( A very long (and slightly silly) ramble on why I can't seem to pick a career. )

Seriously, though, I'd be settled down with a career and health benefits by now if the world wasn't such an interesting place.

 I went on a DATE last night!!! With my husband!!!!!!! And NO baby!!!!!! Yay for Grandma being in town! It was our first date since his birthday in August. We had a couple of drinks and saw a movie - like, in an actual movie theatre! Together! I think the last movie Andy and I went to was "Blade Runner" when they showed it over at Cinema 21 about a month or so before Casey was born. So yeah, first movie in 14 months-ish.
And, we get to go bowling tonight!
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Gah. Writing that made me feel old. 

 I got a MacBook!!!!!! Yay!!!!
On another note...
I think I've figured out why it's so hard for me to make friends or even talk to people that I like: I don't know the script. See, I can get up in front of a room full of people and make a speech, no problem; I can call the electric company, talk to the lady at the checkout stand in the grocery store; hell, I could even do the dating thing because I knew how it was supposed to go. I know more or less what the other person expects of me, what I expect of them, and roughly what things are appropriate to say. But can I call a friend because I really want to talk to her and I need an ear to whine to? Not even with a pint of liquid courage poured down my throat. And forget about going up to people and attempting to engage them in potentially friend-making conversations - not gonna happen.
Speaking of liquid courage, back before I was pregnant, I felt like I had at least a decent amount of friends. Where'd they all go? Did they abandon me? Nope. I think I had been relying too heavily on alcohol as a social lubricant. Once I could no longer touch the stuff, I found that I had no idea how to talk to anyone. It was just me and my socially retarded ways.
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I think I'm gonna go out on limb and post this on myspace. It's a bit more personal than I usually get, but maybe that's a good thing in this instance.

( My grandma forwarded this to me: )

I'm supposed to forward it to 5 other moms - not happening.

Thing is - it's not even true.
Honestly, I have been puked on - woulda been WAAAY worse had I not been as drunk as him, but still...
Been chewed on, too (whatever, it was high school)
And I've still never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put her down (unless I was worried putting her down would wake her up); and really, I don't get all tender and special feeling when I'm nursing. I feel ... bovinical (if it's not a word it sure as hell should be).
And the "feeling of having my heart outside my body"?? WTF? I dont even understand that line. I'm picturing that scene in Temple of Doom where the priest-guy rips the still beating heart out of the sacrificial guy's chest. Ew.
"I never knew I would love being a mom" - I love Casey. I love love love her. I'm glad she's here now. Don't know if I'm all that fond of being mommy, though, to tell ya the truth.
*sigh*
I read things like this and it's like I can hear them screaming, "YOU DON'T LOVE YOUR BABY ENOUGH!! BAD MOMMY!"

This was advertisement on Myspace for some weight loss plan. I freaking hate these things. Honestly the pic on the left is WAY sexier than the 'after' pic.

I showed Andy an LJ community devoted to Beatle pictures... I fear he may never return.
Casey-Bug is asleep right now - in her crib no less!! I hope she stays that way for a while longer. I could really use another glass (or 3) of wine.
A random thought:
In one of the HitchHiker's Guide books, Douglas Adams talks about a planet (Krikkit) where there is no concept of the sky. The inhabitants hear a noise from up above and look everywhere but up. They have no concept of 'up'. I tried to imagine feeling this way about a direction but failed utterly; probably because if I could imagine a direction (or dimension), then I would have some concept of it. I wonder if there might be a direction like that that we have no concept of. You know what? It's hard to conceptualize something for which there are no words or concepts already in play. I think if God exists, then He/She/It could possibly come from that direction.

The epidural had long since worn off and I was in pain. Sharp tentacles of pure pain snaked through my lower torso, encircling what I think of as my spleen but probably isn't. My abdomen constricted again, sending fresh spikes of pure pain up my back and sides. 'This isn't right.' I screamed, the low guttural sound emanating from my throat quite of its own volition. My body was no longer mine to control. Fire, a burning rage of pure pain, spread through my groin. The nurse's voice, cool soothing nurse, gritted at my mind like sandpaper. The midwife, nurse, student-nurse, and Andy stood around me, cheering. "You can do it!" "Almost there!" Over and over their voices tumbled, urging me on, supporting me. I hated them. I wanted to crawl off and die. I wanted to be gassed, passed out, and have someone else do the hard part. More pain. Pain was my world. Pain and fury enveloped my consciousness. Another contraction. More fire, consuming me from the inside out. Pressure welled up in my head. "I'm having an aneurysm." I was reminded that, actually, I was having a baby and this was a perfectly normal and healthy response. I wanted to shoot someone, wanted them all to shut up. More pain. More fire. I could fel myself ripping in half. I sobbed through my screams and imagined someone running a sword through me; imagined how nice the cool metal would feel against the flames and what a clean precise feeling it would be.
    "You-can-do-it-you-can-do-it-you-can-do-it"
    "I hate you all"
    "You-can-do-it! She's coming! I see her!"
    "Shut up shut up." I was howling now. Fire. Fire and pain. Another contraction. Another unanswered plea for death, sleep, or a cigarette. And then... nothing. A sliding, slightly slimy sensation. I sat back as wave after wave of relative silence wracked my shattered body. A rush of activity.. A brief glimpse of a small red bundle, and then the nurse was pushing the bundle into my arms. 'Holy Fuck.' Mentally, I scrabbled away, up a mountainside in fear. The baby blinked up at me, looking rather startled. I took her unsteadily.
      "Hello."

