bummer.

2008-03-04T10:20:00.000-08:00

Author admits gang-life 'memoir' was all fiction - Los Angeles Times

this brings up some questions/thoughts.
-how did this seem like a good idea?
-why did her sister turn her in?
-boy, that's embarrassing!
-i'm sure she never thought anyone would find out, but i am surprised people do this still. i mean, after james frey and that indian girl and all the many, many times that people have been unmasked. there must be enough people who don't get unmasked, that it seems worth the risk. but still. this is a prime example of why i am not cut out for the criminal life - the idea of getting caught for a lie like this is enough to deter me. yeah, the majority of the world doesn't care at all, but your family and friends and publishers know.

dedication.

2008-02-27T07:11:00.001-08:00

i read quite a bit of press about this movie (titled dedication, like this blog entry) when it was shown at sundance.
the critics were really into it.
i was already a fan of directior (and actor, though not in this) justin theroux, for his really great acting, NOT because he's a fox. but wow, he's not ugly. also, he's pretty funny! (you know how i like funny, people.) additionally, he's got all sorts of indie cred, and has been in an appealing mix of high and low brow projects. (he was in miami vice, which was easily the worst movie ever, in the history of the world. he was also in charlie's angels: full throttle, which was kinda the best movie ever, if you are me.) but the very first thing that got my attention was an interview between him and mary-louise parker, who is a bad-ass, and who is his neighbor. bitch. he was charming and interesting and, again i say, NOT UGLY. (i'd like to apologize to shannon, my husband. i love you, and my feelings for this person, who is a stranger to me, will not endanger my love and dedication [<--hah!] to our union.) anyhoodle, back to the movie. there was a lot of good press about it, and i was glad, because i am rooting for him and he tends to do things that are, if not awesome to me, at least interesting. he seems like a kindred spirit. i had really wanted to see it in the theatres, to put my money where my heaving loins/artistic sensibility is, but it was in and out like nothing, and sonoma county is pretty weak on the art house films. but it's out on dvd finally!! i netflix-ed it, and we watched it the other night, and it was worth the wait. it's a, dare i say it, quirky romance, between billy crudup's character and mandy moore's character. billy crudup's character, henry, is an insane bundle of neuroses, totally unfit for the company of fellow humans aside from his partner, rudy, played by the typically understated and brilliant tom wilkinson. they write children's books. rudy dies (of a brain tumor which was uncomfortable for me, but well-done) and henry is forced to collaborate with a new illustrator, lucy, played by mandy moore. they fall in love, duh, but the road is bumpy and there is some conflict. it's a pretty conventional story arc, from the love story perspective, but it's so unconventional in the other ways, so weird and funny, that the fact that it's a pretty standard love story makes it all the more enjoyable. billy crudup, finally exiting the black fog of infamy that his abandonment of mary-louise parker cast him in to (in my head), was wonderful. yes, he's an actor, but he's an Actor-actor, and he plays henry, who is, let's be honest, not a likable person AT ALL, as someone who somehow deserves the be loved. mandy moore, i want to find you and give you a hug because you were perfect for this role and played it so well. after the colossal stinker that that movie with you and diane keaton was, and then doing that idiotic movie with robin williams, i had my doubts, but you were excellent, and really held your own opposite some heavyweights. (aside note, mandy moore is 5'10" and billy crudup is, like, 4'9", but the filming did a good job of not making that an issue. they looked like they were in the same scale.) supporting cast was funny and strange and perfect, too - dianne weist, bob balaban, peter bogdanovich, and even martin freeman (of the UK version of the office, among other things.)
i was just so proud of everyone involved. i just want to find justin theroux and punch him in the arm and give him a high five.
just a high five. nothing else.
so, see it, okay?
there were a couple of eensy-weensy things i could say to criticize it, but i'll save it until you see it, and then we can talk about ti together, okay?
(lu, you should especially see it, because the girl character is named 'lucy,' too, so you can imagine that they're talking about/to you, and that will be fun for you, right?)

good quotes.

2008-02-24T11:17:00.000-08:00

writing a novel is like driving a car at night. you can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. - e.l. doctorow

writing is so difficult that i often feel that writers, having had their hell on earth, will escape all punishment hereafter. - jessamyn west

what you have to do now is work. there's no right way to start. - anna held audette

this book is holding my hand and guiding me through the storm:

dear anne lamott,
thank you. not a moment too soon.
sincerely,
kira fisher

writing blahblahblah.

2008-02-22T10:13:00.000-08:00

i know i just said this last time, but writing really is torture.
it's so hard, it's so exciting, it's just impossibly wonderful.
the struggle to say something better, to refine a sentence to the point of perfection, is one of the most difficult, noble pursuits i can imagine.
seriously, people, it's killing/saving me.

writing is torture.

2008-02-19T17:08:00.000-08:00

last week's writing class was absolutely the best so far.

i've had some lingering doubts about how well i was fitting into the class, from a writing stand point. everyone else has a really sparse style, while mine is a 'more is more' kinda attitude. (which can also be used to describe my attitude towards jewelry, too, i think. just pile it all on there and go.)

we read chunks of our writing every week, what we've been working on that week, and afterwards we get comments.

everyone is very careful about each other's feelings and we use a the old compliment sandwich method of feedback (not purposely, but it just seems to work out this way) where there's a compliment, a minor criticism, and then another compliment.

i've felt like my compliments so far have been half-hearted, like the other people in the class, including my teacher, were struggling to find positive things to say. they were the kind of watered down that you give to a friend after you've just watched them in a terrible play, where you really reach to find something to say that is positive, despite having just watched/read/heard something almost without redeeming quality. (not that that's ever, happened to me, pals! you're all flawless, always, without exception!) like, 'wow! you sure wrote some stuff there! that was a lot of words you used!'

and then the criticism didn't feel like stuff i could grab on to, which was just as disappointing, because i am all about improvement on all levels. i am so hungry for things to work on, to apply myself to, ways to improve, in pretty much every area of my life.

so, last week, i got a lot of REAL praise for my week's writing, from both my classmates and my teacher. and i got feedback that was immediately helpful and totally on point. everyone's writing was really, really good, noticeably improved from weeks before, and it just felt like everyone's juices were flowing, so to speak.

i left totally excited, like, 'THAT is what i'm talking about!'

it was a nice little encouragement, like a little message from the Muses, telling me to keep writing. not that i would have quit writing, but i am not cut out for slogging away in the face of insane obstacles. i need an occasional ray of light, to mix metaphors.

then this week was torture again.

i have written more in the last few days than in years and i'd say 3 pages of the 15 are usable and the rest are the writing equivalent of what scales are for singers. just warming up. i just couldn't dig in. i tried the same section multiple times, stopping at the end of one sentence and starting all over again. it was so frustrating, to be working so hard and have nothing that i'd like to show for it, but then, at the same time, in a weird way, it was a little bit awesome. having to really brace my feet, bend my knees, drop my shoulder and fucking PUSH. i didn't give up, i didn't despair, because i realized it was just a bump in my writing road, and i just kept writing.

it was exciting.

i have to many things rattling around in my head. i started a new fiction story the other day, based on a sentence that popped into my head fully formed (like athena, kinda.) it's like...the handmaid's tale meets the golden compass. or something. i have no idea, really, what it is, but i only want to write that, and writing my memoir is feeling more challenging.

actually, i need to amend what i wrote above.

my writing of this new story was ease itself. it was fun, exciting and i could have worked on it for hours longer than the 3 i did. it was the dang memoir that was so hard. and i kinda wanted to chuck the memoir and just work on this new project, but i totally resisted that urge and forced myself to go some good work on the memoir. it might not be the best work, but it is stuff i won't be ashamed to share on thursday night, though i am not anticipating last week's accolades.

maybe, since i was so good about my memoir writing, i'll let myself work a little bit on the other one. just a little. not tons. like dessert.

i've been doing the majority of my writing in pen. this my axe,' as the guitarists say. mine is tha silky black one, with the gold fountain tip. it's so amazing. i am going through ink cartridges like nothing, which is making me feel like a polluting asshole, but i guess that's a bit better than using a disposable pen where i throw the WHOLE thing away. or something. i use a hard cover lined notebook, with paper that's thick enough to avoid bleed through from my wettish pen, but not super thick. i'm getting writing cramps, where my hand feels permanently frozen into a writing claw. it's cool. it's like i'm a dancer and i'm finally getting mangled-looking feet! i'm earning my wings, people! i've been enjoying the act of writing the memoir, LOVING my fancy pen and just generally down with my process.

but for this other story that i'm hatching i used my laptop, to compare the experiences.

so far i'm not seeing a dramatic difference, but i'm interested to see if anything pops up.

this last week i felt like i was coming out of my funk a bit. i called a bunch of people, while i had the energy. i worked out more. i just took advantage of the up-swing in my energy.

then the clouds came back and i realized how much the sunny spell had to do with my positive outlook. now i'm feeling a bit droopy again, but i'm also PMSing, so maybe it's nothing major. i mean, probably it's nothing major, because i'll be fine, but i am hoping that i have a little break from feeling filled to the brim with despair. it's been nice to feel so fit, emotionally.

i've begun seriously talking and thinking about selling Yumi. i haven't talked to allen about it yet. ideally, i'd never have to tell him, but i haven't come up with a scenario where that'll work since be lives there and he's obviously going to have some feelings about it. to say i am dreading it would be the making of a true, if under-, statement. is there something more extreme than dread? sinking dread? creeping dread? anticipating with abhorrence? i talked to our realtor about it, and got some info from her to help me, the names of some people in mendo who might be able to help me. i know the market is crap and whatnot, but seriously. i need to dump that thing. it's killing me, and not a little bit. actually, allen is killing me. the house is fine. he is not. the worry about him and the stupid sense of responsibility i feel for him, like he's an invalid who needs caring for or something, is fucking KILLING me.

what the hell kind of grown man is comfortable having a women more than 30 years younger than him supporting him? doesn't that make him feel bad about himself? it makes ME feel bad about HIM, for sure.

whatever. love and light, allen. get out of my house and go away.

more about writing.

alan, my teacher, said something that stuck with me a couple of classes ago. or maybe last class. i can't remember.

anyway, he warned us that writing would start taking over our lives, that everything else would fade back and a lot of things would seem less and less important in the face of our writing. that prophecy was both terrifying and exciting. i felt a thrill of anticipation for that sensation of absorption, that level of commitment and focus. i mean, i already have problems with letting crap slide, so that was scary to hear, but i appreciated the sentiment.

and these last few days i've felt it, just a bit. that feeling that all i want to do is write. i skipped the gym two days in a row, which for me is basically unheard of these days, because i was just so into my writing. i'm not really down with suddenly becoming a slug-butt again, but it is exciting to feel so moved.

he also read us some passages from hemingway's book on writing, titled, mysteriously, 'on writing.' hemingway suggested writing until you knew what was going to happen next. he thought we shouldn't write until we were feeling blank. he referred to our creativity like a well and said we should draw deeply from it, but always make sure to leave some, then to give it time to refill itself. so, when you're done for the day, stop and go do things that get you out of your head and away from writing.

i'm having trouble with the 'getting away from writing' thing at this point.

wow. grief.

