I saw the Great Gatsby today.
Some thoughts:
There was a crazy lady in the theater sitting behind me. Her running commentary throughout the movie was delightful. A few gems from her "not-remotely-involved-in-the-production point of view" were as follows:
"I'm goin' out for a cigarette."
(upon returning to the theater after her cigarette some 30 minutes later)
"Oh! Leonardo Dicaprio!"
(reading out-loud every word shown on-screen)
"The Great Gatsby. Oh!"
(during any intense background music)
"Oooh, something bad's gonna happen."
Here are my thoughts:
Blink, or "Banana Girl" from An Education once dated Jack, presumably after he drowned in the Arctic judging by his old face. Blink's cousin, Spiderman has a bromance with Jack and Jack likes to toss shirts around. Apparently, dude bought a house across the bay from his ex girlfriend whom he never got over. (Dumb move, weirdo.) He said he couldn't be with her because he wasn't born into a wealthy family. We don't know this for a while. We all think Jack's an heir to a fortune or something, but really he just sells alcohol. Oh no, he's not a cool home brewer or anything, he bootlegs whiskey or some crap.
Blink's husband (no idea who the actor is) is cheating with her on a girl who wears a lot of colors. This is how you know she's low-class. Blink accidentally hits her husband's mistress with a car, killing the mistress. Then the mistress's husband thinks it's Jack, shoots him so he falls in a pool and dies. Then he shoots himself, or maybe THE BUTLER DID IT!?!
Sometimes when there are scenes with driving cars, the movie looks like that weird "Speed Racer" movie with Christina Ricci. It's disturbing.
Also, sometimes there are African Americans singing and dancing. Yeah.
All that said, my new goal in life is to go to a party held at Gatsby's house. It looks totally kick-ass.
"Leo always be drownin'"
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
To: Empty Spaces
Here's something that's been rattling around in my head all day. It's about family, houses, graves, contracts, and daughters.
One and one left their homes
set out young to create their own.
One and one filled up what they could
of an empty space.
So I'll raise a glass, to these empty spaces.
Raise a glass, there's room in empty places.
Fill these spaces up with the memories of us...
Raise a glass, it's not enough.
Two by two, these empty spaces
seem to grow smaller with every day.
Two by two, in empty places
we try to hold out but we can't stop time.
So I'll raise a glass, to these empty spaces.
Raise a glass, there's room in empty places.
Fill these spaces up with memories of all of us
Raise a glass, but it's still not enough.
Watch all three grow up and leave: empty rooms will fuel the grief.
Watch all three change their names: create spaces of their own.
One and one left their homes
set out young to create their own.
One and one filled up what they could
of an empty space.
So I'll raise a glass, to these empty spaces.
Raise a glass, there's room in empty places.
Fill these spaces up with the memories of us...
Raise a glass, it's not enough.
Two by two, these empty spaces
seem to grow smaller with every day.
Two by two, in empty places
we try to hold out but we can't stop time.
So I'll raise a glass, to these empty spaces.
Raise a glass, there's room in empty places.
Fill these spaces up with memories of all of us
Raise a glass, but it's still not enough.
Watch all three grow up and leave: empty rooms will fuel the grief.
Watch all three change their names: create spaces of their own.
Side-by-side, two empty spaces
in the ground - space enough for two.
Side-by-side, two empty spaces
on the contract - room enough for two.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Hey man, nice luggage
Emotional baggage.
I gots it.
My childhood home is going to sell. It doesn't matter who buys it, but it matters who buys it.
I need the new owners to understand. This house is "home base." I sit here, typing this in the master bedroom: the room in which I was most-likely conceived, the room in which my father died peacefully after a long illness.
How can you let new owners know what a house means to your family? There is so much history here. It's us. It's my family. But I shouldn't let this house define us. It really doesn't. We are so much more.
I can't think about this anymore. It's too much. I thought writing it out would help, but I don't think I'm properly expressing my thoughts.
Words escape me. Why am I so bothered?
I gots it.
My childhood home is going to sell. It doesn't matter who buys it, but it matters who buys it.
I need the new owners to understand. This house is "home base." I sit here, typing this in the master bedroom: the room in which I was most-likely conceived, the room in which my father died peacefully after a long illness.
How can you let new owners know what a house means to your family? There is so much history here. It's us. It's my family. But I shouldn't let this house define us. It really doesn't. We are so much more.
I can't think about this anymore. It's too much. I thought writing it out would help, but I don't think I'm properly expressing my thoughts.
Words escape me. Why am I so bothered?
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Privacy and the invasion thereof
Hey Readers,
Remember what it's like to have your own space?
Yeah?
And there's no one there - it's all yours.
Yeah?
And when you come home from work, you aren't bombarded with soundssoundsconstantsounds?
Uhm, yeah?
And no one went into your room while you were at work at made your bed and moved things around in your room?
Yeah. Wait, what?
Remember privacy.
Remember quiet.
Remember freedom.
Remember not talking for hours on end.
Remember the only sound being your guitar.
