He totally said "there will be snacks"

Well... farts. I don't write, don't call, don't blog, don't even talk that much these days. But I want to. Living all cooped up inside my head is cool and all, but lonely. And repetitive.

I've been baking (heh) more lately in hopes that I will eventually create something awesome that I can recreate for some holiday gathering, but my lack of kitchen confidence is sort of holding me back. I look at recipes all the time but then get all lazy and indignant - too many ingredients I don't have around, too many steps, eggs and egg substitute, WTF?! I've been all about baking cookies in previous years, then got into making quick bread type things. (While I feel pretty bleh about bananas, I cannot have banana bread around without snarfing it up. And it's around a lot. SNARF x 12.) So we'll see where this goes. I'm thinking maybe pie.

Sort of speaking of holiday gatherings (I know, I don't want to either), we're thinking of having Thanksgiving at our house again, if other parties are willing. The only problem with this is - oh wait, there's a kind of a bunch of problems, depending on how fretful I feel. The big one is that we have no dishwasher. What we do have is a formerly working dishwasher that is now dead and works as a big dish drying rack / playpen for the cats. I know you're probably saying "Hey dummy, why dontcha just get a new dishwasher?" Which we were going to. But then it appears that the old one is going to be a hassle to get out, as - I probably won't explain this well, but - the ceramic tile comes up higher than the part of floor the dishwasher is on without much of any wiggle room - which looks like it will cause a problem getting the old dishwasher out without breaking some tiles (and there are no extras to be found) or busting the countertop. I don't know. It looks like a pain in the ass, is what I'm trying to get at here. And the nice gentleman at Home Depot warned us that the delivery guys will hook up a new dishwasher, but they're not going to do a lot of screwing around if the old one doesn't come out easily, or if we don't know how to shut off our water before they get there, or if they don't feel like it or something. So we've said "Bah!" as we do a lot of things, and while I signed up for dishpan hands - I'm uh, not too good at keeping up with the dishes. All of this is to say that Thanksgiving generates a lot of dishes, and a lot of people hovering in the kitchen saying "why don't you use your dishwasher, dummies?" and a lot of well-intentioned "helping" which for some reason makes me want to shoo everyone out with a broom. Oh and we don't have a dining room either, so the table is in the kitchen too - and blah blah blah, we'll figure something out I guess.

Oh hey! We went out somewhat recently. To a show! We saw Andrew Bird and St. Vincent! Andrew Bird is... he's really talented, you guys. When I first heard people raving about him and checked out his music, I didn't see what the big deal was. But the more his songs popped up along with artists I liked on Pandora, the more I'd get his whistles stuck in my head or go back and say "Wait, who was that?" and I got hooked. He put on a good show, and I was actually a bit surprised at how down to earth he seemed. I somewhat expected him to be a bit of a stuck up hipster like "Twaah, behold my classical training and nuances..." But he was really cool - I liked how he spoke to the audience and even pointed out mistakes he made in this charming, absent-minded professor type of way. I liked St. Vincent too, and their band paired nicely with Andrew Bird for a few songs. Annie Clark (lead singer) is this beautiful doll of a woman who starts off singing in this soft, lilting almost Tori Amos style voice, and then by the end of the show she's cranking up the distortion and aiming her guitar at the speakers, giving the audience seat-rumblers and making our ears ring. It was pretty sweet all around.

In I Can Never Go Long Without Mentioning the Cats news: they're doing very well, and we are really glad we ended up adopting two. When they're not chasing each other around and knocking shit over while wrestling, they'll pull out one of these and overwhelm us with cuteness.

Shake us free

Lately, all I seem to feel is mad and sad. Tired when I shouldn't be. Unable to explain myself properly. Frustrated. Lonely, yet needing lots of alone time. I should've written the other morning when I was the "up" side of me and not the more commonly seen glum side.

I feel enormously guilty for some of the thoughts I have about my family... That I love them but sometimes find it too painful and/or exhausting to be around them. That I wish I had a few more happy times with my siblings to think of rather than just replaying the fucked-up ones in my mind. That maybe we all have some degree of mental illness or personality disorder. That it could be passed on to the next generation. That my mom tried so hard to prevent her kids from turning out fucked-up, and we still pretty much did anyway. That I used to feel like I could somehow be the one that could make things alright, and now I just feel distant and useless.