2008-02-08T09:15:00.001-08:00

i had underestimated this whole grieving thing.
i was so sad for a few months, and then it all started lightening up. i still felt sad, but in a less oppressive way. it felt like a manageable amount of emotion.
and then it got unmanageable again.
i got back to barely getting out of bed, doing nothing except going to the gym and sleeping and reading.
i wasn't prepared for moving so far back.
i think it's harder this time because everyone else has moved on, back to taking care of their own lives.
i think that's natural and i don't think anyone is abandoning me or anything, it's just the way things are.
there's a point where everyone else goes back to their lives, back to thinking about the things they're dealing with because you're out of the woods, and after that the calls stop and the check ins stop.
a friend warned me about this, actually, right after mom died. her dad died when she was my age, and she said that this would happen - that there would be a point where everyone else had moved on and you're alone with the grief, missing the checking in.
i don't feel like it's anyone's *job* to check in on me, naturally, and i know that everyone has stuff that they wrestle with, and lives to tend to. i ate up a lot of energy from other people, and it's totally necessary for them to take care of themselves.
so, here i am, back in the barely getting out of bed stage, but mostly alone this time.
it's unfortunate that i am so sad, and so lonely, and not really able to make calls myself, because what i probably need is to spend time with other people, but i can't make it happen.
of course, there are good days, or good hours.
yesterday i sat in the sun outside of whole foods, writing. i was feeling good in my skin, the sun felt wonderful, drinking my iced decaf latte with stevia and lowfat milk, using my fancy new pen that is AMAZING. the writing wasn't feeling like it was especially valuable material, but it all felt nice.
i'm three weeks into my writing class now.
week one was painful, in that i was a half an hour late for no especially good reason aside from me fucking up the time and then getting lost and not being able to find parking and having the wrong apartment number in my phone. it was excruciating walking into that apartment, late, meeting a bunch of people for the first time sweaty and out of breath, feeling like a big asshole. but i went. i seriously considered just leaving because i couldn't handle the embarrassment, and i might have at another time in my life, but i just took a deep breath and went for it.
i have to constantly battle the inner critic in me, telling me that i might not belong in the class because i'm not really a writer and i don't know what i'm doing and this sucks and it's all hopeless. i have to consciously let my mind spin itself around in manic circles and then just do it all anyway. maybe it sucks, but i'll write it anyway. maybe it'll be terrible and i'll be pelted with rotten produce, but i'll write anyway.
my teacher, alan kaufman, has talked a lot about making writing into a practice. he told us this story about when he was studying zen buddhism. he wouldn't see his guru/master/mentor more than every couple of weeks, and his master would come up to him and ask him, 'have you been sitting zazen like that this whole time?' alan would look at himself and realize he was all slouched over, his mind was wandering, his posture crappy. his master would say, 'yeah, so, you haven't been sitting zazen.' because the difficulty of the sitting *is* the practice. it's not just copping a squat and letting your mind wander. it's your posture and your breathing and your gaze and your hands and everything together and it's hard, which is why everyone doesn't do it.
so, he was talking about writing practice the same way. it's not just sitting down with a pen someplace and jotting some stuff down. it's the discipline of doing it everyday, even when it's hard, at the right place, the right time, focused on a topic. and again, there's a reason why not everyone is a writer. because writing is fucking hard.
i'm working on my memoir about mom's death. i'm still a little uncomfortable with the idea of a memoir, because of the cliche of it, but it's just so THERE for writing about.
i found the difficulty of writing and the difficulty of grieving got a little tangled this week, though. writing about mom and her death as i'm processing my feelings about my mom and her death make the writing even harder.
alan suggested that i might need to consider if this is the project i want to work on, which i have certainly pondered myself, but i am not seeing anything else. this feels like the project, but it's true that writing i hard enough without adding in the extra weight of sadness.
i'm going to post this, and then eat some breakfast and get ready for the gym, but i'll be back soon.

hard times again

2008-02-07T16:48:00.000-08:00

hi.
i haven't been writing much.
i'm having a hardhardhard time again.
i can't really talk much about it because i have to get ready to leave for my writing class, but i just thought i'd let you know i'm alive, i'm struggling, doing lots of reading, going to the gym and that's about it.
i'm going to endeavor to write more again, because it's good for my melon.
sometimes, when you're sad, the last thing you want to talk about is being sad.
sometimes you don't want to talk at all.

i guess it never ends.

2008-01-21T15:16:00.001-08:00

i have been avoiding looking my finances, and my mom's finances, squarely in the face.

the combination of the holidays, the wedding, and then leaving for new york right after new year's, has left me in a total state of panic, as far as my office is concerned. i mean, the physical environs are revolting, also, but i was meaning the paperwork and details contained within my office. bills needed paying, calls needed placing, filing needed doing...it was really disturbing. every time i went into my office, i would just end up backing out slowly, so as not to alert the mess of my presence.

so, i spent most of today working on that stuff. things aren't entirely up to date, and in many ways the problems and concerns have only been compounded by addressing them (instead of leaving them in a haze of confusion) but at least i'm not beating myself up for not doing this stuff.

i spoke to a tax preparer about my taxes and my mom's. even thinking about taxes makes my guts twist up with anxiety. after years and years of making so little money that i didn't have to pay taxes, suddenly having to deal with 2 monstrously complicated filings is enough to send me to bed for a nap. the tax preparer had a lot of questions, only some of which i knew the answer to, but at least the ball is rolling, i guess.

i finally called the company mom has her mortgage with, to get a quote for paying off the year, and was informed 1) they're pursuing her/us for collections and we need to contact them immediately and 2) their office is closed today. awesome. so, i get to call back tomorrow to them. also, i need to ask the mendo county assessors some questions about some stuff they sent me, and to see if i can get a new death certificate for mom, since the one they sent us has the wrong social security number on it.

seriously, it never ends. i received a bill from my lawyer, for $1300, shortly after finding out that i'd somehow bounced my last check to him. also awesome. on the same day, i received a bill from some pump place for $800ish and i still am not sure what's going on with that. why wasn't the well coming on? does yumi even have a well? and, more importantly, where am i going to get the money to pay these bills?

i took the weekend off from working out, and it felt really good, but i also feel the beginning of the 'i-don't-wanna's coming back. i've already put off going to the gym today for a few hours and now i'm considering just doing my cardio and not my weights. i totally dropped the ball on my eating today, left it until too late and then got so desperately hungry that i ended up heating up two pieces of VERY left over pizza, which makes me feel terrible about myself because i know better. i haven't taken my supplements in a few days.

sometimes it's just so hard to keep everything moving forward, you know? it's like juggling or plate spinning, where one slows or drops so another thing can be picked up. if i'm taking care of myself emotionally by resting more, then my gyming drops off. if i'm spending time with friends, my paperwork drops off. if i'm doing my household chores, i don't call anyone. i just can't manage to keep everything going, at least a little bit, all the time.

i keep feeling like i'm 'back to normal' and should be taking on a more normal workload, and being surprised all over again by how not over my grieving i am, and how much i still need to moderate my workload. i'm tired of it. i'm tired of that being the excuse for me still being out of synch. even though everyone else moves their focus back to their lives, and my drama/loss gets moved off the front burner, *i* am still stuck with this, not just on a front burner, but covering my entire stove with sticky, oily residue. i imagine other people tiring of hearing about it, or talking to each other about how 'kira keeps trotting out that same old excuse. when will she get it together?'

i know that i talk about this a lot, and i know that other people's feelings about the duration or intensity of my grieving don't mean anything. i mean, i can't and won't modify my process to make other people feel better, and when i really think of it, i doubt that other people are really thinking that. i'm just hearing the things i'm thinking in other people's voices.

when will kira get a job?
when will she stop pretending to be a housewife and pick a direction again?
when will she quit complaining about how hard it is having this inherited money?
when will she learn how to manage her time, get her things done, her bills paid?
why isn't she over it yet?

i ask myself these questions all the time.
i watch myself struggling from afar, forgetting bills, avoiding making calls, ashamed to call people after being out of touch, waiting too long to clean the house, too tired/lazy/sluggish to cook dinner like i said i would, and i just get so sick of it all.
i know that part of it is the grieving, and it will last as long as it lasts, and i can't do anything about it.
and i know that these are things i have always struggled with, and that my mom struggled with in her adult life, and i feel silly for thinking that i should suddenly have them figured out when i have always had a hard time with them.

i feel so much more confident, in general, than i ever have. confident about my abilities, my strengths and weaknesses, my Path...i feel more comfortable in my skin, both literally and figuratively, really, than ever before.
and yet i have no idea what i'm doing and i feel like everything is falling apart and it's all my fault.

i have been daydreaming about binge-reading, or taking myself to matinees, or spending the day out at the ranch with gina, riding bikes and hiking.
i think that in my head i decided that the time when those activites are acceptable has passed, but my actual situation just doesn't match that.
i'm not ready to be done grieving. i need more reading, more relaxing, more naps, more kindness to myself.

why is it so hard to be vulnerable, even in my own head? asking other people for permission to take a break is pretty hard, but asking myself for permission is almost impossible.

i know what mom would say. she'd tell me not to be so hard on myself and that i'm doing the very best i can, and it's important to keep being kind to myself. she'd cluck her tongue, and tuck my head under her chin, and say, 'oh, ma bebe...' and she'd pet my hair.

you guys, i miss her so much. so so so so much. and i'm tired of her being dead, and me having to learn how to grieve, how to manage my new VASTLY more complex finances...i'm sick of it. i'm sick of my new maturity and life feeling like i'm wearing a sweater that's too small. i'm sick of boxes full of stuff from her house waiting for me to look at them, an attic full of stuff to go through, a bead room to sell, allen to deal with. i'm just so tired, physically, mentally, emotionally.

i slept so much this weekend, and i'm still exhausted.

but still i'm going to go to the gym now, because if i don't i'll add more self-loathing to the sadness. i may not set any records for cardio amazingness, but at least i'll have gone. that'll be something.

so much.

2008-01-17T08:28:00.000-08:00

i have been really wanting to write a blog, but i just never seem to make it happen, and now is no different.

i have a bunch i want to say, but i have to go to the gym now, before it gets to late to go.

sorry.

i just wanted you to know that i've been meaning to check in and i am thinking about it and it's bound to happen soon.

okay, time to change into gym clothes. after my punishing training session yesterday, i am surprisingly less sore than i thought i would be. i did drink a butt-load of water, all day, so maybe that's it.

new year, new (old) me.

2008-01-02T16:06:00.000-08:00

2007 was a year where i relearned who i am.
obviously the stuff with mom opened the door to skill sets that had thus far remained dormant, but i'm talking about more secondary stuff than that.
i learned that i really, really, really like working out.
i've been doing personal training, twice a week for a couple of months. i've been averaging cardio 3 times a week. and the simple act of working out has become the most important part of it, not the results. i've always gotten frustrated at how long it takes to see results from working out, and have never really developed that fire for it. i don't know if the one causes the other, but they've certainly both been true in the past.
this year, since mom died, i suddenly get why everyone likes working out so much.
it's because it's fucking awesome.
i've never been sporty and have never really had a strong relationship with my body, in the sense that athletic people do, where it's your mind and your body kicking ass together. but i get it now.
i'll get so stoked during my cardio that i'll start laughing.
i'll grunt and groan like a real weight lifter.
i look forward to my training sessions with mingled dread and excitement, every time, because i know that he's going to make me do things that are unbelievably uncomfortable, but that i'm going to be able to do them, even when it seems like i can't.
i hit a wall during my training today, and i came really close to asking my trainer to cut stuff short. the second set of exercises he had me doing were crazy hard, and i was feeling tired and weak. but i didn't ask, and he didn't offer (because he's awesome) and i pushed through that resistance into that thing we call The Second Wind. i ended the session feeling stronger and more focused, happier, lighter...just all around better.
you guys, i can't overstate what a huge transformation this is for me.

