AAUUUUGGGHHHNNOOOOOO!!!!!!

IIIII :::inhaaales:: SUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUCCCK.

If you haven’t been paying attention recently, I’ve been running into walls and having Epic Mental Meltdown 2011: Redux (and kinda freaking out about it) and generally unable to function like a grownup recently, thus prompting my psychiatrist (to whom I had to travel in a cab because of my inability to work car do drive things) to send me to a neurologist (because, dammit, if I’m going to have mental illness, I’m going to cover all my bases… not doin’ nothin’ half-assed, no’way.)

And then, due to a series of events afterward, it became apparent that my complete neurological dysfunction is caused, incidentally, by a character flaw I’ve been plugging my ears and eyes in the presence of for, like, the last two years and now it’s become a trigger for completeanduttermentalimplosion.

Or, in regular-people speak: I’ve been slowly becoming less sane because I’m chickenshit.

:::sigh:::

I’m probably going to be away for a while.

I’m going to say up front that I hate writing this even more than you hate reading it. I’m just as exhausted and weary of this whole motif as you probably are. I’ll also warn you that this is probably the worst one I’ve written yet, simply out of fear and my desire to put it into text.

And the other thing I hate about all of this is that I am, arguably, the single most blessed human being I know:
~ On Saturday, I will celebrate 3 whole years of marriage with a man who is strong and dedicated and honest and compassionate and full of love and good at cuddling and who is fearless and inventive and intelligently hilarious and really, genuinely loves making me happy
~ I have a 3.5 year old bundle of blonde love who runs around my house and encourages me to play dress up and to sing and to read to her and who demands to let her make me feel better when I am sick.
~ I have a family who has sat through a LOT of bullshit from me and still celebrates my victories.
~ I have more important, loyal, creative, loving friends than any person should. (Most of whom not only give a shit about me, but always ALWAYS come to my rescue in my seemingly endless bouts of The Crazy.)
~ I live in and love North Carolina
~ I have every physical necessity I crave, in addition to every physical desire I want.

All of these are reasons that cause my unexpected bouts of depression seem to compound in my psyche; because there is absolutely no reason for them. Thanks for 10-ish years of therapy, I dealt with and exorcised all the emotion-attacking triggers and, have since, been living a life that perpetuates happy healthiness! (No more toxic relationships/friendships! No more drinking to get hammered by myself! More asserting myself when I don’t want to be in a crappy situation! No more tolerating bullshit I don’t have to! Hooray!)

However, this doesn’t change the [nauseatingly overstated] fact that I still deal with the “chemical-side” of depression every so often, for no real reason. (In fact, I usually get it in the spring.)

These symptoms include:
~Throbbing in the head/ears
~Loss of balance
~ Inability to drive safely (which I learned today as I made a wide turn and nailed my mailbox.)
~Aching limbs and muscles
~Inability to focus on anything long enough to accomplish simple tasks. (Kinda like being stoned and being unable to get up off the couch because the beeper on the microwave has been buzzing for 3 minutes and you barely notice.)
~Losing track of time. (Kinda like being stoned and looking at the clock, seeing that it says “3:00″ then looking back a minute later and it saying “4:30″.)
~Inability to form sentences because your brain won’t put words together. (This is why I prefer to write; sure, it takes a lot of editing because of my misspellings and nonsensical phrases, but at least the finished product is better than trying to talk to me.)
~ Inability to physically focus on anything, as the colors in my periphery blur and I seem to become encased in a solitary little universe. (I don’t call it “The Crazy” for nothin’, folks.)
~The inability to dress myself, sometimes. (That was one of the lowest points, admittedly. Thanks again to my fearless, loving, patient husband.)
~ Finding myself subconsciously acting on scary/insane impulses that I haven’t in over a decadel. (for example: In 11th grade, I was at a party where every single one of my friends was being flirted with and I was being ignored. Suddenly, I looked down and realized I’d driven my car keys deep into my forearm without noticing. That wasn’t the first instance of that, but is the only I can remember.)
~Pain in the presence of sunlight.

However, in the last three-ish days, I’ve had a sudden Crash between Chemical and the Emotional depression - the latter of which I have not experienced in over 5 years. There was no recent trigger. There is no tangible reason. Everything in my immediate life is going better than it has in a long time, actually (which is saying a lot because I’ve been pretty damned happy since early in 2007.)

