Fears, Idle Fears

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

I have an irrational fear. I don't know where it came from. I don't recall a definitive moment when I acquired this fear, but it is there, lurking beneath the surface of my consciousness.

Of course, it comes and goes in intensity. Like a tic I have forgotten I have, until it rears its ugly head and I am ever aware of it for the next several weeks...or months.

My fear? Being stabbed by a person walking by me on the street. Nothing flashy, nothing "Psycho"-esque. Just a random stranger walking by, sliding a thin stiletto blade into my belly, as they keep walking. This person doesn't know me. Hasn't got it in for "Me" in particular, just a random serial stabber.

I know. Weird. But this fear has been there for as long as I can recall. I remember being nine and having this fear. For awhile it had a companion fear, the one I like to call "Fear of being shot to death in your bed while you sleep by an unknown assailant". For several years, I would fall asleep facing the door - so I could see death coming for me, were it to make it's move. As if I had something I could bargain with - "But wait, unknown assailant - I will grow up and make quilts and write things on the Internet, and have some mental health issues, but generally be a decent person. Isn't there some kid MORE deserving of death than I?"

Part of my city fear has been tied up in these two other fears. Being in a city, one would more likely encounter the stiletto wielding pedestrian than say - Vermont. While my chances of dying in a snow related car accident, or a potential moose mauling increased - Death by sneaky stabber was low.

I'd actually forgotten these two fears in the last two years or so. Having gone to New York and Detroit and not being stabbed, nor shot to death in my bed seemed to allay the twin fears.

"Oh Look", said Dawns irrational stabbing fear, "I can walk in a crowded street, or get on a subway and not meet my doom at the hands of some unfeeling sociopath."

"I know!", responded Dawns irrational shotgun while sleeping fear, " We've slept in these scary cities and no one has shot us in the head while we sleep!"

I feel successful. I have showed the fears that they have no power here.

"Psssst", whispers Dawns fear of dying in a fiery high altitude plane crash, "I'm still here."

I roll my eyes at it. "Fuck off", I say.

Too bad "Hermit" isn't still a viable career

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

My family isn't....well, you wouldn't ever find us on a postcard of "How to host the perfect large get together". In fact, we barely seem to be able to sustain the "small get together" for more than 2 or 3 hours.

It isn't like we're hermits (although it has occasionally crossed my mind) or ritually sacrifice "outsiders" to appease our angry gods. We just are...loners. No, that has too much of a potential serial killer ring to it. Misanthropic? Fans of Alone time? Actually, while watching Capote this weekend, it struck me - We should have been the alcoholic, jaded literati of the 1950's. Those people are OUR people, or at the very least MY people. My guess is that I would have been a closeted homosexual man, for the extra angst value.

When I met and married Terrance, one of the things I had to get my mind around was his Family. They love to be together. They travel together. They visit each other all the time. They all talk, several times a week. Coming from the family who m-a-y-b-e got together for dinner for a "graduation" or "wedding", this was foreign to me.

The first several years I skulked about on the edges of his family, wondering why the hell these people could spend hours together and no one got cut or strangled. They also weren't drinking heavily. I would dart out of the room, like a cornered possum, looking for an escape route. My instinct to scream "STOP TALKING TO ME!" and hide under the bed with a bottle of red wine had to be stifled. The first vacation that Terrance told me that we were traveling with his family had me in near histrionics. THE WHOLE THING? ALL THE TIME? I had to be "on" for the whole time? Fuck. Me.

Of course, to Terrance the odd disconnectedness of my family seemed somehow Un-American and certainly Not Black. My looks of horror when he would suggest that we visit my family for extended lengths of time were interpreted as something he needed to fix.

And while he has never fully accomplished his goal to get My family to Act like HIS family, I laughed this Christmas morning as he called each of his siblings, put them on Speakerphone and we had a round robin conversation - Aunts, nieces, nephews, friends et al joining when they could. And I participated. Sincerely. Willingly.

Not bad for 16 years of work.

Dear Santa....

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Please save my daughter from her impending ass beating.

Right now, she is flailing and kicking her feet, much in the same manner she did at the age of 2. Apparently, I am not doing exactly what she wants, and therefore she WRONGLY assumes that by behaving like a juvenile monkey that I will capitulate.