another thing i learned about myself this year is that i am way less willing to sacrifice my physical comfort for style now. i have been wearing a pair of my mom's dansko clogs a couple of days a week, and while i still don't think they're necessarily cute, i find them tolerable, which is not something i would have ever imagined myself saying. also, they're so comfortable, it doesn't even matter that much. i went to shoe pavillion the other day and i bought a new pair of fake uggs for new york and a pair of birkenstock slip ons, like the pair i have already, but in bright yellow patent leather. so cute. but i would not have guessed that THOSE would be the shoes i would leave with. not heels. not fancy flats. comfy shoes. also, i bought a polar fleece zip up at REI because new york is going to be crazy cold and i need to be prepared. these things are also huge transformations. i have always been so judgmental about clothing and really focused on what looks cool, and while i still think about that stuff, and try to mix in the comfy stuff in a way that doesn't make me look like a jammie monster, i am more comfortable with being a jammie monster.

i learned that i'm not afraid to try new things, the way i once was. i was almost paralyzed by fear of trying new things, specifically skills, but this year that just kinda disappeared. suddenly i'm cooking and teaching myself the autoharp, working out, slogging through french language magazines. i just don't care whether or not i'm the best anymore. i just want to try it out.

i realized i'm an artist. i'm a writer. while my dad and mom would roll their eyes and say 'duh' about this, it's a huge revelation for me, and fundamentally changes the way i look at myself. suddenly i'm part of this community of people who struggle with their creative demons, battle a sense that they're fooling themselves to even try this, self-analyze, but ultimately breakthrough their own mental resistance to create things that are Theirs. that's me. that's what i do. after years of paddling around in the baby pool of academia, i am suddenly edging myself into a deep end that scares the pee out of me. but is also exciting.

i'm not going to say that the good stuff makes the bad stuff worth it, because that's a bunch of crap. the good stuff makes the bad stuff tolerable. nothing makes it worth it. but i am thankful for the things that happened this year that acted as sugar in my spoonful of harsh, sad medicine. many of you were part of that, sugar cubes that sweetened my life, and i am grateful for you, too. i meet 2008 not with defiance, because i learned this year how hard times can get, but with steady acceptance. whatever happens, i'll be okay.

the big day.

2007-12-30T11:12:00.000-08:00

december 27th, 2007.

that's the day that shannon and i tied the knot in san francisco.

want to see some pictures?

go to the 'our wedding' link. the majority of the pictures turned out really nicely.

it's okay.

2007-12-20T18:15:00.000-08:00

i found this poem in a folder in my office. i used to have it taped to my bedroom door.

musee des beaux arts
about suffering they were never wrong,
the old masters: how well they understood
its human position; how it takes place
while someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
how, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
for the miraculous birth, there always must be
children who do not specially want it to happen, skating
on a pond at the edge of the wood:
they never forgot
that even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
in brueghel's icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
but for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
as it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

it's funny to me that i had this on my door, post-high school, but before my mom died.
this is an idea that i've always pondered, the way that pain or tragedy can be really private, but i had so little experience with anything really sad (messy break up, maybe), i didn't really know anything about any kind of suffering.
i think back on people that i know, who have had terribly painful, difficult things happen to them, and i just couldn't relate because i hadn't experienced any pain.
again, not like the death of my mom qualifies me as an expert in suffering or pain, but it really did give me a new perspective, and an ability to understand pain in a way that i never could have even imagined before-hand.
and it's true, the terrible things that happen to people, most of the rest of the world knows nothing about it.
i think about the people i went to school with, or worked with, and imagine things that happened in their home lives that i wasn't aware of. while i was agonizing over something insignificant, people's private tragedies and pain were playing out unnoticed.
i remember feeling a sense of shock and upset that people could laugh or ride their bikes or fall in love as my mom was dying. it just felt so huge that everyone, everywhere should know about it.
i'd like to apologize to anyone who reads this and who has gone through something personal and terrible and who i wasn't able to really connect with. i want to apologize for not being able to be there for you. i know all pain is pretty personal, and me experiencing something heart-bruising doesn't mean i understand every pain conceivable, but i understand some of it now, more than i ever did before. i am sorry you had to go through that without me. i hope i am able to be a better friend/relative/daughter/neighbor to you in the future.

kindness.

2007-12-14T16:54:00.000-08:00

i had therapy today.
in recapping my last couple of weeks, i explained how i felt like last week i had kicked ass, from a productivity stand point, and i totally blew it this week.
i barely got anything done.
i didn't work out at all. (except for today. i had training today.)
the house is looking barfy/embarrassing.
i haven't finished my xmas cards.
barbara was a little bit firm with me about backing off myself.
she reminded me that the holidays are a stressful time anyway, and then to add in my mom's still resent death - it's just unfair for me to expect myself to be setting records in productivity.
i hadn't really thought about that.
i just thought i was a lazy sack of shit who couldn't manage to be consistent with anything if her life depended on it.
and, admittedly, that's not a very nice thing to think about oneself. (onesself? one's self?)
that's a crappy message to be sending myself.
i am so scared of taking advantage of my mom's death, and so worried about other people thinking that i am taking advantage of it, that i perhaps rush myself.
also, in my minute to minute experience, it feels like it's been a really long time since my mom died.
but really, 4 months ago today, she was alive, and recognized me and was able to carry on a conversation of some sort.
one year ago today she was recuperating from her first brain surgery. we had only known she had cancer for about a week. if she was home from the hospital, it was only just barely.
maybe it's okay if i just kind of inch my way through the holidays this year.
maybe i could just focus on my dinner party xmas eve and getting married and going to the gym and give myself permission to go back to reading more and taking myself out to breakfast.
i might have been hasty in deciding it was time to let that go.
i don't think i'm done.
last night, in the midst of bickering with shannon about something totally unrelated to my mom, i mentally hopscotched to my mom and her being dead and i just melted down. still in my peacoat and hat and gloves from outside, i curled up on my bed, on top of a pile of clean laundry, and cried until i was hoarse. it was that ragged, choking, ugly crying, not the delicate quiet, lady-like tears. the way it does sometimes, it just became unbearable again that my mom is dead and i'll never see her again.
no wonder every culture everywhere comes up with ideas and belief about what happens to us after we die.
the idea that death is absolutely final and irrevocable and that that person is gone to us forever is not really acceptable.
of course we want to believe in a heaven where people look the way we remember them looking and we can spend time together just like we did when we were alive together. that's way more appealing than the alternative - that your time with that loved one is over forever and there's nothing to be done but accept it. who the hell wants to accept that? that totally sucks.
okay, shannon just got home from work.
i'm going to go into the kitchen with him and the pooch and discuss our plans for date night.

yumi.

2007-12-12T16:46:00.000-08:00

yumi is the name of mom's house/farmlette.
i went to yumi today, to work on mom's stuff.
with linda's help, i was able to complete mom's closet, with was amazing and wonderful. christmas magic does happen!
allen asked if he could take down mom's jewelery board, which hangs in the bathroom, and has all mom's everyday jewelery on it.
he said that he didn't really need to be seeing it every day whenever he goes into the bathroom, which i can understand.
and then he said something about how if he had a lady over... he didn't really finish the sentence, just let it trail off.
me and linda both got creeped out by it but i let it go.
it was just an inappropriate thing to say, but what's new, right?
i brought down a bunch more stuff to keep, but less than last time.
closed out her safety deposit box. brought down her fireproof safety box. all her jewelery. a few pairs of shoes.
among the shoes, i found two pairs of clogs.
not wooden clogs, the rubber nursey kind.
i felt like the green ones, which are forest green and pretty worn and are the backless kind, will be cute and helpful for working in the yard.
and i am currently wearing the black ones, the kind with the backs on them, and since my dogs are barking from wearing the nike tennies i bought at ross that i thought were going to be awesome but are actually not comfortable AT ALL, i think i am going to go grocery shopping in them.
'them' being the clogs.
is this how it starts?
i've already mostly stopped wearing heels because they're uncomfortable.
what's next?
elastic waist pants, because they're comfy?
polar fleece, because it's cozy?
have i begun the slippery slope into function-based dressing in earnest?

peace.

2007-12-06T09:57:00.001-08:00

i've been writing a lot.
2 hrs a day, 5 days a week.
so far it's torture most of the time, and the majority of what i write feels like it's probably crap, but the point is to write.
at least right now.
once i have consistent enough habits, i can focus more on self-criticism, but for now, my mantra is: just write.
i'm considering a creative writing class, starting in january.
it's a little pricey for me, but i might just go for it.
it would be a good way for me to put my literal money where my mouth is.
i've been working hard on developing better personal time management skills.
it's been only moderately successful so far, but every day teaches me something new, like what NOT to do.
so, it can't be said to be a failure, even if it's not an unqualified success.
i'm feeling hopeful in a way that i haven't in a really long time.
i felt little sparks of it this year, during the quiet periods of mom's illness. post-treatment, pre-death.
we're planning a wedding, talking about kids, making plans for the house.
it's a level of domesticity that i wondered if i'd ever achieve.
i'm throwing our family's annual christmas eve dinner at my house this year.
it's terrifying, because i've never had a dinner at my house, really, and our house is so little that it's going to be a bit of feat fitting everyone in.
but i just felt like a) i can totally do this; b) these are the people i want to come, and i am not going to make my invites smaller because i am nervous; c) this year is really important, as the first year after mom's death, given that mom was an integral part of this tradition, and it was important that this year feel like the beginning of a positive new time, not the end of a sad, painful time. obviously my mom's absence will be impossible to ignore, so i want some added sweetness to even out the sadness.
i'm doing well.
ariana's dad died at the end of last week.
i've been thinking about her and her family constantly. they didn't expect him to die so quickly, so the whole thing was a real surprise. it couldn't have been more than a month or so after his diagnosis.
having just gone through something similar so recently, i have been feeling a little bit raw for her. just so sad she has to have this in her life. i just want nothing but peace and happiness for my people, you know? not that anyone wants bad things for their loved ones. but still. it's like now that i know about sadness, i wish no one else had to experience it. again, not like i've cornered the market on it, or have experienced it so fully. when i re-read that, it sounds a little pompous and self-important, which isn't how i mean it to. i just want us all to have a break, you know?
that's my holiday wish for everyone - a perfect crystalline period of joy and peace.
please, universe or god or whoever handles these things, please be kind to everyone for a while. this has been such a hard time, for so long, and we are all exhausted. please protect everyone, in whatever way you do or can, holding them in one figurative hand and protecting them from harm with the other.

getting things done.

2007-11-28T18:09:00.000-08:00

i was overcome by the wave of dread, almost immediately upon returning to the bay area from thanksgiving at disneyland with the fam.
like, the plane stopped, the lights turned on, and my stomach sank.
i felt dreadful, the entire drive home, and once i got home i just curled into a ball on the bed and cried.
the trip to disneyland was so fun, and so Family, but it really highlighted that my mom, who was mainly my Family my whole life, is gone.
the amazing fireworks were so beautiful, so awe-inspiring, and made me think of mom so intensely that i cried almost the whole time, both from the beauty of them and from the solid knot of missing mom inside me.
(seriously, i can't overstate how incredibly beautiful the fireworks were. if you get a chance, please make sure you see them. everything in disneyland shuts down for them in the evening, like, 9ish, so they're hard to miss. get a spot on main street, so you can see them over sleeping beauty's castle. you'll pee in your pants.)
it was all a really powerful reminder that i may be able to go away from my problems, but my problems are just waiting for me to come home.
then, the day after we returned, and i had felt so shitty, i got sick and felt terrible, physically.
so rather than getting to work on all the things i was feeling concerned about not having done, i just lay in bed shivering and blowing my nose for a couple of days. it made me feel crappy about myself, and i felt guilty, like i wasn't really THAT sick, and should have been toughing it out and doing my office work regardless of my physical symptoms. this nasty little voice in my head was hissing at me the whole time, about what a baby i was being, and how lazy and self-indulgent.
day before yesterday, the first day that i felt kinda okay, i did some minor errands, and felt like i might pass out a couple times while i was in conversation with people. i felt really light-headed. it was ana's bday, so me and shannon went to dinner with her and all the important people. it was a very low-keyed affair, in the best way. it suited my energetic and mental abilities perfectly. ana's dad is still really sick from his chemo, so she's been stressed out and had no time to think about herself. i am so mad at god/the universe/whoever for making her go through this. my bday was so shitty this year, and the whole period of time surrounding it was so dreadful, i feel very very sad that she is having to go through it, too. i mean, yeah, i dealt with it, but no one else that i love should ever have to.