I am just simply and suddenly crippled by the physical symptoms and those long-forgotten emotions in which I do not just feel but deeply believe/know that:
~ I am useless, untalented, unintelligent and not at all significant.
~ I am wasting space and energy by being here and continuing to put the people I love through the burden of listening to this completely self-serving “disease”.
~ I am mundane in general, but I won’t shut up about it.
~ I am pretentious and don’t have the balls to find nor live my own identity.
~ … and maybe this identity is too boring to seek out in the first place.
~ I am insignificant in a day-to-day sense as well as a career or social sense.
~ I am selfish (but try to overcompensate by giving to charities and volunteering for causes)
~ I am self-centered and don’t listen enough
~ I am rarely as important to certain people as they are to me.
~ I am lazy
~ There is nothing important coming out of my mouth or through my actions.
~ I am spoiled
~ I have no global perspective at all
~ I somehow graduated college as a complete idiot in my field.
~ I am taxing to my friends.
~ I talk too much because I’m afraid I have nothing to talk about.

All of these things are the emotional staples I’ve had since… forever, I guess. And now they’re back and attacking me along with the chemical fucker while I’m down. I forgot what this felt like; I haven’t had this since the spring of 2006, when my life was significantly different. I thought changing my life to something completely different and better would fix it, but now I’ve Crashed again and I don’t know how to get out of it or where to start. But one thing I do know for sure is that I’m scared in exactly the same way I was before: at least that hasn’t changed.

Hi, s’me again,

Look, you remember that agreement we made where you can let my mental illness run rampant for a few weeks every spring and I get to make the joke about being the only person on the planet with SAD in the spring? Enkay, we already did that. So the fact that I feel worse than death right now is not cool with me. Especially because it is literally the best time of year for me.

I’m seeing double all the time. I’m too unstable to walk down hallways without crashing into the walls. My brain won’t stick to any task, no matter how insignificant. Hell, it’s taken me ten minutes to write this much because my head won’t brain today. (That was a joke, God.) I can’t talk unless it’s in a slow pant like that anorexic girl in “Drop Dead Gorgeous”. I could barely drive my kid to school today and have had to call my husband in for reinforcements. I’ve been trying to read but, again, double vision. And, worst of all, I’ve been involuntarily acting on impulses I gave up a long long time ago. THIS ISN’T COOL WITH ME.

I’m exhausted just from writing this and am going to have to rest… again. Fix this. Please.

L P-S

Look, I’ll be the first one to shamelessly tell you that Facebook has been great for me. Aside from allowing me to keep up with my close friends on a weekly basis (something that never manifested through emails for some reason), I’ve found old acquaintances from my past turning into actual friends through our shared ideas and discussions, I’ve sought out people from my very very distant past to find that many old friends have grown up to be incredibly kickass adults, I’ve had the opportunity to make amends with certain people and close doors on long-outdated conflicts and misunderstandings, and I’ve even treated myself to petty validation by laughing at the fat drunken messes many of my adolescent antagonists have become and then gleefully plastering my public photo albums with evidence at how awesomely my life has turned out - even without comparison - just to add to my own sense of vindicated contentment! (Hey, I’ve never claimed to be classy, folks.) When I was at home all day every day for the first year the Bear was alive (IMMEDIATELY after having a totally full social calendar in the years prior), Facebook helped me feel connected with the outside world and, if nothing else, to my thinking, observational, wonderfully joyful friends.

So yeah. I’m a fan. I’m glad it’s here.

However, the worst part about Facebook isn’t getting friend requests from people you may have no more than breathed in the general direction of during your time attending the same educational facility, nor is it having to “block” creepsters you may have drunkenly had interactions with at some point. It’s not even having to block every Farmville-esque invitation that gets sent your way.

No, the worst part about Facebook is finding old friends with whom you once had a very special bond, elatedly catching up with the other, and then immediately realizing that these humans beings have turned into caricatures of everything you hate about America as it is right now. And, sure, caricatures of certain demographics are eeeverywhere, but these were people you knew and loved and would never in a million years be able to predict the insufferable stereotypes they’ve somehow morphed into since the last time you spoke. YES and FINE; we’re all stereotypes to some degree. Agreed. However, when someone you knew at one point resurfaces as a completeandutter polar opposite of who she/he used to be, it’s disconcerting. And, sure, I’ll play along; I’ve had this happen where someone I knew lived the lifestyle of a married straight man for decades until his wife died and then he came ah-runnin’ on out of the closet, to the shock of many of us. But, even in that case, those of us who knew him were able to look back in retrospect and see where it all sort of made sense all along. With some of the “friends” I’ve reacquainted myself with via Facebook, the changes are so drastically unexpected and completely contradictory to everything they originated from and were instilled with that was good and cool about them that I’ve started wondering if they were lobotomized.

