Taking a 4-year-old out to a semi-fancy sushi place for supper is, it turns out, a fabulous idea.
Well, its a fabulous idea until that 4-year-old accidentally pulls the entire two-place table you're seated at and all of its contents -- soba noodles, tea, saki, the hollowed-out carcasses of scarfed edamame, and two glasses of water -- onto your lap. Accidentally ON PURPOSE. OH HA.
I don't mean to be evil... its just my nature.
Continue reading "Dinner Date" »
So I'm back from what turned out to be a full hour of epic blubbering at my therapist's. I'd gone there this morning wondering what I would say -- thinking in fact that I had nothing to say, and that this nothingness was kind of sort of the problem. That I felt hollow inside, a conspicuous VACANCY sign blinking on my forehead, the disturbing sense of having No Thing I could point to as the source of my depression save for that very feeling of absence, if that makes any sense.
Continue reading "Talk therapy" »
Y'all, its remarkably difficult to remain all morose and emo and shit when you have this living in the same house as you (though god knows I'M TRYING):
Continue reading "The Clown Prince Of Canines" »
So the update on my mental status is not unlike the randomness of a Magic 8 Ball's fortune telling: Answer unclear, try again later. I feel like I'm drifting moment by moment in and out of melancholy, living in a sort of emotional no-man's-land... but I'm trying hard not to dwell on it, to not get caught up into that circle of contemplative self-torment. What seems best right now, in fact, is to not think, to get out of my head and into the world, to simply do and be.
Continue reading "Happiness is(n't) easy" »
Hello internets! How are you? Good, good. Me? Uhh, not so good. I've been avoiding writing this post for a while. Or maybe not so much avoiding as feeling utterly incapable of putting my thoughts down in any coherent, readable way. The words, they do not come. Writer's block seems to go hand-in-hand with depression, always.
Continue reading "Its Sylvia Plathing Time" »
Everything's coming up roses lilies and hydrangeas!
More beautiousness after the jump...
Continue reading "June" »
Guess who's a bad parent? GUESS!
You know, recently I'd been mulling over the question of whether M was ready to hang out for brief periods of time in our backyard without me hovering and watching her like a hawk. And I pretty much concluded that at 4 years and some odd months old, she (and I) wasn't really ready for it, and I went back and forth in my head obsessively about whether this was me being prudent and sensible, or me partaking of the overprotective parent Kool Aid and being ridiculous. Because I absolutely DO think there's a way overblown climate of fear smothering parents these days, and like many parents I constantly have to struggle to parse out how much of my responses to things is coming from truths about the world I actually believe in and buy into, and how much of it is just mindlessly towing the line of knee-jerk Modern Parenting hysteria.
Well yesterday I kind of learned the hard way that my protective impulse was pretty dead-on.
Continue reading "Super Owie Boo-Boo Of Doom" »
This past Sunday, June 3rd, my parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. FORTY YEARS, and neither has ever, to my knowledge, attempted to murder the other. How does that work exactly? Anyway, in honor of this momentous occasion, I sent them a free Hallmark e-card. Because that's how I roll: cheap and lame (and now I'm using said momentous occasion as fodder for my blog. Hi Mom and Dad! I bet you couldn't be prouder!). Meanwhile, they ran off together to Branson, which is apparently all the rage with the married Boomer set. In response to my oh-so-thoughtful e-card, I received a lovely missive from my Mom yesterday, which read in part:
Continue reading "And fill my heart with love for only you..." »
Because seriously, this body -- though admittedly girthtastic -- ain't big enough for the both of us.
Since waaay back in the day, when I was but a wee lass with a wee vajayjay (long before the expansive (and expand-ing!) horrors of childbirth), my historically quite docile and agreeable lady parts began a monthly Campaign Of Terror. Every 28 days or so, during that not-so-special time of the month, it is as if my vagina and uterus together conspire to do everything within their cramptastic, bloaterific, hormone-soaked power to make my life A LIVING HELL, WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE. Perhaps these violent periods are failed coups -- incomplete acts of rebellion against the larger body which my lady bits are imprisoned in and shackled to. Or perhaps they are violent protests, signaling angry dissent in the face of my failure to become heavy with delicious babyness, my refusal to aid them in fulfilling their reproductive Manifest Destiny.
Is it very wrong that I am now imagining my lady parts dressed up as Spanish Conquestidores, with those funny plumed metal hats and everything?
Continue reading "Me Versus My Vagina: A Bloody Battle To The Death" »
Oh for the good ol' days, back when new mothers were encouraged to drink and smoke up!
Umm, I mean, FOR SHAME!
Continue reading "I'll have what they're having" »