*************************************************

yesterday was the first day that i felt good enough to get stuff really done.
i woke up earlier than i have in a while, which isn't that early, but was still a coup for me.
i got out of bed, took a shower, got dressed and plopped down in my office.
duders, i paid SO many bills, it's off the hizzie.
seriously.
i spent roughly $10k in bills yesterday. a large part of that was property taxes for yumi and giving shannon my half of bills and household expenses. but still. that's a HELL of a lot of money on bills. it seems like the more money you have, the bigger the bills.
i spent all day working on bills and my desk.
i spent an embarrassing amount of money buying some file folders, to help me with my organization.
i am terrifically organized in my paper/financial world, compared to the other people that i know of comparable age (except liesl.) i've got a filing system. i have years worth of bills, bank statements and taxes, all bundled according to year. i have a desk and paper clips and a new tape dispenser from fred flair that looks like a snail. the point i'm trying to make is that i am not doing poorly. but i'd like to be doing even better.
so, i bought these files, called 'tickler files,' which is an unfortunate name but nonetheless their name. i think it's going to be really helpful. i created a bunch of files, and filed stuff, and generally slogged through my 'in' basket.
it was a really productive, satisfying day.
shannon spent the whole day digging again. he's a digging machine. not really on purpose, but still. the drainage ditches (french drains, for those of you who are interested) on three sides of the house are done. there's just one little section on the last side that needs to get done. we have a bunch of dudes here, working on cement today. so, shannon had a bunch of prep work to do for their arrival. i took him out to dinner to thank him.
we ended up eating a totally grodie meal and fighting the whole time. in the end of the fighting, in the middle of the groders meal, shannon asked me to marry him, for reals. we'd already agreed to get married and were in discussions about the logistics of the marriage, and in fact, that was what we were fighting about, but there had been no formal proposal. it was such a funny time to do it, over this gross meal, after bickering, but i cried nonetheless. then i had to cough a lot, because i am getting over my cold and my whole internal drainage system is all out of whack. but it was lovely. so, we're FORMALLY engaged. wedding plans will be disclosed as we make them.
everything is feeling better, now that i am not feeling sick and i am able to get things done.
tomorrow i'll hit the gym for the first time in a while. i had a training session last week that basically crippled me for disneyland, and then i was sick, so it's been about a week. i'm ready to go back. therapy friday, chiropractor saturday.
just inching my way along, you know?

a list.

2007-11-19T10:40:00.000-08:00

things i miss about mom:
- the embarrassing mom nicknames she called me, in notes, emails and voicemails
- the sound of her voice
- her laugh
- imagining us as we got older
- the answers to all the questions i forgot to ask
- looking forward to going to redwood valley, to see her

ana's dad is dying of cancer right now.
they're doing hospice, and she's wrestling with all the stuff we all have to wrestle with in that sort of situation.
that feeling of fear, like you're fucking things up.
that feeling of having no idea what you're supposed to do.
that feeling of standing on unsteady ground, where just as you get used to the situation one way, it changes forever.
all the changes are for the 'worse.' (who knows what's better or worse, but the changes are not usually improvements in the usual sense.)
once something is gone, it's gone forever.
now is the time of Lasts.
Last time you heard their laugh.
Last time they went outside.
Last time they fed themselves.
Last time they walked unassisted.
death is the winding up of the spool of thread we've spent our lives unraveling.
then, in reverse, we unlearn the things we learned.
walking. eating. talking.
until we're babies again, sleeping most of the time, except to eat or poop or gaze into space. maybe cry and get cranky.

you guys, it's all so precious.
i know i'm not the first, or last, or most eloquent person to try to address these issues, and obviously they are the kernel of all of human existence, but still.
please endeavor to make them as important as they are.
please don't say things in haste.
please don't leave things unsaid, undone, unexplored.
it WILL all end.
it's just a matter of time.
and since we never know when we're getting towards the end of our lives, we really must assume it'll happen at any moment.
please do everything you've every really wanted to.
please do not assume you have unlimited time.
be so brave.
please live in the middle of knowing that this all could be over any second, so everything is important, because it all is.
i know it's a cliche, but it's also the most important thing in the world.
more important than hurt feelings or embarrassment or fear or self-preservation.

okay.
i'm done preaching.
i am going to my dad's now, to pick up me and shannon's plane tickets to la.
we're leaving for disneyland tomorrow.
if i don't talk to you before-hand, have a wonderful thanksgiving.
please give genuine thanks for everything in your life, the good and the bad.

bzzz, bzzz, bzzzz.

2007-11-16T09:35:00.000-08:00

my little brain has been buzzing with activity lately.
it's a good thing.
i am filled with curiosity and an honest commitment to learning about things right now.
the problem is an overwhelming amount of things that i would really, really like to be working on, all at the same time.
examples include:
-cooking - reading cookbooks, cruising epicurious, shopping for utensils (hello, food processor!)
-french - i bought a french magazine, and am trying to slog my way through it, with my mom's old french/english dictionary and one of those '500 french verbs' books. slow going.
-design/house stuff - reading house magazines for ideas, set up idea notebook, research eras of design, thrift store shopping, researching green building options
-personal productivity - research various systems, finish reading 'getting things done,'
-chores - reorganize closet, vacuum, find places for all of the stuff i keep bringing home from mom's
-writing - do some, research classes, read some books about writing

see?
it's a lot.
i have been getting a fair amount done, in general, but i'd like to be more organized about it. i am pondering setting my interests up like a school or work schedule, where i set slots of time everyday/week for various subjects, so i am sure that each interest gets its own undivided slot of time. so, say, doing an hour and a half of design research 3 days a week. working on french for an hour every morning. whatever. you get my meaning.
i'm not sure it'll work, but i'm pondering it.

me and shannon brought the dog up to RV yesterday.
i bagged mom's clothes, or, at least some of them. armed with 4 bags of kitchen-sized bio-bags i packed all her pants and long sleeved tops. all undies and bras. all work out clothes. all were put in bags, labeled, and taken to the local goodwill, where they were dumped into bins unceremoniously with other people's crappy stuff. it was hard to see her stuff reduced to so many bags of crap. (clearly she isn't the sum of her belongings, though the staggering quantity of her belongings does go a ways towards representing the vastness of her being, in quantity, if not quality.)
seeing her stuff allowed/forced to mingle with strangers' stuff, her sweatshirt in a pile on top of other people's sweatshirts/jeans/whatever, was terribly painful. it felt like they owed her a special bin of her own, or a ceremony should have been performed to commemorate the magnitude of meaning of them being allowed the privilege of passing along her clothes to others. and, i looked at her faded sweatshirts, with their frayed cuffs or necks cut off or the purple jersey button down with the little cow patch sewn on, and i know that no one will sense the vibrations of my mom, and people will pass these things on the racks because to them they are just ratty sweatshirts, and they can't sense the mana inherent in them. those are just weird old exercise socks, or those are just some bright purple stretchy pants, to them. to me, they are artifacts of the life my mom lived, and proof she existed. i hate that the physical stuff that lasts is always so impersonal and the really important stuff, the intangibles like her voice and smell, are the first to go.
i kept her favorite hat from her radiation days, and it still smells like her. it's been hard finding stuff that still smells like her because everything smells musty in her closet. lots of stuff smells like mildew, from drying too slowly in the freezing cold laundry room during the winter/fall of her malady. but this hat smells like her still. i have been wearing it all morning, periodically taking it off to bury my nose in it. i am both comforted by it and afraid i'm ruining it by wearing it, adding my own smell in and wasting one of the last known repositories of my mom's smell. before this, i couldn't have imagined the panic i'd experience about the loss of something so commonplace. i would have stored things in air-tight canisters if i knew. i would have archived every voicemail.
at this time last year, we had no idea that this year would look the way it did. at this time last year i couldn't have conceived of the idea that mom wouldn't see another thanksgiving, christmas, birthday. i couldn't possibly wrap my brain around that. this time last year i was learning how to walk dogs, settling into our new house in silverlake, making my way through classes i would eventually have to ditch at the last minute.
things can change so dramatically, so quickly.
we packed mom's stuff until we didn't have any more room in the trunk, then headed home. (stopped for my celebratory espresso shake along the way, and to drop off hats and cancer books to the cancer resource center in ukiah).
we cried heading home, about everything, holding hands on top of the center console.
i wonder sometimes if it would be less painful to just never go back to Yumi (mom's ranchlette). it seems really appealing at times. even driving up there, through this heart-grabbingly beautiful scenery, is painful. i have driven up so many more times under duress, because mom had cancer and i was going towards her and the cancer, or away from her and her cancer. i didn't have enough time to lay a foundation of cozy feelings about it. now it's almost solely pain.
i know, i know.
it wouldn't work and i'd never do it anyway.
but i think about it.
being up there, where it's like mom laid out in teeny farm form, just reminds me now of how gone she is, physically.
i am not at a place yet where i can take much comfort in spiritual presence or something like that. mostly i am still pissed about the absence of her familiar form.
plus then i could let allen shamble off into his destiny.
he played a cd of his band at 11 for the last hour we were there. they sounded good, but it's weird that he jams out to his own cd. is that common for musicians to do? my minute experience with such things left me feeling profoundly embarrassed when forced to listen to my own voice on cd. i can think of very few things i'd like to do less. but anyway, he jammed out. they have a gig at the konocti harbor inn and resort, which is a really big deal for them. i snickered in my head, thinking of its old incarnation, packed to the gills with old sun-flayed alcoholics. it's got a white trash history that's hard to shake. it seems to be where bands go to start to die, though it used to be where bands went to finish dying, so perhaps it's coming up in the world. the website looks pretty professional. anyway, allen was stoked on his cd and stoked on the gig. so, kudos to him.
okay, i feel like i could keep going, but i need to get dressed to leave for therapy.
thanks for checking in on me, by the way.
sometimes it seems like everyone else is kind of over mom's death (not really, but you know.) i feel like everyone is going to get bored with my blog, now that i the dramatic stuff has passed.
so, if you're checking in and reading, thanks.

grief work.