And, naturally, this sort of dynamic changes everything about this resurrected “friendship”; conversations become awkward because of your inability to relate, you tend to cringe at most of what the other promotes in his/her daily lifestyle, etc. The thing is that, if this was ten years ago, you’d run into each other at a high school reunion, realize how much the other person sucks now and just don’t bother to see them again until whenever you choose to reunite. However, because of the advent of Facebook, you get to see and hear from that person all the time now (which is the exact thing you’re excited about doing with the rest of your friends) and it’s like your friendship is sorta “back on” in a sense and, you know, because you were actually really dear friends at one point (and because you were raised with manners) you don’t wanna just come out and say something lame like, “Hey, um, you’ve grown into the most obnoxious version of my least favorite type of person and I just don’t think we have anything in common anymore, so I’m officially removing the ‘friend’ label here because Facebook has us running our social interactions with literal labels and official relationship statuses… Heh. So, anyway, take care of yourself!” because that’s just lame and, dammit, grownups should be able to cut off people they don’t like without any sort of discourse, but now there’s all this etiquette and complications in subtleties because of this one stupid website and it blows. ::inhales:: (I tend to get run-on sentency when I’m frustrated.)

So when are we allowed to kick old-and-dear-but-expired friends to the e-curb without it causing any hurt feelings or other such juvenile drama? Or is the whole “juvenile drama” thing the one stipulation to which we must all adhere as members of Facebook? And, if that’s the case, am I willing to walk away and to strip myself back down to sharing photos solely through emails and getting news updates from HuffPost?

Speaks for itself, really.

So, I made a few hundred stickers I’ve been slapping on things I deemed required attention. I sent a few to John Waters, I handed out a few to friends and I’ve started getting requests for them in bulk. Actually, a LOT of requests for them in bulk. So, I thought I’d make it easy on everyone and just get a PayPal button like a normal person would in this situation, so I’m not all “Well, gimme twenty bucks now and then I’ll ship it to you when the order comes in in a few weeks” like I have with friends.

So this is it. Right here. This post is the official “This is Ugly” sticker store. For now.

This is Ugly Sticker Packages

1 Sticker $1.00 12 Stickers $10.00 30 Stickers $25.00 50 Stickers $35.00

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s become a huge trend to run around screaming “No more bullying!” these days, particularly if you’re a fan of Lady Gaga [and dress up in the most attention-seeking attire ever to "express you inner monster" and rebel and stand out from the crowd and all that typical adolescent noise, so when someone says, "Hey, you look like a freakshow" - which is probably what you were going for, right? - you can get all butthurt and call them out for being a "bully" instead of a "stater of the obvious". Ugh. /tirade.] This is particularly hilarious to me on a number of levels, including the fact that, y’know, bullies have been around literally forever and it took a pop star (or a girl doing a performance art piece that’s a satire of pop-starishness that literally none of her fans are getting… who even knows anymore…) to start a campaign to basically say “Hey, everybody! Play nice!” for the “bullying problem” to be publicly accepted and/or addressed. As someone who was pretty severely bullied at one point in my life, I ought to be mad, but, really, I can’t help but be grateful for the few years I was bullied and what that experience gave me.

Okay, now, look. I’m not, by any means, advocating bullying because, frankly, I’ve been on either end of a bully-situation and they both involve feeling shitty about yourself - the bully-side moreso than the bullied-side, honestly.

And I know you’re probably rolling your eyes at this point, thinking, “Oh, here she goes with more crap she had to ’survive’ and become a ‘better person’ from and what bullshit she learned from all of it. Seriously, when is this gonna end? And how badly could she really have had it? She’s a middle-class white girl from the South… Shut up already.” But, honestly, I’ve always cited my early adolescent experiences as the catalyst for my self-destructive tendencies alongside the rapidly-evolving symptoms of depression I was caught up in at that time. And if you don’t wanna hear about it, then why do you keep reading this blog, for crying out loud? This is the basic theme, y’all.

