writing a book makes me not want to write anything else.

42,000+ and still trying to work my way through this stack of books from the library. 9 books down, 8 to go.

having a hard time running in the morning with it being so dark outside. even after running, don't feel awake until 10a, too bad work starts at 815a.

yay, new tires! thanks, Steve!

sun, please come back earlier!

everyone, how was your day?

why is almost all the ice cream gone?

aaaaand scene.

Off to mix the chemo. Then off to neighborhood association meeting. Then reading tons of books and writing tons of words.

I'm in Oklahoma, finally. It took me forever to write my way out of Florida, but a lot happened there. Now I'm using my pregnancy guide for reference, since I wrote all the prenatal appointments in there. All I keep thinking as I'm writing is why the hell didn't I leave? I can barely fathom the amount of crap I put up with. It's like the frog in a pot story. I grew to accept worse and worse behavior, until finally I was in a full-blown abusive relationship and had warped my own mind to fit a new reality where I just sat and took whatever was dished out to me. Maybe some sadistic part of me was determined to punish myself thoroughly for making such a poor choice in life.

Yay! I have a running date with Ruth in a few minutes!

I was bogged down half the day in research, but did take Dom downtown to hang out for most of the morning. I'm trying to stop writing at 5pm, so I can spend time with Nick and the boys and take care of stuff around the house. Since I work almost every day (I have these two days off since Dom's school's not in session), I can only write for an hour or two at night, and I'll have to make up for it on the weekends. I'm trying to get a lot done while I have these full days off from work.

It feels good to get this out of my head and down on paper, even when I'm narrating some painful events. I'm being practical, too. I won't always remember what happened, and since I did spend a lot of time trying to FORGET some of the stuff I did, I've never really sat down and processed the entire journey in a chronological order from start to finish. This is my chance. Even if I never turn this into something that can be published (I would have to change names and incriminating details), I'll have finally told the story and I'll be able to let it rest.

Oh, I'm going to hate myself in the morning. Research for the book I'm writing; let's not even call it a novel at this point. This is looking to go past November. My memories don't have exact names, so I've checked out all these books on Florida, Texas and Oklahoma. Used a travel guide to figure out where we stayed. A lot of "oh, right!" But I really need to get to bed.

In other news, Tony's other great-grandmother passed away May 2008. I found out by total accident thanks to Googling Tony's paternal grandfather's name (who we stayed with for part of our traveling experience). Lucy Encinias Tomac. She held him when he was a baby and gave him her blessing. He resembles her, too. She was 77 when she died. Because she had ten kids, and had her last one at age 45, her youngest daughter is my age.

It's a little late, but I'm hopping on the NaNoWriMo bandwagon. It helps to have access to a a laptop. I'm writing a fictionalized account of the time I spent hitchhiking, sixteen years and a lifetime ago. Guts and all, not for young readers. I did things I'm not proud of, and may be describing misdemeanors and felonies, so I won't be putting excerpts here, but be assured I'm tired of saying "I should write that down someday while I still remember everything." I'm writing everything down NOW while I still remember everything. If I ever get it published, you can just guess at what I made up and what really happened. I've got 2200 words so far, after starting today. I need to come up with another 48000.

A recurring...not quite nightmare, but a scary, scary dream for me: I find myself jumping too high. Suddenly I'm wearing anti-gravity shoes and I take a step and go way too high. At the very peak of this jump, time slows. I have time to reflect on how much this is going to hurt when I land. I start to fall, my stomach lurches into my throat while my heart races and I have a full-on panic attack. Oh shit, I am about to fucking die!!! I keep thinking as the ground rushes up to meet me.

I always land on my back. The pain is excruciating, but I realize I'm still alive. I have this dream again and again, every few months. It hurts less every time I land, and I know I'm going to live...in fact I know how the dream ends and practically groan "Here we go again..." as I take that horrible step. In the dream, I know I'm dreaming, but my mind is convinced that dreamland is as real a place as this world, and what happens to me in my dreams may very well kill me. Thus, it still scares me shitless.