This will get too long and late if I get into all of it now, so I'm cutting it short in favor of sleep. Pardon the nighttime sads.

Dude, bro - not cool

So, I know that calling your employer a dick is generally frowned upon, but oops. Sometimes I forget that even if he talks to me like he'd talk to one of his buddies, I should maintain a certain level of well, appropriateness when responding.

BUT.

He was all "Oh, Patrick Swayze died. Pfft, I never liked the guy. Always thought he was gay after that dancin movie."

And I thought that was a shitty thing to say. Shitty in the same way as when Heath Ledger died, and he said "Aww, boo-hoo. Heath Ledger died. What was it, AIDS? He was in that movie about the queers you know."

Ugh. And also, RARRRGH.

But then again, I think he mostly likes to say things to get my goat. (Done!) Being one of those liberals and all, and him being one of those "Hey, aren't I so politically incorrect it is hilarious?" types.

I shouldn't have let it slip, but we were on the phone so he couldn't appreciate my disapproving look or extreme rolling of the eyes.

Divert and repeat

I still feel things, obviously I do. Sometimes more than I'd like to or more than would seem necessary. I've always been labeled as sensitive, but usually in a negative way - too sensitive, overly-sensitive, see also: crybaby, get a grip. But what I've noticed is that I seem to have developed some sort of selective numbness that at times seems more of a reflex than something within my control. Like, I'll be having a conversation with someone, and then I get knocked off guard by them telling me something that I find immensely sad, or something that presses my buttons, or something that hurts my feelings in a way that actually feels like a blow to the chest or gut. I still feel it, but then a numbness kicks in. It's like the fight-or-flight fairy is pulling me out of that moment, saying "La la LAA - we didn't hear that! Ok, we did but we are MOVING RIGHT ALONG. Not gonna think about it now, plenty of time to dwell on that later. Yes, that hurt but it's only a flesh wound, really - don't look at it and make it worse. Just keep moving." And I'm calm, but it's sort of a false calm. Sort of a bad calm, when it comes with knowing that the shelves are stocked with thoughts like these that are just waiting to be revisited later.

Nothing wrong with defense mechanisms to protect yourself in a situation. I guess I'm just taking note that this happens, and like most of my coping mechanisms - it may have become flawed. That is, dealing with things by not really dealing with them. Flipping a switch that says "I am not really here, I'm not really feeling this." I seem to get in the habit of doing things to protect myself in the present moment while not really looking out for myself in the future. And here I am.

Craptain's blog: supplemental

This is going to sound old and persnickety, but doesn't anyone proofread books anymore? The last few times I've bought a new release there have been several typos in it that I just wouldn't expect to see in a professional publication. Doesn't that piss off the author? Or is it the author's fault? (I can just picture a book signing event with some overzealous fan: "Loved your book, but man - that use of 'here' instead of 'hear' on page 22?! What's up with that? No one even re-read the FIRST CHAPTER before it went to print? Weak! Don't even sign it.")

Speaking of books, I just started The Time Traveler's Wife and I hate to seem like I'm jumping on the bandwagon of "they made it into a movie so now it's cool" but I will jump on the bandwagon of "It was a good price and made my order qualify for free shipping on Amazon." I'll probably end up seeing the movie in about 2-3 years, unless I strongly love or hate the book. Most of the time I have a thing about waiting for the hubbub to die down about something before I watch or read it, but then I end up forgetting about it and/or missing the window of caring (i.e. Titanic. Yep, sorry - no one would shut up about it and it's way too late now.) My mom can't BELIEVE that I haven't watched Grey's Anatomy nor have I read anything by Jodi Picoult or Barbara Kingsolver. Eh. Trying to be rebellious, I guess.

There are definite advantages of watching shows after a decent amount of time has passed though. A good example is Battlestar Galactica. Oh my GODS, I'm frakkin' hooked on that show! (Just started Season 3 - no spoilers please!) But if I had to wait an entire week for the next episode or deal with those end of the season cliffhangers I'd go batty. For a while there I avoided science fiction because it tended to make me think about things that would send me into an existential crisis/death freakout/headache. But we've been on a Sci-Fi kick (and don't you hate that the SciFi channel is Syfy now? Ew.) at our house this summer with watching the entire Deep Space Nine series and also working on The Next Generation AND some of the Star Trek movies (though we of course haven't seen the new one yet) and now BSG. Wow - we're a couple pasty lookin' geeks over here, but it's fun.