There are a lot of things I’ve told friends about in the aftermath of my 6th-8th grade years, like the relentless hateful rhetoric from a certain group of peers [I naively chose to believe were "important"] based solely on whiteboy anger and an obvious disappointment regarding disproportionate genitalia. There were literal physical attacks and more than a handful of “swirlies” (which lead to my hiding hair products in my bag and wearing my hair in a ponytail on a daily basis.) And, until a recent therapy session, I had completely forgotten about being molested by a huge, quiet football-player-type every day on my way back from lunch in the 7th grade. I remember telling many administrators about all of these things, but they shrugged me off, as they apparently had bigger problems to deal with - this took a toll on my already-dwindling self-esteem. My inability to keep quiet about how I was being treated was, inevitably, fuel for the “bullies” to press harder, to really start targeting my psyche instead of my body. And it totally worked. I believed every single one of those idiots’ insults, even though I consciously knew that most of them were worthless idiots, destined for lives of worthless idiocy. Those lies became inherent  beliefs in me that drove my every decision from then until I started recovery and, naturally, I went ahead and made myself a textbook case of crappy self-esteem by making self-destructive choices (shitty relationships, substance abuse, becoming a bully to others just for the hell of it/due to misappropriated anger issues, etc.) which, of course, continued to spiral downward in a frenzy - along with the exacerbated and still-undiagnosed depression - until I hit the CompleteAndUtterBatshitCrazy (medically speaking) phase of this painfully cliched psychological path. Wheee!

I know; not a very good way to start an essay of gratitude and/or praise. Just hear me out.

In retrospect, I remember nights of cutting my thighs open and taking whole bottles of sleeping pills and waking up pissed off that I was still alive. I remember sitting in classes just staring at my desk so nobody could see me crying to myself. Sure, I remember things that were said and idiotic rumors that were started about my sexuality and my siblings being bullied because their sister was, apparently, the big dyke on campus. (A local minister even mentioned that “one of our town’s youths, just across the street here at _____ Middle School, has become a lesbian!” as a means to illustrate the apparent corruption of Satan our tiny town was supposedly enduring. Score!) In fact, for a long time after this era, whenever anybody posed the “What would you do with a time machine?” question, I’d always answer “Go hide in my jr. high locker and whisper witty comebacks to my younger self as her personal cheerleader.”

But I also remember not being able to just shut the hell up and walk under the radar. You’d think that someone who was targeted so often would tuck herself away in a corner and try as hard as she could not to be noticed, but not me. In fact, I did the exact opposite. In 8th grade, one of my classes required us to write a report for Black History Month and we’d get bonus points if we dressed in character. So I took my happy ass to school in vintage yellow, green, and red plaid bell-bottoms (borrowed from a friend’s mom - Thank you, Mrs. Lammers!), a green top, a self-made hemp necklace and homemade dreadlocks and presented my report on Bob Marley with more passion for the assignment than I probably should have had. Of course I was reamed and/or shunned for it, but I felt happy that day, regardless of how many people called me out for squeezing a size 12 ass into size 8 pants. It was even worse when I chose to cover the debate about gay rights for the Academically Gifted program’s statewide assignment to do a personal study on controversial issues. I was simply required to look at the issue and discuss the pros and cons and that’s what earned me the “lesbian” title. (In fact, before I started on this project, my teacher pulled me aside and said, “I just want you to know that, even if you never publicly state your opinion on this, you’re going to catch hell from a lot of people because this topic scares people.” - this was the year DADT was signed and Ellen came out, so people were up in arms about “the gays”. Anyway, when I told her I wanted to do it anyway, her eyes lit up and she got an impish grin before quietly exclaiming, “Okay! Let’s DO it!”  Thank you, Mrs. Crawford.) Naturally, I caught hell for it, as predicted. There were a few people who stood up for me, but even some of my “friends” started “praying for me” since I was apparently “treading a path of evil.” Again, folks: This was all over an objectively researched report.

(And the joke turned out to be on them, anyway; I’m not a lesbian; I’m bisexual and have dated a couple undeniable bombshells. Plus, I’m SURE all those guys who were throwing rocks at the “fat lesbo” have enjoyed observing many a girl-on-girl makeout session/film/etc. in the years since.)