Why, brain? Why?

I got the live H1N1 vaccine, since it was offered at work for free to certain employees. Either I had a bad reaction, or I had the misfortune of catching another virus at the same time. The end result is that I'm missing out on two parties I was really looking forward to, I'm sick during my favorite holiday, and my gruesome-awesome Carrie costume is going to waste. I'm not even sure if I should let trick-or-treaters stop by the house tomorrow. What will we do with all these Kit-Kats and Butterfingers???

"Articles in my newspaper report almost everyday on someone who survived an accident or who is fighting cancer, and they say "God blessed me" or some such thing. And they never seem to grasp the utter narcissism of that-- the fact that millions of others, equally worthy no doubt, don't survive. A while back in SC there was a house fire in which several high school students died, and the survivors said the same thing-- that god had saved them. But what about their dead friends? What is the implication there about god and how he dispenses favors?

When people's prayers are not answered, I don't think many of them alter their beliefs, as you did. They say all of the things that were said to you, make all of the rationalizations. You used to hear more that god punished people by allowing the death of loved ones. That idea has declined in popularity, gratefully, but it has gotten replaced by some equally loopy ones. Like, for instance, the "everything happens for a reason" idea, by which they mean, usually, that this tragedy befell me or my loved one because it lead, they think, to some positive subsequent event. Like, the hospital pastor who tended to their dying wife brought them to Jesus, something like that. Again, the jaw-dropping self-centeredness."

...user Al555, from an online forum discussion about the power of prayer, or lack thereof.



This is what has been bothering me lately, as I've been receiving prayer requests from people I know. (As an aside, holy crap, damn near every kid who made my life a living hell for belonging to a strict religion is now very best friends with Jesus. It has been amusing and not a little unnerving to see this phenomenon play out.) I realize that I should be used to this by now: I was soaked in religious dogma even before I was born (My mom read society publications and the bible out loud while pregnant in the belief I would learn in-utero. I like to think I punished her by extending her pregnancy an extra five weeks, or maybe all the bible-thumping had me too scared to come out, lol.). I now live in a conservative state, and work in the health care profession. I expect to encounter some religious views as I go about my day. But it still really bothers me when people attribute everything good to a god, and completely ignore all the horrible shit that happens every day, or ignore the advances in medicine that undoubtedly helped their loved one more than praying. Sure, go ahead and say that God guided the surgeon's hands if everything goes well. But then you also have to say that God sometimes makes the scalpel slip or guides the bacteria that resulted in sepsis and death. It starts to sound like maybe God's kind of a jerk. A pick-and-choose, mercurial jerk.

And what kind of a god makes someone ill so he can heal them? That's some sick reasoning. When a parent does it, we call it Munchausen by proxy, and we remove the child from their care. Because it's wrong. How is it okay if God does it?

Even my mother was rattled when people from the Catholic church (the religion of her family) told her that my oldest sister (who died in a brutal and tragic way at the age of three) was killed because God wanted another angel for heaven. What in the world did Diana DO that this God would determine she should be beaten, thrown and kicked with a steel-toed boot until her brain swelled and she suffocated? Was her attacker doing God's will? Why punish someone doing God's will? What was the lesson to take from this, and why did my sister have to suffer a broken body and agonizing death for this lesson to have meaning? My mother ended up rationalizing it in her head (with the help of her own religion, Jehovah's Witnesses) and came to the conclusion that Satan had killed her daughter and God would make it right some day, because God is letting Satan rule the earth until such a point when he decides it's time for Armageddon (something her religion teaches). So she exchanged one fairy tale for another. She never got over it, either. I think some small part of her brain has trouble swallowing the the answer she was given by her religion, and that is why she is profoundly broken to this day. She does not have the joy you would expect from someone who is convinced that God has her best interests at heart, even as unspeakably horrific acts happen to her and her family.