2007-11-12T12:10:00.000-08:00

i went to therapy on friday.
my therapist has started practicing out of her house, which is about a half hour from my house, but north, so i don't have to slog my way through marin and san francisco to get my heal on.
it's pretty sweet.
i've been feeling really frustrated.
i'm so tired of being sad, that i've been avoiding the sadness, and avoiding everything, really.
binge reading. sleeping late. a whole day will disappear without me noticing it.
and i've been realizing that there are whole chunks of the last year that are so sad, and were so painful to experience, that i find myself avoiding them, which really isn't like me.
and i'm not getting other stuff accomplished, like paper work, or projects around the house.
i'm just vegetating an festering. well, not festering. that's an icky word. how about marinating? that implies a sense of non-movement, and intensification of things, but without making us all think of pus.
so, i've been marinating.
therapy was really helpful.
she set me to the task of doing 'grief work,' which is a practice basically as embarrassing as it sounds. immediately i felt embarrassed, just thinking what it *might* consist of. and, i'll admit, the actual practices of it are as embarrassing as i'd imagined. but i have resolved to not let my embarrassment stop me.
i have a really bad habit of not doing any of the practices that my therapist tells me to do. i benefit hugely from our talking things out, but i don't think i have ever once really tried anything she suggested i do out in the world. this is probably linked to my disinclination to accept book recommendations. i think i know better, so i take what i want and then ignore the rest.
but i haven't been especially impressed with my solo processing abilities, when it's come to my grief.
i mean, i have, in the sense that it's impressive that i didn't turn to hard drugs (thought about it) or reckless sex acts (thought about it) or just getting in my car and driving away (thought about it) to help get me through this hardness. my coping mechanisms allowed me to get done what needed to be done; to compartmentalize things so that i was only working on what was necessary and saving the extras for later; to be as present as possible with everything that happened; to be able to laugh and cry, as needed. all of these are impressive feats, no doubt.
but now that the emergency is over, and my time is like a vast snow covered meadow, lacking definition or features, swallowing me without my realizing it, i find i am not moving forward. i am, because we all are whether we mean to or not, but not in a purposeful manner, which is my preference.
clearly i can't process this kind of thing through sheer force of will, or through wishing it were so, and i seem to have reached the end of the effectiveness of my already acquired skills. so, i am opening myself up to the cringe-inducingly named 'grief work.'
i'm not even going to describe it, because that will make it more jokey, which is the opposite of what i need to be doing. i need to be making it serious for me, and personal and healthy. so, no details.
i did it for 15 mins-ish yesterday (i'm supposed to aim for 30-40 mins, but i couldn't make it happen) and i will admit that i felt pretty good afterwards.
i'd like to be more effective at getting stuff done.
my therapist also encouraged me to place my own structure in my life, since i don't have external stuff defining it. i am committing to doing an hour a day of paperwork, work for my money/real estate/adulthood/mom's death stuff. i am doing research on design and architecture, so learn more about things i'd like to do with our new house. i am continuing to cook bravely and be an active participant in the household.
and, the fact that there is always so much more that needs to be done, does make me feel bad, but i am writing down the productive things i do everyday, in an effort to focus more on what i *am* accomplishing.
if having more money, and owning homes, and grieving for my mom, are my job now, i am setting myself a schedule, and sticking to it.
i have only just started, to there hasn't been any monumental earth-shifting transformation yet, but i am making tentative, but discernible baby-steps on everything, and that is something.
okay, now i have to do my 'grief work,' while shannon is outside doing yard stuff. i absolutely can't do it while he's inside to hear me, and i've avoided it long enough.

does there always have to be a title?

2007-11-08T14:12:00.000-08:00

the grey weather suits my grey insides.
shannon is having a really hard time, and i am having a hard time with him having a hard time. i keep thinking i'm ready to take on more of other people's emotional stuff, but i keep finding out that my capacity is still terribly limited.
i just get so tired, from my own crap, that taking on anyone else's, in anything other than little bits, just sucks the air right out of me,
but i also feel like an asshole for constantly having to tell people that i am basically not interested in their problems because all i care about are my own. that doesn't make me feel very good, either.
i just don't usually know that i can't handle it until it's too much.
i'm already missing my mini-vacation with brett and gina.
it's funny how just going and hanging out at someone else's house makes such a big difference.
i realized at one point that i hadn't thought about my mom's death for a few days.
it's not like i wasn't thinking about mom, it was more like i wasn't feeling sad about her.
then i got a little freaked out about not thinking about it, or not feeling sad for a few days.
but i also really enjoyed the break.
and here i am, back in my life, surround by things i need to handle, that i am not really handling, feeling a little smothered by everything, so i am going to see a movie.
is this a good way to handle my problems?
who knows?
but it's what i'm doing and i am going to go with it.

getting settled.

2007-11-07T13:48:00.000-08:00

i'm back from my holiday in la.
it was lovely, as usual.
i was a little out of sorts on monday, and am feeling out of sorts today.
i think it's just me getting weird from having too much alone time.
it's beautiful today in 'luma.
sun's shining, but the air is crisp. it's nice to have something to warm at least the front half of our little icebox.
i'm just going to spend some time getting settled again, probably just today, and then tomorrow i begin gitting 'er done.
i bought some amazing boots in la, and a yummy striped cashmere sweater. some other stuff, too, but those are the stars.
missing mom today.

abiding.

2007-10-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

feeling sad for the last couple of days.
it's like there is a membrane that keeps us separate from the sorrow of our lives, and the sorrow of the world, and sometimes it thins and becomes too thin to keep out the emotion. like the normal weight you carry just suddenly seems unmanageable.
there's no new drama, just the same old 'wow, i really miss my mom' drama.
i'm already tired of being so sad, so regularly.
this last year, with all the tragedy and sadness, is totally an aberration. i am really not good at just being with sadness, mostly because i don't tend to be sad for very long.
i don't mean that in a snotty way, like i have everything figured out.
i just mean that i am fortunate in that i don't usually have to deal with that this lifetime.
i guess i have gone through minor depressive phases, but nothing severe enough to label with a capital D. just low phases that last for a few months.
so, long story overly long, i have a hard time being patient with my sadness.
i keep wanting to hurry up.
i spent a large portion of the day over at my dad and linda's, and linda reminded me that it hasn't really been very long since my mom died. it feels like it's been epochs and ages - like so much has passed that we've moved into a totally different class of tool making or something - but in actual human time, it's only been a very short period of time.
i guess especially for something so big.
if i had started a new job that length of time ago, i'd still be getting acclimated to being at the new job. it would still feel new and uncomfortable.
so, similarly, only times one gazillion, i am still uncomfortable with my grief.
and you know, i have probably already mentioned this before, but i am still pretty uncomfortable with everything that happened within the last year.
there are very few chunks of time from the last year that aren't shot through with veins of unpleasantness that i'd rather not look at right now.
i keep looking over my own shoulder, making sure i'm processing everything i need to process, and that i'm not avoiding anything or stuffing it, which is stupid since i tend to err on the side of masochistically OVER processing and OVER addressing painful areas inside myself. it's pretty unlikely that i would leave something untouched inside myself.
but still, i hover over my own shoulder, whispering suggestions to myself.
i am not helping, to be honest.
i spent all day in my pajamas yesterday.
i finished reading 'what is the what,' which was sublime and highly recommended. because i was feeling so raw, i cried for an especially long time over everything that he had to endure, and everything that africa has to endure. it is the understatement of a lifetime for me to say: things in africa are pretty fucked up. i'll save my thoughts on africa for another time. i have many of them.
today, in an effort to discourage more pajama-clad moping, i left the house earlyish. my goal was to make it to the little hippie church in fairfax, where we had mom's party, in time to make their sunday morning services. but i had the time wrong, so i was there pretty late, so i didn't go in. but i was already feeling raw, and not ready for the rest of the world, so i went and sat in the garden (where we ate after mom's service), and cried and talked to mom. i'm not very good at meditating or praying yet, and i always feel like, when praying, that i am just basically having a conversation with myself, and i am not sure that that's really praying because it seems to intellectual. so, for some reason talking to mom out loud felt more meaningful. it's counterintuitive, but there it is. i sat in the yard and talked out loud to mom.
i told her the obvious stuff - i miss her, i'm bummed she's gone, i am not done thinking it sucks, it's not getting easier yet, i am ready for it to get easier, i'm having a hard time, i feel far from her...
i also asked her to help me with the allen thing. i feel like i have done everything i know how to do, and have really done a job that i (overall) feel confident and proud of, and yet i still experience almost nothing but frustration in my emotions about him. i just asked her to soften him up some. she was good at getting him to calm down and open up. that's all i ask.
more crying, more talking out loud.
i was talking to her about feeling so far away from her. i feel so jealous of the people who've said that they feel like she's near by, because i absolutely don't feel that way. i really, really don't feel her near. i mean, i have internalized her voice somewhat, so i can draw on that when i need to, but that's not what i'm talking about. i'm talking an external sense of her being near.
i was thinking, and saying to mom, how i suppose my dreams about her, and about her being alive, could have been interpreted by me as a message from her that she's still near me. now that i'm thinking about it that seems pretty obvious, but that's so NOT how i read them. i just felt so upset at the injustice of having to lose her all over again when i woke up. it's like, i'm not done being pissed off about her being gone from my life in the form that i know, and i'm not that interested in cultivating a new form of her being in my life because what i really want is her, back, the way that i want her back. i don't need her hovering near me being a guardian angel, i need her back as my flesh and blood mom, smelling like her and having her soft skin. fuck the disembodied presence.
not really.
but a little.
sara, the pastor of the church, came out and talked to me after the service.
it was nice to see her.
we talked about me, of course, an how i'm doing. (on many, many levels, i am tired in my soul of thinking about how i'm doing, and having pain i need to be managing. i am so sick of my pain.) she was nice and supportive. she told me that my mom being dead might not ever suck less than it does now. that wasn't encouraging. she didn't mean it in a discouraging way, more like in a 'you're doing fine where you are already' way.
she said the pain will just feel less fresh over time.
i feel like, in some ways, it getting less fresh feeling is upsetting to me, too, because that just drives the point home that mom won't be getting any less dead, and i'll just have to get used to it. like i'll get so tired of being surprised by it that i'll just become resigned to it. i don't like that idea very much.
the only pain i can associate this with is break up pain, where you are so torn up that it seems impossible to imagine it ever fading, but it does.
it really does.
and i know mom didn't stay up at night crying over her mom's death, 40 years after the fact. at some point you just accept it. it takes a lot of work to maintain that initial sense of surprise and injustice. i guess you just exhaust in at some point.
took i took myself to a mediocre lunch. i haven't been having a very good appetite lately, so i think that's why it was so nyeh. it was fine, but not what i'd hoped for.
bought myself books, and some presents.
what presents, you ask?
-a little gold-dipped heart on a chain, that is meant to commemorate someone's bat mitzvah. daddy told me that dealing with mom's illness was my bat mitzvah, and now i am a woman, so it seemed appropriate.
-a hard case for my ipod nano.
-an amazing fancy pen that writes like a dream.
-an unlined sketchbook, for writing about how i'm feeling. i have been blogging to help me process, but there are things that i think about or chew on that i don't want to blog about. (sorry, guys.)
i almost bought about a million other things. i love that store. (fig garden, in san anselmo. LOVE it.)
after that, i drove out to hang with daddy and linda, and it was exactly what i needed.
it's nice having adults (and by 'adults' i mean parental figures, recognizing that i am generally considered an adult) tell you that you're doing a good job. sometimes it's hard to tell yourself that in a way that sticks, or can cut through the self-doubt. they were really happy to have me over. they're always inviting me over to hang out, just to hang, and i haven't done it very many times, so they were stoked that i called. and it was exactly what i needed.
this week i have to go up to redwood valley, to take care of some business.
i'm a little nervous.
this will be the first time i see allen after i told him i wasn't giving him money from the sale of mom's car.
ugh.
again, i'd like to stress how tired i am of thinking the same old stuff, and feeling the same old feelings (grief, discomfort, anger, reget, etc.) i'm really, really tired of myself and my load of crap.
and yet, it's here.
so, i just have to deal with it.

brave.