I can name a bundle of other examples of my inability to stop being such an easy target, but, realizing that I always kept going and somehow held my own through those years kind of makes me rethink the idea I had of who I was during that time. Continuing to do what I wanted and expressing myself when nobody else wanted me to (my parents never spoke to me about the gay project, for example. They still won’t.) built a backbone in me and challenged me to seek out what it was that I believed and what I wanted to stand for and what I wanted to project if I was going to have to wake up and deal with all that crap from others on a daily basis. Alright, sure, I spent the years after all that grappling with my identity and feeding into the lies I’d been conditioned to accept as reality and letting them fuel some terrible decisions, but I’d rather have gone through all that and have a firm grasp on who I am now than have wafted silently through my formative years without anything to challenge the reality I’d been spoon-fed and coddled within since birth. The idea of being my current age and only just getting around to questioning my intentions and beliefs and authority figures and all that just seems incredibly depressing to me. And I don’t even want to think about those people who still haven’t gotten around to probing around and exploring facets of themselves and building an effing character for themselves and have no intention of ever doing so. Yikes.

I don’t have a vanilla personality now because I was forced to try extremes in order to feel a real happiness. (I’m not saying the flavor of my personality is necessarily stabilized, nor palatable to everyone; I’m just relieved it isn’t vanilla.) I’ve seen a load of scary, awful things in drug-laden dens and strip/sex clubs and mental hospitals as a distant result of the mental pummeling I took and the path it set me on and, now, with my sanity (relatively) intact, I have experience and insight coming out my ears.  I wouldn’t trade that in favor of blissful naivete/ignorance for anything. Those years of mental/physical torment were hard to wade through (I still have dreams about one of the tormentors to this day, actually. No idea why.) but, kind of like boot camp, it allowed me to break all the way down and choose to rebuild myself exactly as I wanted to be (or at least have the option to make adjustments where needed.)

Again, I’m not advocating bullying or harming others in any way at all. My only point here is that I cannot  deny that it is completely the fault of those morons (who are mostly - with a few exceptions - drunken, ignorant, ridiculously self-glorifying morons to this day. Thank you, Facebook!) that I am now a person I’m proud  and that I’ve chosen a life I’m really happy within. Don’t get me wrong; I know that I’m not perfect and I know that I have and will continue to make mistakes and I’m not totally awesome. I just know that I don’t suck and I had a choice in that. And, apparently, my 11-14-year-old self sensed that her/myself, too, which kinda makes me a little smug; and I do enjoy a good case of the Smug.

So, thank you, bullies! (Even though I know you don’t, you know, read, I just wanted to put the sentiment out there.) I’m so glad your hopes and great efforts to wreck my life backfired!

This may get a little train-of-thought-y as it’s late and, frankly, I’m working this all out in my psyche as you’re reading this, so, you know, it could get interesting.

Allow me to preface this by saying that I’ve always been one to overanalyze the shit out of any given situation, even the most banal. On top of that, I’ve always been That Person Who Needs an Answer from events/people/happenings before the situation is considered “defined” and I’m also That Person who will poke and prod until I get it (or, at least until I stop receiving answers altogether, which leads me to The Answer That There is No Answer.) Christ, I am exhausting.

But, thanks to years and years of therapy I’ve learned to close doors that I always tried to keep a teensy bit opened, with those natural realizations that most of the events of my past rarely had anything to do with me, personally, anyway and, even though I’ve been chronically plagued by my past to a degree that I’m sure is borderline insane (especially with those dreams about that sonofabitch…) I’ve been genuinely successful at that whole “letting go” and “finding peace” thing. Hooray!

However, in the last couple months, there’s been a strange undercurrent that has been dragging my Past back up to the surface and forcing me to look at it dead in the eyes from a post-therapy/healing perspective and, although it’s not something I was planning on it is, in fact, very present. Alright, so I cast the bait for one of the instances in which I discussed with a brief lover the exact nature of our affair, what had gone wrong, and the agreement that even though we had a great time, there weren’t any really hurt feelings and we were still happy to “see” each other when reacquainted online because we still think the other is pretty rad (score!) And then there was the recent phonecall in response to a blog entry I’d written almost two years ago about an unnamed character, who recognized himself in the text’s events and called to quell my residual feelings on something that had happened 10 years ago and what tiny bit of it exists today.