Another thing that bothers me is when people tell me they'll pray for me, or ask me to pray for them. I think it's a cop-out. I can appreciate people who tell me they hope everything turns out for the best, or people who use the term "sending good thoughts" because they live too far away to be able to help with the situation but want me to know they love me. People do feel better about bad situations when they feel they're not alone in their troubles, that someone cares about the outcome. I understand that. But telling me you're praying for me to get better is about as appreciated as telling me you just prayed some food into my refrigerator when I told you my kids were hungry. And I'm not going to pray for you if you ask me. I'll cook a meal for you, or come over and clean your house, or give you a hug and let you know that I care. That's a lot more useful than doing nothing for you but sitting in my house and sending words into thin air.

I know this is a divisive issues. I'd like to hear your thoughts on the subject.

I had three things to do: say goodbye to Adam, see mc chris, and see Old Canes. I did all three, go me! Nick had won tix for mc chris, but was too tired, so I went by myself. I thought this guy at the mc chris show was going to propose marriage once he found out I was there by myself and had a LiveJournal and loved Sealab 2021. He had a point, though: the only girls at the show were with their boyfriends. There were no girls there by themselves, except for me and a girl/girl couple I stood next to in front of the stage. Whole Wheat bread was okay, but I really hate their name. I can't even explain why.

I bounced back and forth between the Granada and the Jackpot, waiting for Old Canes to start. The openers didn't really hold my attention. Chris and crew didn't get on the stage until 11:30ish, but played until 1am. Some new songs, and almost every track from Early Morning Hymns. The crowd was totally different, but after the show I stood outside and talked to a couple of guys who'd seen both shows. I'm not the only person who has love in their heart for geek rap and xylophone-and-trumpet-infused rock.

I don't watch nearly as much tv as I used to. I used to subscribe to TV Guide and plan my week accordingly. Going to night classes weaned me from most of the weeknight shows, and going to rock shows knocked out the weekends. I watch old episodes of Red Green on Saturday nights, and Nick and I are catching up on The Big Bang Theory by renting season DVDs from the library, but I have no die-hard favorites at the moment. I'm not even sure when the season premiere of CSI:NY will air, or if it already has. There are shows I will watch if Nick is watching tv, but if I have a moment to sit down, I'm usually reading or listening to the radio.

I am no longer the person running around telling everyone about the awesome new show. I am now one of the last people to know about it. I don't know if that makes me happy or sad.

I'm having as much fun watching the plants rot away for the winter as I had watching them grow in the spring. I guess this is what they mean by "fall/winter interest". Now the leaves are falling and revealing the seed pods, berries and delicate branching. The ground is softening its outline with leafy debris. This morning, there was dew on the grass, but the few remaining leaves held patches of quickly dissolving crystal patterns. I know I saw them. The turn is right here.

The tomatoes are screwed.

Having blinking hearts and stars all over your web page is the internet equivalent of decorating your trailer with feathered roach clips, giant purple stuffed animals and hair-metal band logo mirrors won at the county fair. It does not prove what a phenomenal HTML-ninja you are.

That being said, if you have an actual room that is decorated with the above items (especially the band logo mirrors), I would like to visit you. We can put Winger in the tape deck and draw unicorns with a genuine Lisa Frank marker set and drink Hawaiian Punch and eat Oreo cookies and party like it's 1989.

Bit by bit, we're knocking out the projects for the yard. Nick got the rest of the sand ($6 for 0.9 ton from the quarry) for the side path put down, and now all we need to do is put the (reclaimed and free, w00t!) field stones and flagstones in place. We're doing all the grunt work, but that pays for itself (if done carefully) by giving us a workout. I'm sure the reason paths cost so much is the cost of stones (by luck, we found two free sources of field stone and flagstone, just had to pick them up ourselves and haul them away) and the labor needed to dig the path, haul the sand and then place the (very heavy) stones. I PROMISE before and after pictures when the path is finished.