2007-10-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

today i told allen that i wasn't going to give him a portion of the money from the sale of mom's car.
i woke up full of vim and vigor, and i hopped out of bed with shannon and got dressed, so i wouldn't be tempted to slink off to bed after he left for work.
after accomplishing three (3) things on my to do list, before 9:30am, i felt like a million bucks, and i thought, fuck it. i'm going for it.
so i did.
it was scary, but i have to say, i was terribly proud of both of us.
i did an excellent job of not backing down; being firm but kind; not crying or making a big deal out of him wanting me to give him the money.
he did an excellent job of not turning into a psychopath; he pressed the point, but in a totally tasteful normal person way; he suggested he call my uncle, our unofficial mediator, which was an excellent idea.
i felt really encouraged.
i spend SO much time worrying about the Allen Situation.
i spent hours, cumulatively, worrying about what to do about The Car Situation.
how do i tell him no?
he's going to go ape shit!
maybe i should just give it to him.
but really, why? is there any good reason why i should give it to him, aside from just wanting to keep him from going bonkers?
no.
but still.
maybe i should.
but i don't want to get in the habit of just giving him whatever he asks for because i am afraid of him.
but i also don't want to say no, just because i can, and because i'm trying to assert my independence.
the big question: What Would Mom Do? W.W.M.D.?
well, mom would probably give him the money,
but she'd give him the money because she's in love with him and wants him to be happy.
i am not in love with him, and am letting him live in my house, rent-free, for a year, for which i haven't been thanked.
so, mom would probably give him the money, but she would support me doing what i think is best, because she trusts me, which is why she made me the executor of the will. (not the executioner. that's different.)
so, i just have to trust myself to make a decision that mom would understand, understanding that this is a deal between me and allen, who have had a VERY turbulent relationship, not between mom and allen, who had a largely peaceful relationship.

so, i'm not giving it to him.
i just couldn't think of a single good reason why i should, aside from that he wants it, which isn't a good enough reason. what claim does he have? what has he done to deserve it? none, nothing.
and i came up with a really good alternate use for the money, that made me feel really, really happy after i thought of it. i don't want to talk about it, because i am still working out the details, but i can tell you that mom would've been STOKED on it. i can imagine her clapping her hands, giggling over it. seriously.
so, it was resolved and it worked out fine.
i was a tigress, but a kind tigress.
allen was a grizzly bear, but an old, mellow grizzly bear.
i felt very sad saying 'no,' because it made me wish that i *wanted* to give it to him.
does that make sense?
he has done so little to make me feel inclined to go out of my way for him, and if he had, i might feel more like just biting the bullet and giving the money to him.
but dude.
a year of free rent is a sweet deal. AND 30% of the sale of the house.
so, he's doing fine.
but he's just not that appreciative of the whole 'free rent' thing because that's what he's used to from living with mom.
oy.
i can't wait until some other lady takes him off my hands.
in other news of my daring feats, i have have started cooking dinner for me and shannon for pretty much the first time ever.
i am very nervous about cooking, mostly because i am afraid of making mistakes, but i just decided to go for it, which is not at all like the old me, but *is* like the new me.
so, i made a marinade today, for a chicken dish i'll cook tomorrow.
and tonight, we had grilled buffalo steaks (with some oregano and rosemary on them), roasted broccoli with pecans, and black beans!!
not bad for someone who is afraid to make grilled cheese sandwiches.
i am continuing to impress myself.

The Path.

2007-10-22T13:57:00.000-07:00

something about me that will both surprise and probably mostly not surprise at all is this:
i LOVE recommending books to people. ask me and i will put together a long, long list of books, of all different types, that you just have to read.
also, i almost never read anything that anyone recommends to me. it's the very recommendation that almost always poisons it for me. i'll read books that are universally accepted to be worth reading (a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, love in the time of cholera, roots, etc.) but the thrill of discovery and my own personal yearning to read is what makes reading worthwhile to me, and there is something about someone else doing the discovering for me that kinda deflates me.
it's so typically me. do as i say. period. i am not interested in what you have to say. just do as i say.
so, as i have realized this trait about myself, and in my endless pursuit for refining myself into the best possible version of myself that i can be, i have starting reading books that are recommended to me. a little bit. not all the time, and often it is with reluctance, but i have done it before, and i will do it again.
and, or course, often it's totally wonderful, and i am grateful to have been offered the opportunity to share something so special and transformative with someone i care about.
books i have read at the recommendation of other people:
-the secret life of bees
-east of eden
-sho-gun
-jonathan lethem, in general
-the wind-up bird chronicle
and now, the newest addition to the list...
-eat pray love.
lu recommended it to me, while i was going through my stuff with mom. she brought it up, gently but repeatedly, mentioning it in conversation, slipping me little bits of information about it.
with ill grace, i bought it from a little bookstore in ukiah, a week or so before mom died. i didn't particularly *want* to read it, but, because i am trying to not be the person who doesn't take suggestions, i bought it.
i brought it with me, from redwood valley to fairfax, and then from fairfax to petaluma.
i read about 15 books before-hand, but a few days ago i said, alright, kira, enough is enough. just read it.
so, i did.
you guys, it was just so lovely.
it gave me a glimpse of what reading my blog must be like to people who don't know me personally. following the journey of someone who you don't know but are rooting for whole-heartedly, as the struggle and strut their way through both happy and sad times. i only hope i am a smidgen as likeable as elizabeth gilbert (the author.)
i laughed many times, i cried many times, and i was just filled with a commitment and determination to make sure i always, always, always get back in the saddle, no matter how unceremoniously i am ejected from it, and how tired i am of it.
this book might not be for everyone, but ladies and gentlemen on the path, it is fucking wonderful.
as does anyone who will read the book, i felt such a kinship with the author. substitute her terrible divorce and ensuing messy romance for my own life from december 2006 and 2007, and we are like soul mates. bossy, friendly, funny, desperately trying to find peace and maybe even God in the midst of our darkest times.
i was terribly inspired by her book.
*i* want an indian guru.
*i* want to spend months in italy (or maybe france) eating amazing food and speaking a language i love.
*i* want to ride my bike around bali, hanging out with a wrinkly old medicine man.
she spends a large portion of the book (like, all of it) trying to get closer to God. talking to him, praying, meditating, journaling, eating, humping - everything is trying to closer to the core of who she is, and thus closer to God.
i am afraid i'll never feel close to God again, and it'll just be me and my skeptical, proud, bossy brain, trying to be Right all the time, forever.
on some level, i feel like maybe God knows what i'm going through and is just giving me space to do my thing, knowing i'll be back when i am ready.
but i just felt so abandoned by God, and my entire sense of spirit, when mom got sick, and in the state of emergency, i just chucked the whole thing and relied on myself, not something outside of myself, to handle everything.
i am afraid of being disappointed again.
as i am sure i will, because life is the way it is, full of disappointments for every surprising success.
i think i am sulking, is the honest truth.
i am mad at God and i am maybe not ready to talk to him again yet.
how could my God, the God that i thought i knew, let this happen to us? how could he take mom from me, the way he took her mom from her? how could he shower me with ease, cradle me so tenderly for 28 years, and then just drop me?
the only thing that made sense at the time was that there is no God, there's just me and my grief and my situation, and i need to save the questions for another time. at the time, answers didn't matter. what mattered was, in the eloquent words of larry the cable guy, getting 'er done.
so, in the eloquent words of a baby announcement shannon received, i 'got 'er done.'
but here i am now, the proverbial 'er has been gotten done, and i have nothing but time now to float around in my emotions - emotions i realize now i have only barely dealt with as i went through everything. i mean, duh, i cried my guts out, but i never got mad and anyone or anything except my poor mom, and i only allowed myself to really be broken for little bits of time, and then always grudgingly. and i always pull myself back together as soon as humanly possible.
i am afraid of all this emotion, and all my neediness for the past year, and all my confusion and not-knowingness. i am afraid of the future, and of letting go of missing mom and of letting go of hating allen, and of school and babies and homeownership and money and housekeeping. i am just full of fear over my situation right now. well, *right now* i am full of fear.
a couple of days ago i was pretty stoked about the vast horizons of my charred and blackened life, but today it just feels like it's too much for me.

this is a poem i have carried around with me for roughly 10 years. it's by david whyte. i think about it really a lot, especially lately.

THE JOURNEY

Above the mountains
the geese turn into
the light again

painting their
black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
enscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

small, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new
in the ashes
of your life.

You are not leaving
you are arriving.

so, i am looking at the ashes of my life, and trying to see what's written for me.
and i am arriving at my new life, not leaving my old life.
but it's still a lot for one person, even a big-inside person like me, to manage alone.
and i don't mean alone, like without loved ones, because i positively buffeted and carried and in all ways supported by the loves of my life.
but i mean alone, like, without God or anything.
i have said quite a few times, to quite a few people, that there has been only so far that my mental coping mechanisms can take me, and then there is the vast chasm that i can't cross without something outside myself. i can't think myself through this. i can't talk my way over this chasm. it's the kind of chasm you have to just close your eyes and step into, and have faith that something unseen will catch you.
and thus far i haven't been ready to do that, for fear that nothing will catch me, and i'll disappear into this canyon of pain that i'm not prepared to really get out of alone.
but if the whole idea of God is that you're never alone, and that all you have to do is ask for help and it's yours, and that every kind of support and love in the universe is available to you when you're ready to have it, then the only thing stopping me is my unreadiness to have it. and my fear of finding out that i am alone.

so, this is what i am thinking about, home alone on monday afternoon, in my pajamas.
and still, i am on The Path, because The Path only asks that you keep asking your questions, keep turning over the moldy old rocks inside yourself and be open to what you find. so, i turn my rocks over and try to greet my discoveries with love, even when they are slimy and smelly.

hit the ground and run.