But then the tide came in and a literal dozen of faces and memories I’d never thought to bring up in therapy were suddenly there at my shores, greeting me and wanting to remold me or hold myself accountable for whatever this is that I’ve currently defined myself as due to all the stuff from waybackwhen that I’ve built upon… or who knows what. It’s just been a lot of “defining characters” allatonce and, needless to say, my mind has been on “Buhhhh…” for a while now in response.

A few of the faces are not only welcome, but have completely changed the way I view myself and how I’ve dealt with relationships in the past. Talking with a few friends I knew as a child, I am suddenly filled with regret for not having pulled those people closer and recognized them as the ones who actually gave a shit about me, instead of glossing over our bonds for the people I thought I was “supposed” to befriend and, incidentally, who only made me feel worse about who I was trying to become. It’s been a blessing to reunite with these people on “the other side” of the turmoil of adolescence/early-adulthood and, frankly, I hope I have the privilege of calling them “friends” for a long time to come.

As for the others, the trickiest part for me is knowing which ones to say “Fuck you! No, really; I’m fucking DONE, remember?!” to, versus which ones to say, “Hey, uh… Could I ask you something totally outdated and possibly trigger-worthy but inevitably obsessive and certifiably insane?” And what’s genuinely AMAZING about all of this is that there are many with whom I’ve felt nothing but a general, “Oh hey. Welcome back.” sentiment, despite my ever-present quest for ANSWERS, DAMMIT, ANSWERS!! VALIDATION!! WHY CAN’T YOU TELL ME WHO I AM SINCE YOU’VE ALWAYS KNOWN AND FOUND THAT REASON ENOUGH TO REVISIT!?!?!?

Maybe it’s finally starting to sink in that none the deep, social rumblings of all those yesterdays mattered as much to anyone else as it did to me. Or maybe I’m just starting to accept that I’ve made peace with it enough to look at it like a yellow-lined page in an old photo album without needing to peek closer for [and then get over-emotional about] social contexts that no longer exist. Or maybe I’m finally okay with myself to finally enjoy the party with others, as long as they aren’t morons or jerks, regardless of what part of my life they’re from.

Yeah. Probably that.

Either way, it all seems to be coming at me full-throttle and it’s making me wonder what in the hell is happening in the Energy realm right now that would be bringing all this to me right now. Frankly, it’s getting to be a lot more than coincidence.

I should go touch-up my mascara, if this is the case.

Hey everybody! I’m in the middle of the second week of “Good Days”!!! I haven’t had this kind of consistency since Jan-February-ish and, so, I think it’s safe to say that I’m on the other side of Bout o’ Crazy 2011. I’m freeee!!!

Here is a video that could not more perfectly describe how I feel right now.

Tommy- I’m Free

I’ve been cooking dinner and staying on top of laundry and taking the Bear out of the house and playing and painting and cleaning and sleeping all night and bathing and gardening and getting things done just like a normal person and I am so, so very happy and relieved. It seems so foreign that, just a couple weeks ago, I was unable to do any of those things. Hooray for going with my gut and ditching that quack! (I’m starting with a new doctor in a couple weeks.) Now I can spend time being in love with the life that I have again and making up for all those months of awfulness during which my wonderful husband kept us afloat on almost every level. (There will be cake and backrubs!)

YYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!

Oh, and thank you, too, reader. I know it gets exhausting to have to read my annual complaints, no matter how much I attempt to vary their themes for philosophical context, but it’s nice to know you’re out there, giving a shit and pulling for me. Seriously.

Today, the Bear accompanied me to a consultation with my OB/GYN, followed by brunch at Whole Foods (she had pancakes, bacon and a biscuit; I had sushi), and an hour trying out everything at the BeneFit counter at ULTA before dancing in the aisles while wearing hilariously oversized hair accessories.

During none of this was there any complaining, any need for a changed diaper, any miserable tantrums or outrageous demands. In fact, there was nothing but giggling and genuinely hilarious insights on her part and, when we got home, we were both ready for a nap.

It was perfect.

I feel like I’ve finally gotten to that part in parenting when she’s not just a cute blob who is completely dependent on me for everything and, thus, has become her own little person. She’s at an age where she hasn’t been influenced by the stupidity and meanness of other kids and she’s still young enough to think that I’m cool and wants to hang out with me all the time. (She also really likes Jimi Hendrix and the Black Keys, although she’s not that into 90’s grunge/alt. Ah well. Gotta start somewhere.) Although we definitely have tantrums when she’s just exhausted and her incessant curiosity has lead to an ongoing refrain of “Why?”s, she’s become far far more wonderful to hang out with on a daily basis than I ever thought a kid could be.