Now we just need to get this damned church pew off the side porch...

Steel-cut oats are delicious, but standing and stirring for 30-45 minutes is not always an option. I checked online, and most people who tried microwaving complained that they ended up with dried out little nubs. I thought perhaps they just needed more water. The normal ratio is 1/4 cup oats to 1 cup water. I tried doubling the amount of water, and it worked perfectly.

How to cook steel-cut oats and still get to work on time:

Bring 1/4 cup oats and 1 1/2-2 cups water (a few tries will tell you the perfect amount for your microwave) to a boil in a DEEP microwave-safe dish (the oats will boil up the sides, and they need to be at a rolling boil for a few minutes) for about 3-5 minutes on the highest setting. Keep a close eye and knock the power level down by 10% if they threaten to boil over. Give a good stir at the end, then heat at 50% power for another 7-9 minutes (you can probably walk away at this point and make the coffee or something). Until you know how much water will boil off with your particular microwave, check the oats at the 5 minute mark for consistency. You can always cook the water off if needed or add water if the oats start to look dried up.

What if you had been forced to marry your first love or crush? No superstars. Do you think you'd be different? Would you be miserable? Elated?

Oh, those teenage hopes. I have two options to choose from...the JW and non-JW. I've been lucky enough to keep both people in my life, though I haven't spoken to David in a few years. Twenty years ago, I threw off sparks whenever I thought of David, and cried myself to sleep at night for the ache. Jason inspired me to dream up baby names and buy a tigers eye stone to carry with me. At one point in my life, I would have become whomever they wanted me to be. I covered pages of paper with hideous poetry and initialed hearts. I hadn't even settled on my own personality yet.

The difference between psychosis and a teen girl's crush is a micro-fine line. Good god.

I made my choices. I chose my best friend, and my own spiritual truth. But I wasn't done making mistakes. I almost gave into religion for David. I almost gave up my best friend for Jason. Eventually, years later, I was able to iron out things with both of them. We laughed.

So what's my answer? I wouldn't be miserable, but I have learned a lot about love, and I sure as hell wouldn't be elated, nor would they be too elated at the news of being stuck with me. Both David and Jason were better kept as friends. And what I feel for Nick doesn't leave me sobbing myself to sleep or buying rocks at Natural Wonders, but it does feel like I get to spend the rest of my life with my favorite partner in crime, and that's a pretty great way to feel.

And when Tony ends a call from a girl with "I love you" and then tells me not to worry, that they're just friends who say I love you, I quietly freak the fuck out. Oh, teenage boys, be kind to our hearts.

It's time to make a list of autumn/winter projects!

1. Whether or not Tony likes it, I'm going to be messing with his mandolin and guitar. Hell, I paid for them, and all they do is stand in the corner and add bulk to his room.

2. The lawn is going to be cut back even further. A good foot or two around the perimeter will be returned to native plantings.

3. Possibly...the flyering of the stairwell. Which may only further confuse guests who are already wondering if they've walked into a used books and records store by accident, but that's what they get for visiting us.

I am especially glad to have documented most of my parenting experiences over the last several years. Some posts from 2003 and 2004 helped me remember that joy can be found in parenting, not just the misery of day-to-day combat. I had to fight very hard for Nicole, Tony and Dominic, and even though I was winging it, the love really shows in those posts.

The last couple of years, I've been worn out by the parenting gig. I never stopped providing for the boys, but I did fall out of love with them. I came to this realization when the family therapist asked me to recall the last time I had hugged Tony. This was last fall, when I was having a major case of pregnancy regret. I fucking hated my kids, both of them, and could not explain why to anyone. I was tired, I felt alienated from both of them, and they just seemed hell-bent on making myself and Nick as miserable as possible.