2007-10-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

one of my projects, on-going, is getting rid of magazines.
i have always subscribed to magazines, as far as i can remember.
when i was little i subscribed to electric company magazine, 321 contact and barbie magazine. barbie magazine only came a couple times a year and, to a little kid, it seems totally random. so, i'd think about it for months and then give up and forget about it and then it would suddenly show up.
anyway, i have always had magazines in my life. my mom's dad gave me subscriptions to magazines for presents, too. like reader's digest. i got that for years, when i was in, like, 5th grade through middle school. it's funny to think about that now, because it seems so inappropriate for the age range, but i liked it. i also got national geographic and smithsonian from him. then, i subscribed myself to sassy, ym, entertainment weekly, details, us (before it was a gossip magazine). then it was jane, w, harpers, us (when it became gossip), readymade, lucky...
mom always had subscriptions, too, so we'll add in more, real simple, elle...
our kitchen had this stack of magazines at the end of the counter that reached nearly hip-high.
we have some hoarding issues.
i kept YEARS of magazines, all perfectly in order, moved from house to house, up until i was...25ish, maybe.
did i ever look at them?
no.
but i always felt like it was a research library, waiting to happen. each one had so many interesting articles, it seemed like a shame to chuck them.
or course, i would never have been able to find the articles i was looking for, without consulting a REAL reference library, which would have their own copies of the articles, which defeats the whole purpose of having my own copies.
i even daydreamed up my own dewey decimal style filing system, to find articles i was looking for. but i never put it into action. and it might have been pretty sad if i had, because i was 19, daydreaming about catagorization. it seems a shame that i wasted mental space on something so dry. i should have been dreaming about stilettos covered in mirrored glitter and making out with celebrities and whatever young adult girls dreams about.
anyway, clutter and hoarding is a serious problem for the fisher ladies. and by fisher ladies, i mean me and my mom. and since my mom is dead, now it's me. and, since i'm going to have to deal with her hoarding at some point in the very near future, excavating through layers of christmas lights and unopened post-its value packs, it is doubly my struggle alone.
so, in my quest for adulthood, i have been monitoring my hoarding. i notice that my own housekeeping style is almost identical to my mom's, which is untidiness that safely but narrowly skirts dirtiness. we don't live in squalor, but we create piles and heaps and stacks for future perusals, which never occur.
take my present location, for example.
to my right sit two stacks of cds, each a little under a foor tall. these are for deciding to either keep or sell. they are leftovers from similar stacks that lived on my desk in my first la apartment.
to my right is a low, menacing stack of papers that are all important. bills, reminders, important paperwork. many of them are waiting for my file cabinet to be moved into the office, but we haven't gotten that out of the future-guitar-cd-chill out nook, currently the unpacked-box-room.
on the floor, to my right, is a small, but disheveled pile of cards, papers, folders and binders. they are things related to mom that i haven't fully come to terms with.
stacks and piles, stacks and piles.
i worry about never having it all together.
i mean, i know it's not really possible to have everything entirely together, ever. and i guess that's what makes life interesting, the endless balancing and rebalancing.
but i'd like to think that my previous disinterested, disorganized, sudden bursts of tidying, followed by long barren periods of accumulation, are just a phase of my housekeeping style which i am currently learning to grow through.
i don't want to have an untidy house that looks like it's entirely decorated according to what ended up where by chance. i want things to look purposeful.
and tidy.
and clean.
and, i admit it, i am not positive how to make that transformation, since my model for housekeeping was pretty haphazard.
mom had a good excuse, being a working, largely single mom of a pretty spoiled, lazy kid. our house was a little cluttered, mostly because i didn't really help, and mom didn't really make me.
so, i'd like for, say, shannon's sections of the house to be less clearly delineated from my own. there is an almost surgically precise line dividing his things from mine and it's a little embarrassing to me.
all this is a long-ass preamble to me starting another long story.
i have been reading a lot of real simple, as i get rid of old magazines. i tear out whatever i wanted to keep and chuck the rest.
so, the readership of that magazine is basically moms. these are busy ladies. they're more affluent than, say, good housekeeping readers, but not so affluent that they can forget about cleaning and just focus on being rich, hot wives. again, they're busy, with careers and kids and husbands and stuff.
so, while i love the magazine, i sometimes i have a hard time relating to the demographic it's geared towards.
these are ladies who will have a cup of tea in silence, at 5 in the morning, to meditate and start the day in peace. finding calm, quiet moments is a constant struggle for them.
i have exactly the opposite problem.
my problem is getting started in the first place. well, part of it is that i have a lot of time on my hands right now, but this isn't a problem specific to this period of my life. when i have free time, i tend to just...loaf. that's the only word i can think of. i can spend a day off doing seriously nothing. i mean, maybe reading. but even then, i'll take breaks to just stare off into space.
is this normal?
if i'm not careful, i can waste weeks at a time, just drifting around the house, reading and snacking and laying on things. the house probably needs cleaning, laundry probably needs doing, there are piles of stuff to unpile, but i don't do it. it's inertia. once i am at rest i have a very hard time not staying at rest.
so, this morning, i woke up and got going.
i am trying a new method for making myself do things.
no staying in bed after i wake up.
just get up and do stuff.
so, i have been meaning to change the bed, to wash out any lingering mold spores, and today is the day.
i stripped the bed, put the wool comforter out in the sun to cook, with some unwashable pillows.
i am washing the washable pillows.
i am washing all the bedding.
i'll put on fresh bedding, including pieces of this amazing 5 piece quilt set that i bought yesterday. it's snowy white, quilted with white thread, with flowers and stuff, a comforter and 4 pillow cases. it'll be too shabby chic all together, but broken up, it'll be perfect. cozy.
i also bought some other stuff yesterday. this is unrelated to my chores, just to share:
-a long grey cardigan. it's kinda cheapo, but i've been craving something with that sillouette.
-this amazing pleather jacket. it's short (not cropped) with some big buttons, puffed sleeves, and a little hood lined in fake shearling. it's black. it's the perfect size for wearing a hoodie underneath. slim fitting, but not skin tight.
-a book about decorating with junk.
-my dream pea coat. talla, it's vaguely reminiscent of yours, which i have a crush on, but it's narrower through the ribs and maybe a skosh longer. it was $200 at off 5th! cashmere wool!!
(on a side note to this side note, off 5th is off the hizzy, people. they have amazing bags and coats and some sweet jeans. lucy, come home soon so we can shop at the petaluma outlets. there is a nine west outlet, too, and a bcbg outlet that was so delicious it made my head swim, but i had just burnt myself out at off 5th, so i had to leave. these outlets are the bomb diggity.)
so, i'm trying out various methods for getting more done.
i think i might be really lazy, combined with not knowing where to start. it's a heady cocktail.
i want to take this time to do some really brave, dramatic work on myself.
i want to be brave about cooking.
i want to practice guitar.
i want to writewritewrite.
i want to decorate my house in a way that i am insanely in love with.
i want to ease up from reading so much. i want to do things, not read about other people doing things.
i imagine myself getting swallowed by my life. i spend so much of it almost totally submerged in it, with days and weeks and months passing without me really ever grasping hold of them. they just slither away. and every once in a while i am able to remember how to rise out of it all and see it with some kind of perspective.
so, i'd like to get better at getting that perspective more regularly.
maybe a weekly check in.
maybe it means being more present at every second.
i'm not positive.
anyone else have any methods that really work for them?
this last year, from december 2006 to now, was like a fire. a fire raged through my life. it burnt everything. some things came out of the fire singed, but salvageable. somethings were miraculously spared. and somethings were destroyed. so, my life burnt down. now, looking at the ashes and the rubble, i am allowed to rebuild. but, rather than rebuilding it the same way, flaws and all, i'd like to use this time, when everything is already pretty much destroyed, to rebuild a dreamhome of a life. i want to add everything i have always wanted but was waiting for. and i want the new house to take out every impractical cupboard, dark corner, mildewed bathroom and stinky carpet. i want my life to feel brand new to me in the best way. highlight the things that made it through the fire. smoothly incorporate the new acquisitions. and make piece with the things i lost.

how am i doing?

2007-10-18T14:50:00.001-07:00

fine, i think.
i had more 'mom's not really dead' dreams this week. two in two nights.
i don't remember the first one.
in the second one, i caught mom watching me from my closet.
she tried to disappear before i saw her, but i caught her.
there was some discussion about what she was doing, why she was hiding.
in these dreams i am always aware that mom died, so i am really reluctant to just surrender to my joy at having her back. i am skeptical, waiting for her to go again, and it's hard for me to be excited about her being back. i usually have to have the same conversation with her everytime - aren't you dead? then what are you doing here? how long will you be here? will you be back?
so, after that conversation, i took her hand, to lead her around and show her off to the house full of people who were over.
i stopped on the way out of the room, and asked her if it was okay for me to show her off, and told her i didn't want to get her in trouble, if showing up to the living was violating a rule of some kind or something.
she patted my hand and said, 'you don't have to worry. i'm pretty high up.'
so, in my dream, mom is like a vp in heaven or something.
but then, of course, she's not really visiting from beyond the grave, and when i wake up i have to remember all over again that she's dead.
shannon said he felt like he would enjoy those dreams.
they're really distressing to me. i am so aware that she's not back forever, and so afraid of having to start missing her again from the beginning that in the dreams i am afraid and mad.
and waking up from the sweetness of having her back, even for a little bit, just for a hug or something, or to smell her neck, and having to know it's not real, is painful.
i'm pissed at my subconscious for constantly dumping these on me.
i know it's a choice, but i'd just prefer the real deal, as opposed to a dream. if it's just the dream, i'd rather just not.
i made some calls i've been avoiding.
called social security to tell them mom died. i've been avoiding it, but i don't really know why. i was worried that i'd have to give them money back, in case they've given mom some payments since she died. i don't want them to think i'm trying to rob the system or something. but they had been informed by the funeral parlor, so it was fine.
i also called the tax collector's office to have them send proof of payment to my mortgage company. i was delinquent on my property taxes, but i finally paid them, and i need to prove that to my mortgage company, so they don't punish me soundly. the tax collectors were nice and were fine with faxing the confirmation to the mortgage people for me, which was very nice.
i started a file for my files called 'yumi' which is the name of mom's/my farm. in it, i made files for property tax and mortgage. probably next will be insurance. i need to call about changing the policy since i have a 'tenant' now. and, by tenant, i mean a squatter who i am paying to live in my house.
i'm still chewing on the allen nonsense.
i talked to my uncle on the phone for a long time yesterday, about allen and what i should do. he didn't offer suggestions about it, but reminded me that i need to decide what mom would have preferred.
i want to make sure that, whatever decision i make, i am making it for the right reasons.
i don't want to not give him money from the sale of the car just because i don't want to and i don't have to. i don't feel like that's a good enough reason.
and i don't want to give him money because mom would have, because mom was in love with him and i am totally not.
i also don't want to be giving him money because i am afraid of him freaking out and being insane. i am not going to get in the habit of just doing what he wants because i'm afraid of him.
so, i still have some pondering to do.
i'm just slowly, carefully, steadily chewing on the issues facing me.
i just do what i can, everyday. i'm doing a mostly successful job of not beating myself up for not doing enough. i'm keeping it to a minimum, at least.
my car is still full of shit from mom's party. my office area is better, but my no means fixed. my side of the bedroom is better, but not done. i need to vaccum and change the sheets on the bed, in case we have mold spores in there that are upsetting shannon. i have been thinking a lot about writing, but not actually writing. also cooking. thinking a lot, but not doing.
all of these things are things i am able to beat myself up for, but which i am mostly not.
i talked to a bunch of people yesterday, each for a satisfying length of time, and i was really thankful for that.
i have such a hard time connecting with people sometimes. well, mostly just reaching out. it's a challenge for me even in the best of circumstances, so in a time like this, it's especially hard for me. but every time i do, i remember why it's so important to me.
i had a meltdown in costco a few days ago. me and mom used to go to costco all the time, together, and i hadn't really thought of that. i just underestimated the difficulty of it. i did some head-down-on-the-handle-of-the-shopping-cart crying. surrounded by the caliber of shopper who invariably fills costco in the middle of the day on a weekday, in the kid's clothing aisle, with the smells of instant mashed potatoes wafting to me from the sample table behind me, i cried over missing my mom. seeing the value packs of brightly colored sharpies, i cried.
god, it's not a very dynamic way to state the situation, but i just missed her so much.
i don't know if i like costco without my mom there.
alright, i'm taking myself to a matinee.
oh, before i forget.
i was thinking about britney spears, as we all are, and thinking about how ashamed her parents must be. having a kid with a drug problem, or who gets into a life of crime, those are things that can be related to genetics or the community surrounding them, but her story is not attributable to anything other than a massive failure in parenting. it's like her entire existence is saying, 'my parents totally dropped the ball.'

self-control.