Remember leaving doors open.
Remember the sense of accomplishment when another room was cleared.
Remember satisfaction of emptying the garage of so much garbage.
Remember the pride you started to feel.
Remember it.
Remember it.
Remember it.
Remember.
Remember what it's like to have your own space?
Yeah?
And there's no one there - it's all yours.
Yeah?
And when you come home from work, you aren't bombarded with soundssoundsconstantsounds?
Uhm, yeah?
And no one went into your room while you were at work at made your bed and moved things around in your room?
Yeah. Wait, what?
Remember privacy.
Remember quiet.
Remember freedom.
Remember not talking for hours on end.
Remember the only sound being your guitar.
Remember leaving doors open.
Remember the sense of accomplishment when another room was cleared.
Remember satisfaction of emptying the garage of so much garbage.
Remember the pride you started to feel.
Remember it.
Remember it.
Remember it.
Remember.
Monday, April 1, 2013
"Is this mine?" "What is that?"
She's going to be here for a week.
It's only been a few hours and I have already felt my stomach turn into a complete, untying knot from her residual stress. "What's that?" "We need to hide this." "Is this mine?"
She is stressing out about a realtor coming tomorrow. It's just constant. The pacing back and forth in the hallway, the chattering to herself, the sighing. Oh my god, the sighing.
There seems to be nothing I can do to make her stop stressing out. Or complaining about the temperature. Or that her stomach hurts. Or that - god it doesn't matter.
I decided a while back that being someone prone to anxiety, a good thing to know are my triggers.
1. Grocery stores during the holidays
2. Dealing with my ex-boyfriend
3. Loud, constant noises
4. People who are equally prone to anxiety in a phobic manner
My avoidance tactics work well. It's 100% effective. Also in avoiding these few situations I become less and less prone to anxiety overall. So when I have to go to the grocery store and it's cold out, and there are too many people, and that damn Christmas music is playing I am much better at coping with it.
Here's the problem - my mother is the MOST ANXIOUS person on earth. It's unreal. I've never seen anyone act the way she does. It makes me kind of sick honestly. I do not want to be her when I grow up, in this respect, which is why I try to be careful about anxiety-inducing situations. But her anxiety and constant questions to me make me anxious. (Clearly this is a behavior I learned from her.) I try to combat it by speaking in a quiet, soothing voice but it doesn't seem to work. I try distracting her with something like talking about her grandson, but she'll quickly find something to obsessively worry about concerning him.
I'm screwed.
And she'll be here ALL WEEK. Possibly longer. I am completely imprisoned in this god damned fucking piece of shit hell hole. All of my hair is going to turn gray and fall out.
It's only been a few hours and I have already felt my stomach turn into a complete, untying knot from her residual stress. "What's that?" "We need to hide this." "Is this mine?"
She is stressing out about a realtor coming tomorrow. It's just constant. The pacing back and forth in the hallway, the chattering to herself, the sighing. Oh my god, the sighing.
There seems to be nothing I can do to make her stop stressing out. Or complaining about the temperature. Or that her stomach hurts. Or that - god it doesn't matter.
I decided a while back that being someone prone to anxiety, a good thing to know are my triggers.
1. Grocery stores during the holidays
2. Dealing with my ex-boyfriend
3. Loud, constant noises
4. People who are equally prone to anxiety in a phobic manner
My avoidance tactics work well. It's 100% effective. Also in avoiding these few situations I become less and less prone to anxiety overall. So when I have to go to the grocery store and it's cold out, and there are too many people, and that damn Christmas music is playing I am much better at coping with it.
Here's the problem - my mother is the MOST ANXIOUS person on earth. It's unreal. I've never seen anyone act the way she does. It makes me kind of sick honestly. I do not want to be her when I grow up, in this respect, which is why I try to be careful about anxiety-inducing situations. But her anxiety and constant questions to me make me anxious. (Clearly this is a behavior I learned from her.) I try to combat it by speaking in a quiet, soothing voice but it doesn't seem to work. I try distracting her with something like talking about her grandson, but she'll quickly find something to obsessively worry about concerning him.
I'm screwed.
And she'll be here ALL WEEK. Possibly longer. I am completely imprisoned in this god damned fucking piece of shit hell hole. All of my hair is going to turn gray and fall out.
Friday, March 15, 2013
You're A Heartbreaker
The only thing worse than going through all the awful emotions of a break-up (reference: stages of grief) it's watching a friend go through it. I think I finally see what others have had to deal with in me for forever.
My good friend is experiencing a break-up with her first relationship since her divorce. The guy is really nice. I like him. But it just isn't working out. I know she has to come to the inevitable conclusions on her own so I'm stepping back from speaking opinions. This is new for me.
So the Kubler-Ross model tells us there are 5 stages of grieving. They can be done in any order.
Denial
Bargaining
Anger
Depression
Acceptance
"No, this isn't happening.
We'll get back together-it'll be like before.
I can be better-give me a chance.
Fuck you - I hate you - you are the problem!