I know, that’s pretty domestic-housewife gross of me and, truthfully, I can’t even believe I’m admitting that out loud/in print, but her simplicity is therapeutic and her genuine curiosity for the mechanisms of society is refreshing and lends itself to pondering my own personal definitions of reality. And her joy - oh, it’s just infectious and addictive. It takes me out of whatever “problem”-that-isn’t-really-a-problem-but-is-just-a-stressor-of-adulthood-and-doesn’t-really-matter and demands that I return to the present, where there is dancing and hours of dress-up to be had. The gigantic hugs for no reason, the random comments about our day-to-day habits, the desire to be around me and cuddle as a means to cure whatever is ailing me… it’s impossible to feel alone anymore.

Which is a huge step from these last 3 years when, even though she’s been developing into her own person, I’ve still been exhausting myself with changing diapers and feeling alone during the day to the fickle demands of someone I barely relate to and like a faceless servant the rest of the time. Somewhere in there, there’s been a shift and now I have a friend who gets me out of bed and demands that I enjoy my life as it is immediately before me. She pushes me to researching where we can go ride horses and pick strawberries and she wants to help with any project I take on, from painting walls to “growing flowers” to folding laundry. She’s the sidekick I never anticipated and I want to freeze her at this age forever.

Tomorrow we’re going fishing and taking a canoe out on a lake close-by. And, no offense to the friends I have around here, but I’m looking forward to it being another day with just the two of us without any sort of adult/societal crap to get hung up on. It is, incidentally, more of Exactly What I Need.

For Allison, who listened to me cry and whine about being an insecure psychopath until 4:30 this morning and thought these were hilarious.

Sometimes when you’re having a low point, unoriginal people try to help by saying colloquial idioms or sayings. Here’s what to say when people say such dumb things, which will, in turn, allow you to giggle about how stupid the whole thing is and, thus, cure your terrible mood.

You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.
Ah, yes you can. After you eat it, you have it in your tummy, which is way better than just having it on a plate because, after a while, it just turns into a moldloaf and then you can’t eat it OR have it because it’ll make you sick. So you should eat the damned cake. Always.

It’s always darkest before the dawn
What kind of messed up science class did you go to? It’s darkest when the sun is on the other side of the planet.

Remember, rainbows only come after the rain.
Uh, not if you have a sprinkler system.

Only when it is darkest can you see the stars
Unless it’s overcast. Then it’d REALLY be at it’s darkest.

When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window
Why? He’s God; wouldn’t he have central air? And how do you know his personal climate preferences? And if he wanted natural air, wouldn’t he have just left the door open to begin with?

Actions speak louder than words
Unless the words are “I’m pregnant.”

You’d only eat an elephant one bite at a time.
False. I do not eat elephant.

Curiosity killed the cat.
It also gave us literally every invention and progressive revolution in the history of man. So fuck the cat.

You drink like a fish
Fish don’t drink. They breathe water. The latter is called “drowning” when people do it.

Every cloud has a silver lining
No. No they don’t. They just have thinned-out water particles.

Excuse my French
I don’t have a problem with the French, but “fuck” is English.

Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed
Oh, I’m not OCD, so I don’t designate correct sides from which to dismount a mattress.
OR
Well, some guy was sleeping on the other side, so…

She’s like the town bicycle; everybody gets a ride
Holy crap! We have a town bicycle?!

Great minds think alike
Actually, everyone we consider to be “great” was given that title for being unique.
(This one time? We were being pestered by an obnoxious sales girl who said that to Allison? And Allison goes, “And sometimes we do, too.” Heh.)

Idle hands are the Devil’s tools
So are well-organized hands of cult members.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.
That is correct. Thank you for such pertinent and valuable information. Tell me - how long did it take to build Rome?

Third time’s a charm!
Except for Thomas Edison. And that Hershey’s guy. And Heinz. And Lincoln…

A penny saved is a penny earned.
No. No it’s not. It’s just saved. That’s basic economics.

She really wears the pants in this family.
Wow. What a dyke. I mean, what kind of woman wears pants these days?

That’ll go over like a lead balloon.
Who the fuck would make a balloon out of lead?!

It’ll be like taking candy from a baby.
So, a total dick move, then?

More to come…