There were three of us, myself and two brothers. Two of us would lay across the living room floor, feet meeting in the middle of the room. The third would attempt to jump over us as we thrashed our arms and legs wildly. It was a short and narrow room with a t.v. at one end and a glass curio cabinet at the other. We called the game "Danger".
Don't know what my favorite game is now; but it sure as hell ain't online chess.

Work in progress:

It's sunny out. Naked tree branches stand in stark relief against the pale blue January sky. The bank thermometer reads 33 degrees at 2 in the afternoon; coldest it's been all winter. I inhale deeply. The cold makes city smells stand out more. Tobacco, car exhaust, and the pleasant odors of a half dozen pizza places, coffee shops, and bakeries linger in the air. My feet fall and rise against a dirty sidewalk as I meander down the street. If tomorrow is pure potentiality and yesterday is already gone then today is... Ugh. I chide myself for thinking in quotes and chase the thought out of my mind.  Today is.  That's better; a good sentence too.  One noun one verb. Simple. Communication pared down to its most basic form; sans adjectives, prepositions, conjunctions and, um, all the other grammar.. bits. The thought dwindles back into the smokey haze. I look up at the people around me. Some stream past, determination on their faces; others stroll casually by. Two men loiter behind a wall, out of the wind. A scruffy looking kid in a new jacket asks if I can spare a dollar. I fish through my pockets and come up with an apologetic smile and an empty hand. The kid's not looking anymore.

 

I feel like a stranger here. The sun seems too bright, the colors too stark. I can feel the stare of strangers’ eyes as I pass them on the street. There is an old man ahead of me; his face sad and wrinkled, faded t-shirt covered belly drooping low over stained sweat pants. He searches my face for something, keeping his gaze steady as I hurry past. Ugliness makes me uncomfortable; especially now, in the cold, clear January afternoon. My head begins to swim; too much light and exhaust and strange eyes passing me expressionlessly. I light a cigarette and the smoke fills my mouth bringing me back to myself.

.................................................................................................................

The sidewalk is bleeding. Raindrops ratta-tat-tat hammer into spilled merlot. It’s 10am and I’m drinking. Jimmy Buffett reminds me via my Myspace Music Playlist that it is, indeed, 5 o’clock somewhere. Mauritania, I think. I try to focus on my cup; red wine’s a far cry from margaritas, but it fits the chilly March morning. I imagine myself as a brooding, moody artist, figuring I should have some sort of reason for drinking this early. It doesn’t stick. I’m not the slightest bit depressed. The baby’s napping, Jimmy’s on the radio, and I am decidedly not mopping the kitchen floor. I chain-smoke while I can.

Neighbor-friend steps out to her patio for a smoke and lifts an eyebrow at the open bottle. I grin a goofy half-drunk grin, and invite her over. She laughs. Her youngest is just settled down for his nap and mine is waking up, so we head over there.

 

The sound of the rain mingles with a not-so-far-off tv and someone else vacuuming, and I am glad to be alive.

.................................................................................................................

It’s hot out. Really hot. It’s late May and I’m in San Antonio for my grandfather’s funeral. The family has been fighting and silently hating each other for years, and things have come to somewhat of a head; but I don’t care. Cousin got up to eulogize and scold the aunts and uncles; but I don’t care. I try to remember my grandfather as he was when I was a kid: friendly, gregarious, ‘strict but fair’; but my mind keeps rewinding to his death image. He was laying in the hospital bed my mom and grandma had brought into make his last months more comfortable, his mouth hanging wide open. He looked so frail and tiny. In life my grandfather was a big man; six feet tall, wide shouldered, dark-haired, imposing as hell.

 

I watch as the casket is lowered into the ground.

I am a mess. A complete, from my head-to-my-toes, finances-to-health mess. I always have been, and probably always will be. Maybe some day I will somehow get all my debts cleared up (I gotta be optimistic); but some other form of chaos will undoubtedly take its place. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.
My mind just doesn't work in an organized manner. Don't get me wrong; I try. Oh my god do I try, I try all the time for a new solu- whoops, slipping into song - sorry 'bout that. Where was I? Ah... I have a box for files, that I even put papers in! And once in a blue moon I actually file the papers into the proper folders (OMG - I know).
When I was in middle school we moved around a bunch, and with every fresh start I vowed (literally, I'd swear an oath with my fist raised to sky - I was a tad melodramatic at 12) to keep my TrapperKeeper organized, everything in its place, nothing falling out the sides. I think my record was 8 days.
Back further: When I was 6 or so, I knew a few things with absolute certainty.
1. Children under 7 did not go to Hell (7 being the age of reason and all).
2. Heaven was perfect.
3. Perfection meant cleanliness.
I was also terrified at the idea of dying in my sleep (stems from the prayer "now I lay me down to sleep..." awful thing to make a child repeat before bedtime). I'd wake up, survey my messy room, and take comfort in the knowledge that I must still be alive. Occasionally, however, my mom would tidy up my room while I was asleep. Those were bad mornings.
But I digress.
I hate it when people (well, a person, really) get on my case for being unorganized.

I wanna travel...