I don't want to go out or talk to anyone ever.
Hey wait, I don't have to deal with his shit anymore. This IS better."
And then you drink a beer and sing some karaoke. At least, that's how it works for me.
I feel so bad for her right now. I know I just have to encourage her to look ahead.
As I like to say, "Hey, at least I didn't marry THIS one, eh?"
But I know how important that relationship is - the one right after the end of a long-term relationship. It proves that you can move on. It proves that you are capable of loving and of being loved. After a divorce, those things seem nearly impossible.
Also, this is a lot of heartbreak for her to have to deal with in a short amount of time. It's not like she started dating this guy immediately after the ring came off or anything. She definitely waited an appropriate amount of "mourning" time. But more than 1 heartbreak every 3 years can wear you down.
My good friend is experiencing a break-up with her first relationship since her divorce. The guy is really nice. I like him. But it just isn't working out. I know she has to come to the inevitable conclusions on her own so I'm stepping back from speaking opinions. This is new for me.
So the Kubler-Ross model tells us there are 5 stages of grieving. They can be done in any order.
Denial
Bargaining
Anger
Depression
Acceptance
"No, this isn't happening.
We'll get back together-it'll be like before.
I can be better-give me a chance.
Fuck you - I hate you - you are the problem!
I don't want to go out or talk to anyone ever.
Hey wait, I don't have to deal with his shit anymore. This IS better."
And then you drink a beer and sing some karaoke. At least, that's how it works for me.
I feel so bad for her right now. I know I just have to encourage her to look ahead.
As I like to say, "Hey, at least I didn't marry THIS one, eh?"
But I know how important that relationship is - the one right after the end of a long-term relationship. It proves that you can move on. It proves that you are capable of loving and of being loved. After a divorce, those things seem nearly impossible.
Also, this is a lot of heartbreak for her to have to deal with in a short amount of time. It's not like she started dating this guy immediately after the ring came off or anything. She definitely waited an appropriate amount of "mourning" time. But more than 1 heartbreak every 3 years can wear you down.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Wristy
I hurt my wrist last weekend and it still bugs me. It's making it very hard to play the guitar.
That's all.
Oh, and a 23 year old hit on me and wants to hang out. I told him we can be great friends. Poor kid. He's very sweet. I would definitely hang out with him. Ha!
That's all.
Oh, and a 23 year old hit on me and wants to hang out. I told him we can be great friends. Poor kid. He's very sweet. I would definitely hang out with him. Ha!
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Health
This Thursday, Valentine's Day, I am having a "cone biopsy" of my cervix and a biopsy of my endometrial lining.
Sure, I'm amused by the irony. Anyone who knows me well would know that about me. There will always be something amusing about ANY situation.
However, I'm scared. It's surgery. That's scary. I'm going to be knocked out. Then there will be pain. I don't even know if I'll be able to go to work the following day. We shall see.
The long-term effects of this surgery are what scare me most, though. There is a possibility of pregnancy complications down the line. Carrying a baby to full term might be tricky. So there's that to consider. I've been saying for years that I don't really want to give birth ever, but I'd like to be healthy and have that option. But adopting is nice too. I've thought it out quite a bit.
I can't think about this any more tonight. It's making me nervous-sick.
The stress of this past year has officially taken a toll on my health.
Sure, I'm amused by the irony. Anyone who knows me well would know that about me. There will always be something amusing about ANY situation.
However, I'm scared. It's surgery. That's scary. I'm going to be knocked out. Then there will be pain. I don't even know if I'll be able to go to work the following day. We shall see.
The long-term effects of this surgery are what scare me most, though. There is a possibility of pregnancy complications down the line. Carrying a baby to full term might be tricky. So there's that to consider. I've been saying for years that I don't really want to give birth ever, but I'd like to be healthy and have that option. But adopting is nice too. I've thought it out quite a bit.
I can't think about this any more tonight. It's making me nervous-sick.
The stress of this past year has officially taken a toll on my health.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
2013 - A List of Things To Do
Now that's it's the last day of the first month, I think it's safe to say I've had a preview of what 2013 has in store for me: medical drama, heartbreak, heartwarming, flattery, expensive outings, and family stuff.
In order to make sense of all of the things going on I've decided to make a list of things I will do this year. Most of them are already planned, but I feel better writing them out so I have a way of being made accountable for it.
Things To Do 2013 Edition
1. Run a 5K
2. Get a phone number from a cute guy (I can check this off the list already!)
3. Go on a date with a cute guy
4. Have a professional color my hair so it's done right for once
5. Lose at least 10 pounds
6. Always, always, always, ALWAYS be there for my nephew, sisters, and Mom
7. Go to California
8. Don't be a loner - hang out with friends more - make real plans
9. Be the best friend anyone has ever known
10. Listen
11. Perform at one (at least) open mic night
12. Be open to new friendships with anyone
13. Don't be crabby
14. Make time to write/get something published even if it's just online
15. Tell a story at a story slam
16. Be sincere
17. Find some patience with my Mom's dementia
18. Hang out with my pet birds
That's all I have for now. I think it's a good list. I tried to get to 20, but I ran out of steam.