This morning, she climbed on my back at 7 in the morning. Of course on SCHOOL DAYS I can barely move her booty from bed at 8 a.m.. However, on weekends, she can wake at the crack of Me and pester me mercilessly.

Later on, when her father told her that she couldn't dictate what he made for lunch she stomped back into the living room and announced "I wish he had never come into our Lives!" When I adroitly pointed out that had he NOT come into my life....the point of her life would be moot.

Her response? "I still don't care."

Oh, and did I mention the whining? Yes, normally I expect some whining. In fact, lack of whining might indicate a demonic possession or her impending death due to avian flu - however, she has really cranked it up a notch the past two days. She has added tears. A continual fountain of tears. I could sell her as a party fountain if she could cry "Andre Cold Duck". The lip quivering, eyes moistening, nose twitching that foretells the arrival of the tears makes me want to rip my hair out and scream "Enough already - I GET IT." Puberty is going to be a real test of my ability to mother any living creature, as I already have an almost nine year old Emo queen. But I digress.

So....Santa. We may have to leave you some whiskey tonight. At least what ever is left from the bottle after Terrance and I get done with it. I'm pretty sure there will be some kind of cookie, but that isn't my department, so I can't guarantee anything. The whiskey? Is my department - It will be good.

Oh, and thanks for letting her still believe in you, wholeheartedly. She has resisted the proclamations of her classmates who have told her that you aren't real, that it is her parents. She steadfastly told them that they were wrong and their disbelief earned them coal. I strongly suspect this is the last year we can keep her belief so strong, her total innocence intact. For that, I thank you.

Just see us through the next 24 hours, N'K? I appreciate all the help I can get.

Baleful Regards,

Still Numero Uno for all the internet's Shank/Shiv Info

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Its time, once again, for a peek into the minds of the populace - particularly how they end up here at Baleful. And, as always, it ain't pretty.

How to make a shank or How to make a shiv

These search terms remain strong. Who knew that by using these two words in the context of any post would drive any hood rat with the need for home made stabbing utensils here to my humble blog? However, and I stress this AGAIN. I am a white woman who grew up in Vermont. I have never been to prison. I have at no time shanked anyone with a shiv (unless you count Izzy and that bitch had it coming. How dare she be so tall and pretty.) I know that the pictures from BlogHer of Nancy, Tammy, Julie and I throwing gang signs are easy to mistake as some authentic prison be-yotches. I know the tat's on our arms look damn good, but they are rub on Mommyblogger tat's. Actually, now that I think about it...we could be a gang....Drive by's? Fuck that. We've gestated.

Best Meth Recipe on the Net or What a Meth User is doing searchers

Is it that easy to get a meth recipe? And who writes that their recipe for meth is the "best"? That is rather full of oneself, is it not? And frankly, potential meth cooks, I am not a fan of what you have done to my beloved Sudafed. I am a perpetual stuffy nose haver and your actions have caused the companies to use a suck ass formula which does NOT help my stuffy proboscis. I rather resent having to produce a blood, urine and stool sample to get some god damn Sudafed.

care for my husband in a diaper he has a fetish

Now, the hits I get for "shoe fetish" or "pointy shoe fetish"...I understand. But this one? I say either get comfortable or start moving towards divorce. But then again, what do I know?

Decorated Labia Pics

Decorated with WHAT? Piercings? Jewels? Jimmies?

Can a nurse teach me to massage husbands prostate

Sadly, I could help with this one, although I am not a nurse. My best advice, lube up and get in there. You'll find it. He'll let you know, I promise.

Is love real during a manic episode

Well, given my limited experience...I would say kind of. I think you can fall in love at any time. I think that love is an intense emotion. Having a manic episode intensifies everything times 76. But I don't think a manic episode makes you think you are in love if you aren't already.

How can I see into my future life

I suggest a Magic 8 ball.

best picture of holy crib made in 2005

Aside from my "disguise" as a naughty Mennonite, I have to say that I couldn't tell you what a Holy crib may be. Like as in MTV cribz? Or as in "Place to lay baby Jesus"? And honestly, aren't we talking "manger" here? The "crib" was akin to a feeding trough, if I interpreted the idea correctly. Seems a hard to screw up design. Hay, wood, wool blanket.