Therapy helped a lot. We had to destroy the entire parent-child relationship and start completely over. I had no positive role models for parenting older children and teens, and the boys' cuteness, which had kept them alive through toilet-training and other parental minefields, had worn off long ago. The way we related to each other was completely poisonous and had to be stopped. Nicole and I had a very shaky last year with each other, and I have come to regret the many pointless arguments that estranged us. It took us a few years before we could talk to each other again. I did not want this to happen with Tony and Dominic.

Some things I figured out, with the help of therapy: it wasn't so much that I lacked a parenting gene as it was the fact that I did care, and worried so much about choices being made that I would just end up being filled with anger. I was so scared that trying my best wasn't going to keep my kids from screwing up in spectacular ways. I was furious that I was getting the shitty aspects of parenting without the good parts. I remember hearing stories of parents being lauded as subjects of "My Hero" school essays, and feeling equal parts scornful and envious.

Also, my kids were dealing with some real issues of their own. Dominic was developing a full-blown case of Tourette's (constant, water-torture-style vocal and motion tics) and exhibiting some moderate symptoms of ADHD (both diagnoses finally confirmed by KUMC a few months back); the combination of these with Tony's communication problems resulting from Asperger's (mixed in with the usual teenage melodrama) was seriously driving everyone insane.

Once we trashed the old parenting manual and started over, things got better. This school year is so much better than last year's, it makes me nervous. Maybe I'll finally exhale when Tony graduates. For now, he's doing just fine and I'm having more happy parenting moments than I used to. Good or bad, there's a cumulative effect. The good times, make us happier, and then more good times happen as a result. This summer we had a few family outings, to test the waters, and the results were positive enough that we risked a family weekend trip, which went very well, considering the way we used to interact with each other. Tony is doing much better in school, and even Nick and I are getting along better compared to last year.

I'm not happy that Dominic and Tony inherited Tourette's and Asperger's from my family. Sometimes I feel like I never escaped home, because my parents both have vocal tics and communication problems and it made growing up so awful, even discounting the abuse and fucked-up religious zeal. To hear the same tics and words coming out of children who have never spoken to my parents is both startling and depressing. Sometimes I feel sick when I realize that the things I struggled with as a child and still struggle with now are now given these names and maybe my childhood and early adulthood didn't have to be so difficult. I muddled through, without mood stabilizers and drugs to help me focus, but it was a pretty wretched existence most of the time.

Last year, the constant mantra in my head was, "I never wanted these kids." I was disgusted with myself for even feeling that way. I was terrified. I was heartbroken. I think everyone in our family was terrified and heartbroken. We seem to have come out the other side of something. We're intact, but cautious. It's a fight, every day. Some days I go to bed regretting something I said or a deliberate tone of voice I used. Some days I go to bed just happy to have made some good memories for the boys. I want them to be able to look back on their childhoods and see more good times than bad. I have been in fighting mode for a very long time, the one thing I have always done is fought for my kids, but sometimes I have to remember that we're on the same side.

I don't know what the point of this post was. More documenting, I guess. I may need this post for future reference. The documenting and therapy seem to have helped the most.

The one thing I do not like about the early shift: I can't exercise very much before work. I'd have to get up at 4am if I wanted to get anything done, and that would be cutting too far into sleep for my own good. Nick already gets up at that time, so I tend to go to bed around 9pm, and I don't function well on less than 8 1/2-9 hours of sleep. If I have a full hour, I can run three miles and do some strength training, and still have time to take a shower and eat something before work.

This week, I tried to at least do some jumping jacks and leg exercises to get the blood flowing to my brain, but I missed running all week. I've come to rely on that burst of activity in the morning to prepare myself for the day. I was able to get out this morning and walk/run up Mt. Oread and back. It's been interesting to see the progress on the hotel, the builders are doing their best to make it blend in with the oldest buildings on campus. Anyway, my friend Ruth (bakery Ruth) wants to start running on the levee or the trails. She's my size and doesn't go fast or far, so I think we'd be about perfect for each other. She can only run at night, though, due to childcare needs. I'm going to take a look at my schedule and see if I can do that 3-4 times a week.