Oh! I got it.
19. Finish projects that you start
20. Do something crazy (but not really dangerous)
In order to make sense of all of the things going on I've decided to make a list of things I will do this year. Most of them are already planned, but I feel better writing them out so I have a way of being made accountable for it.
Things To Do 2013 Edition
1. Run a 5K
2. Get a phone number from a cute guy (I can check this off the list already!)
3. Go on a date with a cute guy
4. Have a professional color my hair so it's done right for once
5. Lose at least 10 pounds
6. Always, always, always, ALWAYS be there for my nephew, sisters, and Mom
7. Go to California
8. Don't be a loner - hang out with friends more - make real plans
9. Be the best friend anyone has ever known
10. Listen
11. Perform at one (at least) open mic night
12. Be open to new friendships with anyone
13. Don't be crabby
14. Make time to write/get something published even if it's just online
15. Tell a story at a story slam
16. Be sincere
17. Find some patience with my Mom's dementia
18. Hang out with my pet birds
That's all I have for now. I think it's a good list. I tried to get to 20, but I ran out of steam.
Oh! I got it.
19. Finish projects that you start
20. Do something crazy (but not really dangerous)
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Mexican/Polish Perogie Casserole
1 package of frozen potato and cheddar perogies
1 can of black beans
1 bag of frozen corn (I don't remember the size. If it looks like too much, don't add it all. But, yum! Corn!)
1 can of Enchilada sauce
1 bag of shredded cheese - cheddar or Mexican Taco mix is recommended
Throw everything (except the cheese) from across the room into a 9 X 100 dish or maybe a lasagna dish thing. (Step back, Garfield! This isn't for you!)
Whatever makes it into the dish, will be the casserole.
Or you can obsessively place each perogie in a row, facing the same direction then spoon out the black beans and corn between each carefully laid perogie and cover the contents of the dish with the enchilada sauce after straining it so as not to encounter any undesirable chunks of tomato upon eating the casserole.
Put the dish into an oven which has been preheated for 350 degrees for at least two days beforehand.
Keep the dish in the heated oven for about 35 minutes. Do not obsessively open the door to check on it and for the love of god, stop jumping around! Mommy is baking!
After 35 minutes everything should be edible - but wait! Now is the time when you add the cheese! Stand on your couch and point your t-shirt gun (loaded with the contents of the shredded cheese package) toward the open oven door. Fire away. Keep the casserole in the oven for about 10 more minutes or until the cheese is pretty much melted.
For an extra fun kick add some sliced scallions to the top. Next level yum.
Serve to friends and family, but no neighbors.
Use caution when serving to children.
Do not give to dogs. Mexican/Polish casserole may cause dizziness, partial blindness, shortness of breath, extended abdomen, sweating of the palms, eye lash loss, desire to drive fast, intense apocalypse dreams, creative outbursts of parody songs, knee-buckling, attraction to men with beards, and fear of squirrels.
1 can of black beans
1 bag of frozen corn (I don't remember the size. If it looks like too much, don't add it all. But, yum! Corn!)
1 can of Enchilada sauce
1 bag of shredded cheese - cheddar or Mexican Taco mix is recommended
Throw everything (except the cheese) from across the room into a 9 X 100 dish or maybe a lasagna dish thing. (Step back, Garfield! This isn't for you!)
Whatever makes it into the dish, will be the casserole.
Or you can obsessively place each perogie in a row, facing the same direction then spoon out the black beans and corn between each carefully laid perogie and cover the contents of the dish with the enchilada sauce after straining it so as not to encounter any undesirable chunks of tomato upon eating the casserole.
Put the dish into an oven which has been preheated for 350 degrees for at least two days beforehand.
Keep the dish in the heated oven for about 35 minutes. Do not obsessively open the door to check on it and for the love of god, stop jumping around! Mommy is baking!
After 35 minutes everything should be edible - but wait! Now is the time when you add the cheese! Stand on your couch and point your t-shirt gun (loaded with the contents of the shredded cheese package) toward the open oven door. Fire away. Keep the casserole in the oven for about 10 more minutes or until the cheese is pretty much melted.
For an extra fun kick add some sliced scallions to the top. Next level yum.
Serve to friends and family, but no neighbors.
Use caution when serving to children.
Do not give to dogs. Mexican/Polish casserole may cause dizziness, partial blindness, shortness of breath, extended abdomen, sweating of the palms, eye lash loss, desire to drive fast, intense apocalypse dreams, creative outbursts of parody songs, knee-buckling, attraction to men with beards, and fear of squirrels.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
con.grat.ulations.
Oh my.
what
I just. Oh wow.
Gosh.
Oh my gosh.
(staggered breathing)
whatdoes
did he?
haaaawly crap.
and she
they look
oh wow
wow
good for them
(feels dead to say out loud)
good. for. them.
I. hope.
I hope he's better to her than he was to me.