Sex talk video ( I get this one ALOT) and Sex screamer

No...and No. It is impossible to have a child who doesn't sleep in the house and be a screamer. Terrance is already jumpy enough without the added screaming from me.

All variations of Brazilian wax photos , how to prep from Brazilian , does Brazilian hurt

No, I am not posting photos. Take ibuprofen and Yes, but only the first time. Second time was a breeze. I'm not kidding. Piece of cake. Yellow cake.

and finally "I hate playmobil"

You, random visitor, have no soul. Why not just search for "ways to suck all the joy from childhood" or "I plan on telling every small child I meet that Santa isn't real"
Do rainbows and unicorns offend you as well? A pox upon you and your playmobil hating self.

Edited at 10:21 pm to add: HEY Person who googled "Can you drink GermX to get drunk"

The answer is NO. Do not drink Germx. Geesh - just go buy some Pabst, I think it may cost the same. Or some Thunderbird.

I have seen my future, and it involves petty theft

Sunday, December 17, 2006

I recently realized that my march into "elderly woman who steals the packets of sweetener from restaurants" has begun in earnest.

It started with the move to Canada. The first time I ordered a coffee and said "Two Splenda"...I was rebutted with "We only have Sugar Twin."

Oh?. All right. Why not. It comes in a yellow package LIKE Splenda. Until I had to scrape it off of my tongue with a knife. UGH. That shit is nasty.

So, I did what any woman would do. I began carrying a little plastic baggie of Splenda in my purse. Cause - you know - I want my coffee, my elixir of life, my ichor ,to be perfect.

The next step into my descent came with my realization that the guy at school was charging me a buck fifty for a REGULAR tea bag. And Hot water. Dude. Seriously? It's a Red Rose tea bag. You're gonna charge me a buck fifty? I could buy 150 of those for a buck fifty.

I added a baggie of tea bags into the purse.

Now, Splenda is expensive here, much more so than the states, which is why it is most likely not available on every counter, everywhere. BUT, when we went to Burlington last week, there it was - sitting on the table in the restaurants, and the coffee houses. So I did what every "future crotchety old woman" would do.

I re-filled my plastic baggie of Splenda. I was like a veritable Splenda Squirrel, hording packets for the "lean winter months".

But honestly, it wasn't until the day I pulled out the baggie in front of a new acquaintance that I recognized the path I was treading. As her eyes scanned down to the beaten plastic bag of stolen Splenda packets, I felt as if I needed to justify why I had a bag of sweetener and tea bags in my purse. I might as well have been wearing the aluminum hat to deflect the "brain rays" being beamed into my head and talking about my hatred for the industrial complex ala Teddy K.

Soon, I will become the crazy lady you hope to get trapped in the elevator with - cause I will have the contents of the five course meal secreted about my person, along with a propane stove and the means to re-route the electrical system ala McGuyver.

But only if I like you - otherwise I have no compunction about eating you "Alive" style. I'll have the propane stove after all.

And thank you all for all your love and support - I'm feeling better. In fact, look. Can you see the spark coming back?

Lost in Translation Part Deux

Saturday, December 09, 2006

I've talked a little about my "issues" with depression on this blog.

Wait a second as I laugh hysterically at the understatement of that last sentance.

I've been dealing with a whole new avenue of depression in the past few months - a side street of the crazy, if you will.

I seem to have had a real manic episode. As in manic depressive. As in bi-polar.

Of course, being away from my long time therapist hasn't helped. Moving to a new country hasn't helped. Settling Emily, Terrance and I into a new home, a new city and new schools hasn't helped. Feeling lost and misplaced and adrift hasn't helped. Being unemployed REALLY hasn't helped.

When it was happening, I knew something was wrong. I think that was some of what the accupunture was helping to regulate, and when I stopped the accupunture in August, the spiral down started fast.