So I've really not been making the most of the summer weather, but that's not to say I don't enjoy it. The outdoors never feels so nice as when I'm leaving work for the day. When I shut off the florescent lights and step out of the chilly recirculated office air and into the warmth of natural light, it's wonderful. I get in my car and - if it's not unbearably humid - I soak up the heat that's been captured inside and get all happy-sleepy, like some kind of reptile. (And once I've passed through the hood, I can put the windows down and enjoy the breeze.) Just let it stay in the 70s for a nice long time...

Not what I meant to say

I've been on these continuous birf-contro pills for several cycles now and have to admit - not missing the ol' period. No sir. Not missing it! But, there are always drawbacks with these things. The PMS, I still has it. BIG time. Maybe even for a prolonged time each cycle, or so it seems. It's a force too great to be diminished by some measly pill. And as such, I'm feeling positively nutty right now. I'm mad! I'm furiously mad and I want to talk about it! Go ahead, you say? Well, I don't damn know what to say! Forget it, I'm stupid. I'm just a horrible person and it turns out I'm not mad, I'm sad. Deeply horribly sad. I don't want to talk about why, but I want you to want to know why. That will make me cry and feel better and scold myself for being ridiculous and uh-oh, start this process all over again. Don't back away. Yes, I want to be alone but I don't mean it, I don't think. I don't know... about anything. I'm trying to make light but it really fucks you up to feel so - I don't know - out of sorts? Especially being someone who doesn't have all her sorts in a row in the first place.

Oh, I've thought about doing stuff

I think about blogging way more than I actually blog. Does that count for anything? No? Well, that's why I won't be at BlogHer. Well, not the only reason. I'm not sure I'd be qualified (or invited?) to attend - what with the whole not blogging on a regular basis, or having a large number of followers - and you know, not being "in it to win it" and all that. But if I were those things, and if I wasn't so anxiety-ridden about being in new uncomfortable situations, it would be pretty cool to go - especially to this one, since Chicago is probably the closest anyone will come to my area. Heh, my area. I am apparently good at thinking about blogging and being a fan of other bloggers (and babbling to J about them) so uh, I'll just do that from home.

So, I lost my glasses. Which is fine, because I wear contacts. And these glasses were probably 15 years old, hella thick even though the prescription isn't even as strong as what I'd need now, and under no circumstances could be worn outside the house. I accused J of "accidentally" disposing of my fugly glasses, but I don't think he's ever even touched the things. No big loss, I guess. But it kinda sucks to depend on wearing contacts all the time. I tend to stumble around more blindly than usual in the morning. Which brings me to an incident in which glasses would've been helpful.

Arlo was all wound up and playful the other morning, which means he's either been: chasing Gracie, entertaining himself with his toys, biting the feet of whichever groggy unfortunate person is trying to use the toilet, or getting into some kind of trouble. While I'm in the bathroom I hear him messing with the door to the linen closet (the cats just cannot abide a closed door), reaching under it and thwapping around, making a bunch of noise. I open the door so he can retrieve whatever toy he probably pushed under the door in the first place, and he brings it out. I go to pick up his mousie toy and toss it down the hallway for him to fetch so I can close the closet door, and I realize this mousie sure has a lot of spit on it, enough that it feels pretty squishy and gross. Ew. I drop it on the floor. "Um, honey?" I call to Justin "Can you come here and tell me if this is a toy mouse or a REAL mouse?" (Blind, remember) And of course - it was real, and I guess I'm thankful that it was already dead and not - ugh - partially eaten or suffering or something. (Poor mousie - these two probably just annoyed him to death.) But yeah. Gack! Washed my hands several times and made a mental note to both get glasses and to stop buying toy mice that look so damn REAL! (Oh, and I suppose it would help to find out whether there are more. Eek.)

I guess adding this picture of Arlo with his toy doesn't help my story of how "real" the mice look. But again, BLIND! Ass from a hole in the ground? Without my contacts, who knows?