I honestly wish them the best because one failed marriage is enough for a lifetime. It's enough heartbreak for a lifetime. I almost don't ever want to do it again because of that pain. But I hope he got it right this time and learned from his mistakes. Or maybe he found the right girl this time. Either way, she looks like a happy person and I pray she stays that way. I hope they are always happy together.
Congratulations, ex-husband.
what
I just. Oh wow.
Gosh.
Oh my gosh.
(staggered breathing)
whatdoes
did he?
haaaawly crap.
and she
they look
oh wow
wow
good for them
(feels dead to say out loud)
good. for. them.
I. hope.
I hope he's better to her than he was to me.
I honestly wish them the best because one failed marriage is enough for a lifetime. It's enough heartbreak for a lifetime. I almost don't ever want to do it again because of that pain. But I hope he got it right this time and learned from his mistakes. Or maybe he found the right girl this time. Either way, she looks like a happy person and I pray she stays that way. I hope they are always happy together.
Congratulations, ex-husband.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
When did it start?
I keep wondering when Mom's mental decline really started?
A little over a year ago she called me at work, frazzled telling me she locked her house keys in the house. "No big deal," I said. "You have your car keys?"
"Yes, but I'm at the neighbor's calling you. I HAVE TO GET OFF THE PHONE."
"Yes, but Mom, you can drive over here to where I work and pick up my house keys. It will be fine." (I work very close to Mom's house.)
"How am I going to drive over to your work? I don'thavemykeysIhavetogoI'mattheneighbor's!"
"Mom, hold on. You just said you have your car keys."
"Oh. Yes. Ok. Bye."
When she got to my work I met her at the door, handed her my keys, and off she went.
I told my sisters about this and we all blew it off as a nervous reaction to an embarrassing moment. We've all locked our keys in the house. We've all been forgetful in a nervous moment, but this seemed like a bit more.
I stopped over at her house a few days later with a fake sprinkler head hide-a-key thing I've seen in a few geocaching hides. I told her to keep an extra set of house keys in the hide-a-key and maybe ask a neighbor if we could put it in their yard so as not to be too obvious to a potential thief.
Yesterday I found the hide-a-key in the back of the pantry, still in its packaging. She was too nervous to put it outside - convinced someone would figure out they were her keys. Oy.
Is this how it started? Was this an early sign of things to come?
I need to really up my yoga. I believe Mom's mental state has been worsened over the years by the stress she places on herself. One way I can keep this from happening to me is by doing yoga and remembering that there is barely anything in this world worth worrying over. This is easier said than done.
Things haven't always been easy for Mom. I get that. Her husband died when she was in her mid-50s. Her youngest daughter had just started college. She was suddenly grieving and on her own. She did alright with it for a while. As far as I know, she never dated, but she's always had friends until recently. Her closest friend, Betty, died about 3 years ago. I think this was a devastating loss for her even though she mostly complained about how nutty Betty was. (And she really was a spit-fire!)
So she's been alone for the most part for years. Her only social interaction was work. Ugh. That's the worst, right? I mean, my co-workers are pretty great, but I'm glad I have friends outside of work that I can relate to on a true personal level.
So here I am, alone in Mom's house. It's creaky and strangely quiet without her here. My parakeets have been pretty quiet lately. She would always sing to them and top off their food dish if it looked low. She always said they were too loud, too dirty, too whatever, but I think she really liked them.
A little over a year ago she called me at work, frazzled telling me she locked her house keys in the house. "No big deal," I said. "You have your car keys?"
"Yes, but I'm at the neighbor's calling you. I HAVE TO GET OFF THE PHONE."
"Yes, but Mom, you can drive over here to where I work and pick up my house keys. It will be fine." (I work very close to Mom's house.)
"How am I going to drive over to your work? I don'thavemykeysIhavetogoI'mattheneighbor's!"
"Mom, hold on. You just said you have your car keys."
"Oh. Yes. Ok. Bye."
When she got to my work I met her at the door, handed her my keys, and off she went.
I told my sisters about this and we all blew it off as a nervous reaction to an embarrassing moment. We've all locked our keys in the house. We've all been forgetful in a nervous moment, but this seemed like a bit more.
I stopped over at her house a few days later with a fake sprinkler head hide-a-key thing I've seen in a few geocaching hides. I told her to keep an extra set of house keys in the hide-a-key and maybe ask a neighbor if we could put it in their yard so as not to be too obvious to a potential thief.
Yesterday I found the hide-a-key in the back of the pantry, still in its packaging. She was too nervous to put it outside - convinced someone would figure out they were her keys. Oy.
Is this how it started? Was this an early sign of things to come?
I need to really up my yoga. I believe Mom's mental state has been worsened over the years by the stress she places on herself. One way I can keep this from happening to me is by doing yoga and remembering that there is barely anything in this world worth worrying over. This is easier said than done.