2007-10-11T11:39:00.000-07:00

i went out to breakfast this morning.
well, i ate breakfast there yesterday, too, with my dad, but i woke up thinking about it again this morning, so i went there.
mid-way through the meal, my phone rang.
my phone said mom was calling from home.
as always, seeing 'mom,' there was a process of thoughts and emotions that took about one second. mom! mom's dead. not mom. allen. oh no. allen.
so, because allen gets kind of crazy when i don't answer my phone, i took my phone outside of the restaurant to answer it.
he sounded drunk/high. slurred speech.
he told me he wanted to talk to me about a couple of things.
he told me a long, rambling story about him and mom having a conversation about her car. (if you'll recall, i might have mentioned that allen asked me if he was going to get a portion of the proceeds from the sale of mom's car. i politely informed him that that wasn't going to happen.) anyway, he told me this story about mom offering *him* the car, and him declining, because it would hold his bass. he said she had said maybe she'd give it to tab, since i didn't want it. allen said that they had left it unfinished, the conversation.
so, his end decision was this: we should sell the car and split the money 4 ways - him, me, tab and lucy.
as he told me the story i got more and more impatient and annoyed. he does this thing, where he grabs hold of some idea and he worries it and worries it and he won't let it go. he'll bug me about the same thing repeatedly, because it's on his mind, despite me having told him the same thing over and over. so, him bringing the car up, and a reason why HE should get some of the proceeds from its sale, was not unexpected, but certainly unwelcome.
in what can only be described as an epic, herculean feat of self-control, i told him that i would think about it and talk to him about it at another time.
i am just so surprised that he is constantly looking for more ways that he can benefit from my mom's death.
my allowing him to live RENT FREE in my mom's house for the next year, i am basically giving him $30K. that's how much it will cost me to keep the house for a year. and yet he wants more. he wants a portion of the sale of mom's car, so he can fix up his fucking VW van, even though mom basically bought him a truck only months before she died. and yet he should also benefit from the sale of her car? he wants me to pay to rebuild the yoga studio, so he can live there, so i can rent out the big house. like i am not able to rent out the big house without coming up with a way for him to stay. why the fuck should i pay for ANYTHING for him, really? he's not my semi-deadbeat boyfriend. he is not my responsibility, and yet he's just always looking for ways to nibble a little more for himself, here and there.
i can understand him being an older guy who's worried about his future. i can understand him worrying about what will happen to him. that's scary, i'm sure. and yet, mom took on the weight of caring for him out of her love for him, and in exchange for whatever emotional and energetic benefits she gained from their partnership. i, on the other hand, have gained nothing from knowing him, aside from frustration and annoyance and anger.
i know, i'm just ranting.
but it's just always so god damned sticky with him.
like, he sees my mom's car's sale as a way to solve his own problem, specifically, how to fix up the van. rather than taking the route that the rest of the world would take, namely getting a fucking job and making some fucking money, he goes for the easiest route to the money, namely tapping his favorite money source - my mom. only she's dead now and so *i* get to get tapped for his fucking crackpot ideas.
it's barely been a month and already i am really, really anxious to get rid of him from my life.
did i mention that he already emptied all my mom's drawers in their bedroom? yeah. he emptied them into bags and stuck them in her closet. he bedside table and her dresser. then when we were up he told me about all her stuff in the medicine cabinet, hinting that i could go through them at any time. fucking dude. i am up gathering things for her funeral, which hasn't even happened yet, because she's barely dead, you insensitive ass-face. i don't give a crap about her fucking face lotion. p.s. sorry the remnants of my mom's existence are so trying for you to be around. my mom, who bankrolled your crazy-ass for almost 10 years. yeah, sorry HER stuff being in HER house that i am allowing you to live in RENT FREE is harshing your mellow.
those were *my* drawers to go through. that was for me to do, as a way to come to terms with her passing. i wanted to know her better through the artifacts of her life. and he's basically bulldozing over the whole thing to make it all a more comfy chill out zone for him.
i think i was hasty to commit myself to a year of him.
in totally unrelated news, tacked on here at the end of my outburst, shannon spent all of yesterday shoveling moldy dirt out from under the house. it was fucking dreadful. he suffered sore muscles, low-ceilinged crawl spaces and, most horrifying of all, a potato bug on his arm. i am getting skeeved out just thinking about it. we covered the air vents in the house with black plastic, which seems to have greatly reduced the amount of moldy air that is coming into the house, and shannon felt he could tentatively say that he felt better this morning, with less mold coming in to attack him and make him wheeze.
so, that's nice news.

dear mom, #1.

2007-10-09T15:10:00.001-07:00

dear mom,

i stayed home today, after a week of pretty much constant activity.

even yesterday, the day after your triumphant memorial party, i was so giddy and insane with relief over the weight of that responsibility being lifted that i still ran around like a crazy person. it was wonderful to be running around doing mostly things that i *wanted* to do, but it was a long day of no rest.

so, today i stayed home.

i went into town to find a breakfast place. we have some left over pizza, the remains of shannon's lonely pizza dinner last night while i gadded about, but the single piece i ate last night when i got home at 10:00pm left me nervous. i woke up at 3am with cramps like i had never experienced, so intense i couldn't tell if i was going to vomit or not from the pain and the just patently new quality of pain. it was terrible. given that i hadn't eaten anything since my lunch with keith and ginny and the ladies at 11:30am, i felt like the pizza had to be to blame, so i was understandably reluctant to roll the dice on that again.

so, i wandered into my newly adopted downtown. i was aiming for a particular breakfast place that i had seen, but, having forgotten my book, i asked a woman in the nearby grocery store if there was a bookstore within easy walking distance. she was very nice, and gave me good directions to a street that i have never been on before, despite it being one of maybe 5 main streets in petaluma. there, directly across from me, lay copperfield's books. it was glorious. a huge independent book store, right in my downtown! i can ride my bike there!! ohman, i am still a-flutter from the excitement of it. the rest of that street's offerings were mixed. a couple of 'nyeh' clothing stores, a bompin' looking antiques store, a nice looking art supply store, and i finally found aram's after michael klein hyped it so much! i ended up eating there. the mediterranean plate was so-so. pita too doughy, hummus too salty, way too much tabouleh (maybe add another thing, guys), but the mediterranean chicken soup was really good. i'll definitely go back again. mike was scared he'd overhyped it, but i felt like it was a really good find. i read a new book i was unable to resist buying at the book store, which is so far not great, but we'll see. it's still early.

came home to a mailbox full of stuff and a package for shannon, from one of his canoe buddies. finally got my new check card. thank heavens. i felt naked without it. i haven't written so many checks in years.

my deal with myself about staying home today was that i'd get some real business taken care of. but upon entering me and shannon's shared office, i realized that my desk was useful only as fuel for a mighty bonfire in its then-state. so, i dragged out the boxes of office stuff that were waiting patiently for me in the spare room, and i started digging through my desk piles. it's absolutely not done, but it's so much better now. as i went through my piles, i came across so much stuff about you that i ended up having to start a big pile in the middle of the floor. cards to reply to, the binder i used to organize business stuff for you, the expandy file thingie holding your medical bill info, the death certificates that the county of mendocino sent... i'm not sure what to do with those things yet, so i'll just leave them. i unearthed a hip-high stack of cds that i have been listening to, to decide whether or not to keep them or sell them. i got stopped on that project, so i guess i should start it up again. i found my student loan paperwork and, seeing that i was already a few payments behind, i decided to just pay them off, which i can do now, thanks to the money you left me. i was lucky that my loans were weeny, as far as student loans go (huzzah to grants and public colleges!) but that was still $7k more than i'd have had anyway.

thanks for leaving me that money, mom. i'd rather spend the rest of my life struggling with bills than have this money, if it meant that you'd live to be 105, but i am appreciative of this gift and trying to find things to feel glad about. so, i am glad i can pay off my student loans, or pay for my car insurance for the next few months in one shot. and i really miss you and i'm sorry that *this* is how this came about.

mom, your party was so fucking amazing. i feel a little self-conscious telling you, because so many people felt like you were 'there' during the party, so maybe i'm boring you by telling you what you already know. but still. you would have loved it, ma. you would have been so damn proud. it was like a birthday party for you, where people from all areas of your life came to celebrate you, only you weren't able to come, so we had to just do it without you. if one's ears can burn in the Beyond, yours might have melted off your spirit-head, because we all just talked and talked and talked about you. if you weren't already dead, you might have died of bliss. there was the requisite crazy guy, a friend of al's who freaked everyone out. there were platters of sandwich fixings and chinese chicken salad from comfort's and wine (that annie brought) and beer (from dr. baeza) and balloons EVERYWHERE. (ben brought those.) we hung huge glittery fish in the trees in the little garden, and you would have wanted to keep the fish, and i would have let you, thought i'd also have fretted about what you'd do with them. we created an altar for you in one corner of the room, with pictures and crystals all sorts of odds and ends. so many pictures of you, mom. from elodie (you with your shaved head and yarn braids, riding the elephant with elodie) and suzanne (from every era of your life, and some of mine i'd rather not have recalled.) cards from well-wishers and all my ladies brought candles. holly went to the flower mart to get fresh flowers, and they were in vases all over. linda strung christmas lights over the raised end of the room (what's it called? where the pastor would do her speaking or whatever?) and with the lights down for the ceremony, they twinkled and shimmered. the whole space was just packed with people. mom, so many people showed up to help. it was just like at the hospital, where we were totally knocked on our asses by all the people in the waiting room - like you were a rock star. i started crying, i was just so overwhelmed by the support. i really barely did anything to set up, i was just wandering around, answering questions and saying 'hi' to people. i worked on the altar, mostly. but mom, tab was the real star. she just did it ALL. every question, tab knew what she wanted and who to speak to. she was everywhere, doing everything. as if we didn't have enough reasons to be thankful for her, this was sort of like the biggest, best reason ever. the whole thing was her creation, and it was so YOU. god, it was all so you. daddy made a spiral out of river rocks, and everyone took one into the sanctuary for the service.

oh, and the service! so, the pastor, who is our newest addition to the tribe, basically, spoke, called in the four corners (less wicca 'hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the west' and more relaxed), read some lovely stuff and then invited people to come up to speak about you, then put their stone in the big bowl of water and GLITTER!!! in the center of the room. i had been nervous about not enough people wanting to speak, because that's how i roll, but mom, people couldn't say enough about you. seriously. tab and daddy had the most to say (of course) and tab blew everyone's hair back with her singing for you. marissa came from tahoe and played a gorgeous song on the piano that made me cry. people were so funny, so loving, so generous and openly effusive about you. (i guess there's no better time to gush than a memorial, but i was still really pleasantly surprised.) i felt so shy and nervous and worried about speaking. my outfit wasn't exactly what i wanted to wear (though i wore the bottle green silk top you gave me and a white skirt that belonged to tab's grandma, so that was nice) and i felt like i'd get up there and my skirt would probably be stuck in my undies, or i'd trip, or i'd just cry and cry and make everyone really uncomfortable. but i thought about you and how little time you wasted on shyness, and i thought about how much everyone's contributions to the party would have meant to you, so i felt like i could stand and say something about that. so i did. i thanked everyone for their support and love this year, and at the party, and i thanked tab especially, and i put my rock in the bowl with the others and i didn't throw up or fall. so, that was successful.

at the end, we played 'i'll fly away' from the 'oh brother' soundtrack, and then everyone went out to eat and mingle. i got LOTS of hugs. sososo many hugs. people came from every aspect of my life, too. old friends, new friends, friends of friends. mom, our people are so amazing. for someone who considered herself a lone wolf, you sure did build bonds with people, and you sure did raise a daughter who craves community. and mom, our community it just the best thing about this year, and really this lifetime. i think a lot of people feel like their friends are great, but i also feel like our friendfamily, with everyone's parents and friends and partners and babies....it's just so beautiful and precious. and while you might not really feel like that's you, it totally is.

i miss you, ma. i bought an amber scented candle and i'm burning it. i took one of your pashminas (i gave one to lu and tab, too) and it smells like you still and i'm afraid to wear it and make it smell like me, so i just keep snuffling it and putting it down. i know i already said this, but it was so hard to really take in that you were dead, at the party. the pictures of you, from a few years ago, looked so much like you. so much the mom i know. so while i can believe that cancer mom is dead, because she was new to me anyway, the older, healthy mom is the one who i keep on getting jolted by. i am still struggling to believe that she's gone.

okay, i have to call mendocino county and deal with the property taxes that i've been avoiding. owning a house is a lot to deal with.

i love you so much, and i miss you, and i wish i was able to feel you nearer to me. everyone talks about you visiting, or you being here, and i am still not feeling it. i feel your influences inside me, so maybe that's what they mean. i just don't feel a sense of you, external to me, and that's what i am yearning for. maybe i need to experiment more with hallucinogens, or open myself to things i find a little silly or hard to believe in. maybe i just need to choose to believe, to make myself feel better. maybe. but i'm not there yet. so far, i do feel you strongly, and i can feel what you'd do, or what you'd think or want, and that's pretty nice, too.

talk to you soon,
kira