However, as I have learned first hand, when you are in a manic space, it is a wierd and almost magical experience. On one hand, I knew that I wasn't myself - but I couldn't tell you what was wrong, exactly. It wasn't depression, cause I know what that feels like. But it had some attributes of depression. I was sleeping more, often mid day for hours at a time. I found that I couldn't concentrate on school work, or blogging - or anything that required emotional processing and spent hours playing solitaire on my computer. But other things - ones I am not ready to talk about here - I pursued with single minded intensity. Fixated. 150% of my attention. And while I was not dangerous to others, I was in a very very self destructive space for me.

When the new therapist mentioned it the first time, I got angry. Very, Very angry. I was not crazy. Bi-polar is for the real crazy, not just crazy lite.

However, as the mania subsided, and I started to return to myself, I am able to view the episode with more objectivity. Two weeks ago, my therapist mentioned how much more centered and in control I seemed. Yes. I know. I'm on the other side of the wave. She asked me to consider a medication change. Maybe I needed a mood stabilizer. Lithium. Depakote.

So I saw the psychiatrist who prescribes for me in Canada ( long story - my therapist can't prescribe, unlike my therapist in the states who managed my meds as well. Argh!) He listened and suggested the medications. As a preventative.

And I asked alot of questions. About side effects. About the possibility that this was an isolated event brought on by the overwhelming amount of stress and life changes I experienced over the past several months. About how long the medication would take to kick in if I were to wait and not take it until I was in another episode - if ever. About the odds of my having another episode ( which are, of course elevated since I have had one).

And so, I have been thinking about it. Lots. And I have decided to wait. The side effects of both medications are signifigant. There is no sure bet that I will have another, and I am loathe to take such powerful medications - in addition to the anti-depressants I already take - on the off chance I will expereince another manic episode. I am certainly NOT anti-medication, Shit, I could have invented the "Better living through Pharmacueticals" phrase - but this is a time when I think I need to wait and see.

I was never dangerous to others in the epidsode (which lasted almost two and a half months) - and I retained a voice of caution in my head, albeit a muffled and ignored one. I was aware that I was not "right" within myself - I just couldn't name what was happening.

And Honestly - I think I have had mild manic episodes before, but ones that I managed and turned into creativity ( may I point to completing quilts in a weekend? or my need to have all the embroidery floss in numerical order?) Feel free to bitch me out for the justification, but it's one of the traits I love about myself - The single minded focus I can bring to something and accomplish amazing results. My creativity, my fast mind and quick wit. My ability to process vast amounts of information. I am beginning to think it is related to possibly being bi-polar. And the thought that I would take something like lithium which would change that within me? I can't bear it. I've fought so hard to learn to like ME that changing me seems a betrayal.


And so I understand another piece of the puzzle that is me. Just as I thought I had seen and carefully placed every piece, the frame falls out and the pieces jumble up again. And I sort out the edge pieces to start to make the outline again.

Love you all.


Monday, December 04, 2006

You know those weekends? The ones where you have a TON of things you should be doing, but instead of doing those things ( Oh, I don't know, like writing all of your big, important final papers), you ditch it all and run off with your friends to your former home and then proceed to drink and dance, vomit and then get asked to "leave" the establishment?

Not that I know anything about that last bit. Nope. Nothing at all. Nada. Zippo.

So up until the moment when you jumped the alcohol shark, you had been taking pictures. Because you weren't ready to dance yet. Then, at some point, the god of wine bitch slapped you and you became really, really intoxicated.

And I am not a gusher, but this band is so kick ass good it is sinful. And the fact that they played a kick ass set for 5 drunken friends and a handful of vaguely unworthy others only further attests to their status. Oh, and may I add that the unworthies didn't even get up and DANCE. WTF?

May I introduce you to Lovewhip?

Lovewhip? May I introduce you to my friends?

This last picture? The last one on my camera before I got too intoxicated to continue. Hypothetically, that is. Erin is the lead singer and I know how old she is, but I was sworn to secrecy.

So here are the people I was with - my girls. The Bad ass cohort.

This is Lisa. She's fast and wily.
This is Leah. It is her fault that I ever even started a blog in the first place. Blame her, for everything.
This is Pilar. The dimples, My GOD, the dimples.
And this is Denise. I have agreed to allow her to maintain Lemony Snickett like anonimity. But do you love the way she has pimped my shirt?

And where is Dawn, you wonder?

Aw.....Here I am. Wearing my new Lovewhip Shirt.

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