Things haven't always been easy for Mom. I get that. Her husband died when she was in her mid-50s. Her youngest daughter had just started college. She was suddenly grieving and on her own. She did alright with it for a while. As far as I know, she never dated, but she's always had friends until recently. Her closest friend, Betty, died about 3 years ago. I think this was a devastating loss for her even though she mostly complained about how nutty Betty was. (And she really was a spit-fire!)
So she's been alone for the most part for years. Her only social interaction was work. Ugh. That's the worst, right? I mean, my co-workers are pretty great, but I'm glad I have friends outside of work that I can relate to on a true personal level.
So here I am, alone in Mom's house. It's creaky and strangely quiet without her here. My parakeets have been pretty quiet lately. She would always sing to them and top off their food dish if it looked low. She always said they were too loud, too dirty, too whatever, but I think she really liked them.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Slow decline
The scariest thought hit me today: we've already experienced the highest point of Mom's mental state. From now until the end, it will only get worse.
It will only get worse.
Thank god I'm not an only child. I know I would be a different person if I had been, so it doesn't matter for the other "many worlds" theory's universes out there in which I am an only child or even more complex - I don't exist or (gasp!) I'm male. (Ha ha.) Anyway, what I'm trying to write is that I'm incredibly lucky and thankful for this luck.
My oldest sister got to experience the "broken record" thing Mom does lately for one night. She told me all about it the following morning after sleeping over at Mom's new home. I said, "yeah, I know. Welcome to the hell I've been living in. 24/7. It's been fun."
Despite the terrible sentence structure of my reply to her I think she really understood why I've been so stressed out. (Because dealing with an ex boyfriend who refuses to sell a house we own together [we broke up about a year ago] isn't enough to deal with on a daily basis. No, please. Here, have a side of "Dementia Mom.") I know, I know. "Wha, wha, whaaa..."
Today was Mom's third day in her new place. When I came over, she seemed a little frazzled, but everything is so new. It is hard for her to make new memories so little things like, "keep your keys in this basket by the door" is impossible to remember. We have to repeat these instructions to her over and over again. It's very frustrating, but I can't imagine how frustrating it is for her.
What strikes me is how vocal she is about things she's unsure of. When I moved in to my childhood home with her she would see one of my boxes in the dining room and ask, "what's that?" at least once a day. I couldn't understand what was going on. Even after I labelled it "Penny's Stuff" it took about a month for it to really sink in.
"What's that" has been her most frequently used statement. Any time she sees something that seems new to her, she says it. I think that I would keep that question to myself or investigate by, say, opening the box and looking inside it if I wasn't sure of what it was instead of just pointing and voicing my confusion. But I honestly have no idea how I would be if my brain was changing in the ways that Alzheimer's changes it. This must be part of the disease.
Dammit. I'm mad I have to add this stupid fucking disease to my family's medical history now when I go to a doctor. Goddammit all to hell. Fuck Cancer. Fuck Alzheimer's. Fuck Heart Disease.
Fuck Gingivitis while we're at it.
(Side note - I had no idea how to spell "dammit" until I ran spellcheck just now. I've been writing "damnit" my whole life, which is apparently wrong.)
It will only get worse.
Thank god I'm not an only child. I know I would be a different person if I had been, so it doesn't matter for the other "many worlds" theory's universes out there in which I am an only child or even more complex - I don't exist or (gasp!) I'm male. (Ha ha.) Anyway, what I'm trying to write is that I'm incredibly lucky and thankful for this luck.
My oldest sister got to experience the "broken record" thing Mom does lately for one night. She told me all about it the following morning after sleeping over at Mom's new home. I said, "yeah, I know. Welcome to the hell I've been living in. 24/7. It's been fun."
Despite the terrible sentence structure of my reply to her I think she really understood why I've been so stressed out. (Because dealing with an ex boyfriend who refuses to sell a house we own together [we broke up about a year ago] isn't enough to deal with on a daily basis. No, please. Here, have a side of "Dementia Mom.") I know, I know. "Wha, wha, whaaa..."
Today was Mom's third day in her new place. When I came over, she seemed a little frazzled, but everything is so new. It is hard for her to make new memories so little things like, "keep your keys in this basket by the door" is impossible to remember. We have to repeat these instructions to her over and over again. It's very frustrating, but I can't imagine how frustrating it is for her.
What strikes me is how vocal she is about things she's unsure of. When I moved in to my childhood home with her she would see one of my boxes in the dining room and ask, "what's that?" at least once a day. I couldn't understand what was going on. Even after I labelled it "Penny's Stuff" it took about a month for it to really sink in.
"What's that" has been her most frequently used statement. Any time she sees something that seems new to her, she says it. I think that I would keep that question to myself or investigate by, say, opening the box and looking inside it if I wasn't sure of what it was instead of just pointing and voicing my confusion. But I honestly have no idea how I would be if my brain was changing in the ways that Alzheimer's changes it. This must be part of the disease.
Dammit. I'm mad I have to add this stupid fucking disease to my family's medical history now when I go to a doctor. Goddammit all to hell. Fuck Cancer. Fuck Alzheimer's. Fuck Heart Disease.
Fuck Gingivitis while we're at it.
(Side note - I had no idea how to spell "dammit" until I ran spellcheck just now. I've been writing "damnit" my whole life, which is apparently wrong.)
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
All the feels
It's easy to get angry and let yourself get carried away with it.
I'm still just learning about Alzheimer's. So far, I hate it. I don't know how long it goes on for, I mean I know it's now til the end, but how long will that be?
And here I am again watching another parent die slowly over the next few years. It's torture. There is nothing I can do for her - I have to just watch it happen. Of course, I will try my best to make her feel safe and loved, but that's all I can do. And doing that is so very difficult. She doesn't seem to believe a word I say. How frustrating. It's like being a child again in that respect.
How is any of this fair?
Hasn't there been enough crap lately?
We're trying to make this move as easy as possible for her. I get frustrated easily and am having trouble when her thinking isn't straight. "Why isn't she more organized? Why does she keep running from room to room? Why doesn't she just pack up like we keep telling her she needs to do?"
I know this disease makes it impossible for her to concentrate. I know this, but it's still very confusing for me. It hasn't exactly sunk in yet, I think.
I am my fathers daughter, without a doubt. My patience is short, I'm becoming quick to anger. There is just so much pain.
The other day a driver changed lanes without using his blinker and I followed him into a parking lot and yelled at him out of my car window for it. "YOU DIDN'T USE YOUR BLINKER, JERK! YOU COULD KILL SOMEBODY!" I shouted. He shouted back, "I DID USE MY BLINKER. OPEN YOUR EYES!"
I drove away and pulled into a parking spot far way, out of view and bawled my eyes out. It was the day before my birthday.
I thought about the interaction and how I was taking out my anger and frustrations on some poor guy who didn't realize his tail light wasn't working. This isn't how I usually function. So I pulled myself together and drove back over to where he'd parked so I could apologize. I felt so terrible. His car was gone so I never got a chance to say, "I'm sorry." So then I felt even worse imagining how being yelled at by a stranger is negatively affecting the rest of his day.
I'm still just learning about Alzheimer's. So far, I hate it. I don't know how long it goes on for, I mean I know it's now til the end, but how long will that be?
And here I am again watching another parent die slowly over the next few years. It's torture. There is nothing I can do for her - I have to just watch it happen. Of course, I will try my best to make her feel safe and loved, but that's all I can do. And doing that is so very difficult. She doesn't seem to believe a word I say. How frustrating. It's like being a child again in that respect.
How is any of this fair?
Hasn't there been enough crap lately?
We're trying to make this move as easy as possible for her. I get frustrated easily and am having trouble when her thinking isn't straight. "Why isn't she more organized? Why does she keep running from room to room? Why doesn't she just pack up like we keep telling her she needs to do?"
I know this disease makes it impossible for her to concentrate. I know this, but it's still very confusing for me. It hasn't exactly sunk in yet, I think.
I am my fathers daughter, without a doubt. My patience is short, I'm becoming quick to anger. There is just so much pain.
The other day a driver changed lanes without using his blinker and I followed him into a parking lot and yelled at him out of my car window for it. "YOU DIDN'T USE YOUR BLINKER, JERK! YOU COULD KILL SOMEBODY!" I shouted. He shouted back, "I DID USE MY BLINKER. OPEN YOUR EYES!"
I drove away and pulled into a parking spot far way, out of view and bawled my eyes out. It was the day before my birthday.
I thought about the interaction and how I was taking out my anger and frustrations on some poor guy who didn't realize his tail light wasn't working. This isn't how I usually function. So I pulled myself together and drove back over to where he'd parked so I could apologize. I felt so terrible. His car was gone so I never got a chance to say, "I'm sorry." So then I felt even worse imagining how being yelled at by a stranger is negatively affecting the rest of his day.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Living with dementia
I won't give it a capital D. I hate it.
Yesterday my mother wasn't sure who I was. She kept calling me one of my sisters' names and I would correct her. Then she got upset. This is a new thing.
She talked to the mistaken sister about it. She said she was confused because, "Penny's a kid, but there was this adult who looked like her. I thought maybe it was you."
This sucks so much.
I don't care if she gets my name wrong. It hurts to see her struggle so much with this stuff. "Who are these people?" "Where did I put that thing?"
In about a month she'll be living in a new place where they can monitor her better. I know it will be very hard for her at first but I think if she relaxes and keeps the anxiety at bay she'll have the opportunity to blossom and be healthy. But for now I see how the anxiety and stress turn her into someone who doesn't know what's going on.
Did I mention I hate this?
Yesterday my mother wasn't sure who I was. She kept calling me one of my sisters' names and I would correct her. Then she got upset. This is a new thing.
She talked to the mistaken sister about it. She said she was confused because, "Penny's a kid, but there was this adult who looked like her. I thought maybe it was you."
This sucks so much.
I don't care if she gets my name wrong. It hurts to see her struggle so much with this stuff. "Who are these people?" "Where did I put that thing?"
In about a month she'll be living in a new place where they can monitor her better. I know it will be very hard for her at first but I think if she relaxes and keeps the anxiety at bay she'll have the opportunity to blossom and be healthy. But for now I see how the anxiety and stress turn her into someone who doesn't know what's going on.
Did I mention I hate this?
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Hello, Six Unique Readers
Welcome to the blog. I think this might be too introspective to be of interest to anyone but me. However, if you like to read my crazy ramblings, then by all means, enjoy.
Today I was thinking about karaoke. For serious. I love performing for a crowd and getting a positive reaction. Sure, I've gotten up on that stage and had only mildly null reactions, but never really 100% negative reactions. It seems like if people aren't into it, they'll just clap quietly or not at all.
I took a public speaking class once in college and the instructor (a man who smoked a pipe and wore elbow patches - ya, no kidding) told us that if you make eye contact with a person in the crowd, they will most likely smile back at you, helping to boost your confidence if you are having a fearful moment. When you're a face in a crowd and the speaker or singer makes eye contact with you, suddenly you are somebody. The audience wants you to succeed: they want to be entertained.
Nobody wants to see you fail. Nobody really wants to see anybody else fail...
unless you're skateboarding. Then it's only interesting if you fall.
Today I was thinking about karaoke. For serious. I love performing for a crowd and getting a positive reaction. Sure, I've gotten up on that stage and had only mildly null reactions, but never really 100% negative reactions. It seems like if people aren't into it, they'll just clap quietly or not at all.
I took a public speaking class once in college and the instructor (a man who smoked a pipe and wore elbow patches - ya, no kidding) told us that if you make eye contact with a person in the crowd, they will most likely smile back at you, helping to boost your confidence if you are having a fearful moment. When you're a face in a crowd and the speaker or singer makes eye contact with you, suddenly you are somebody. The audience wants you to succeed: they want to be entertained.
Nobody wants to see you fail. Nobody really wants to see anybody else fail...
unless you're skateboarding. Then it's only interesting if you fall.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Introspection
Nobody reads this, so nobody will care if I get introspective for a post or two... or all of them and that's why nobody reads these things.
"Just be yourself."
Or was it...
"Just be your self."
How the hell do I do that? I'm not really sure who I am. Or maybe I have an idea of who I am and I like some parts, but not other parts.
Shouldn't I have figured this crap out by now? I'm 33.
Maybe I'm in a "limbo" state because of my housing situation that is keeping me from feeling independent. God, I miss having my own place. Those were the days. I could have a beer and no one would say absurd things... I could go out and not have to tell anyone where I was going or feel guilty about going anywhere. I was free to be me. And here, stuck in this basement, I am free to be.. who? Teen aged me? Ugh. This is why it sucks. I feel like a teenager again, but in a really bad way.
Am I selfish? Am I tired of people judging me and telling me what to do? YES TO BOTH.
We all have to be a little bit selfish or else we lose our sense of self, right?
God, I miss my old apartment. And all of that sweet, delicious freedom. When will I have it again?
"Just be yourself."
Or was it...
"Just be your self."
How the hell do I do that? I'm not really sure who I am. Or maybe I have an idea of who I am and I like some parts, but not other parts.
Shouldn't I have figured this crap out by now? I'm 33.
Maybe I'm in a "limbo" state because of my housing situation that is keeping me from feeling independent. God, I miss having my own place. Those were the days. I could have a beer and no one would say absurd things... I could go out and not have to tell anyone where I was going or feel guilty about going anywhere. I was free to be me. And here, stuck in this basement, I am free to be.. who? Teen aged me? Ugh. This is why it sucks. I feel like a teenager again, but in a really bad way.
Am I selfish? Am I tired of people judging me and telling me what to do? YES TO BOTH.
We all have to be a little bit selfish or else we lose our sense of self, right?
God, I miss my old apartment. And all of that sweet, delicious freedom. When will I have it again?
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Keep the change, ya filthy animal
Last night I had one of those aggravating/stress dreams that isn't quite a nightmare, but you wake up and your heart is pounding.
In the dream, some weird dirtbag guy stole $20 from my mom at a train station. I found him later, kicked him in the face (he was sitting on a low chair-how convenient for my kicking height) told him to, "keep the 20, douchebag," then led a group of strangers in a slow-chant of "DOUCHEBAG, DOUCHEBAG" while pointing a laughing at the dirtbag thief.
It felt nice an redemptive - as if I were a superhero whose special power is taunting dirtbags with bad words.
I want that power.
In the dream, some weird dirtbag guy stole $20 from my mom at a train station. I found him later, kicked him in the face (he was sitting on a low chair-how convenient for my kicking height) told him to, "keep the 20, douchebag," then led a group of strangers in a slow-chant of "DOUCHEBAG, DOUCHEBAG" while pointing a laughing at the dirtbag thief.
It felt nice an redemptive - as if I were a superhero whose special power is taunting dirtbags with bad words.
I want that power.
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