Running Roughshod over Me

If Friday’s a moody bitch, Saturday’s an amusement park ride…not a carousel or an easy roller coaster…the kind that throws you up and down, and you’re never really sure whether you’re having fun or about to die. It’s never mellow and calm…and the bad is really bad, like Stephen King started to write your story. It never really gets fun…you’re either sick to your stomach or screaming with terror. You can’t possibly stop and go somewhere nice…somewhere pretty and calm. Saturday’s hijacked your life and is kicking the shit out of you, and she’s not ready to stop, even when you try to force her hand.

One of the grief books I read talks about the times when you feel the worst, the most alone, that you should try to schedule that time…by the hour, even 10- or 15-minute swathes of time. Know what you’re doing before the bad time even starts, and hopefully you’ll be able to just plod along through it and not fall into the vats of acid on either side of that path.

Sigh. Yeah right. I made multiple plans for the weekend. Because my toenail finally fell off, I figured I could handle closed-toe shoes and a hike (finally). That’s tomorrow. I’ll let you know how that goes. I actually know the woman in charge of the hike, so that helps. I also signed up for a book club thing (sigh…I am somewhat troubled by this, but I love to read and…I don’t know what and…) that’s next week. In the last two or so years of my marriage, I started doing life drawing one Saturday a month…I went to a studio space downtown and this artist I knew would hire models and we’d pay $5 to show up and draw or paint. It was great. I knew half the people there, I was semi-social, and I messed around with a variety of materials and styles, even drawing on fabric a few times (none of which have ever been finished, for a variety of reasons). I eventually stopped because Saturday mornings got filled with soccer and other stuff, and the chick in charge moved to Arizona, and I never found a replacement. Then I read about Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School online somewhere and found a local…um…chapter? I don’t know what to call it. I put it on my calendar probably 5 years ago and promptly never went. It was never convenient. There were always better things to do, people I wanted to hang out with. It’s not like I wasn’t drawing on my own, and this was touted as FUN! And I’m suspicious of fun. Really. I am. Well, I’m suspicious when other people are labeling it as fun.

So even now, with Saturdays being a vast expanse of shit and hell, I couldn’t go the last two months, and even today, I had talked myself out of it. I had this to do, that to do, there simply wasn’t time.

And then there was. I was actually late, about 15 minutes, but I went. I drove to a bar in Hillcrest and I paid my money and I sat and tried to remember how to loosen up enough to do those 1-minute, 2-minute, 5-minute drawings. Even the 10-minute ones seem too short…I’m used to my big drawings taking a couple of hours (actually, the drawing for Earth Stories took me over 20 hours to complete), and even the small ones I used to do in restaurants are at least 15 minutes usually, unless they’re really simple. So it was hard.

(the model was Zoe Tantrum…no, that’s not her real name…but she was also an amazing singer, sort of conceptual opera)

But I eventually got it. It helped that it was in a bar and I could order alcohol. Actually, I can’t drink most hard alcohol…makes my heart race…but they had cherry cider…and it was good. And it helped me relax a little. And I realized…

(no, she’s not holding shoes, and she’s wearing a shitload of tulle, which is remarkably difficult to draw)

Because of meditation…because it makes me aware of how I’m feeling when my brain is semi-quiet, it lets me hear myself feel…

I realized I had relaxed. That I was sitting in that bar with about 25 total strangers while this woman held wacky poses and I was relaxed. Until I thought about it, of course, and then I tensed up again. Sigh.

So, just so you know, there’s a theme every month and the model dresses to the theme…this month was Fae, hence the pointy ears. Strangely, the book I read for book club is ALSO about the fae. I’m feeling weird about all that. The drawing above was a contest, a 50/50 contest, where I drew for the first 5 minutes and then the Brit next to me took my drawing and I took his, and we drew all over each other for the next 5 minutes. I can’t tell you how difficult it was to START drawing all over someone else’s work, but if you stop thinking of each drawing as a precious commodity, which in this situation, it definitely is not, then it’s much easier…not a single one of the pieces I did today will be used for anything…they are just good for the hand and the eye and seeing the body better after 10 years of not drawing from life. This will be my 4th (?) time going back to life drawing.

Anyway. We didn’t win the prize. I’m OK with that. On the last one, I tried to meld sketching with my personal drawing style.

The costuming made it difficult. But I still think it was a good thing, because there was one pose I just couldn’t get right, so I gave up and started Kathy drawing…

There we are. There’s the weird. She was wearing some metal hoop structure to wrap the tulle around. Yes, it really did have chains. I haven’t finished this one.

So it was a good experience. I had fun sitting there and drawing. I was relaxed. I will do it again. In fact, I’m kicking myself for not having spent the last 5 years making time for this at least once in a while. I made that mistake…but I’m having a hard time working out what would have been the solution. On the one hand, I was trying to balance a personal life, being a mom, and having a very demanding job, as well as art and going to the gym. Very difficult. And in the end, making time for the personal life was not successful…so in the future, as I try to balance the things that feel good and bad and have-to’s and want’s and should’s and all this crap…I still don’t think I have the right answer for that. I don’t think it would have helped anything for me to have been going to this for the last 5 years…but what do I know? I know nothing.

I was up very early this morning for girlchild’s last official game of the season. If they won, they would have been in 1st place.

My camera battery died before the girlchild made her team’s only goal (seriously? I suck.), but they lost anyway. It’s OK…they played really well…it was a really good game. PLUS, I got a ton of grading done. So I felt like I could do other stuff the rest of the day. Grading looms over me and makes me feel bad. I hate that.

This woman was recording her son’s game with the iPad…but what was funny is that she wasn’t watching the actual game…just the screen. Her arms must be really strong…I couldn’t do it.

Don’t think we’re done with soccer. High-school tryouts are all next week. Sigh. Of course, girlchild’s back was PERFECT today. Whatever.

I also made it to the gym today, finished a really irritating book, The Flamethrowers by Rachel Kushner…

I kept a ton of quotes from this book, and it started really strong and I was excited to read it, but then it wandered off into history and politics and artspeak and annoying language and behavior, and I just lost it.

Here’s one of the quotes that drew me in: “I feel changed. Like, say my mind is a sweater. And a loose thread gets tugged at, pulled and pulled until the sweater unravels and there’s only a big fluffy pile of yarn. You can make something out of it, that pile of yarn, but it will never be a sweater again.” You could knit another sweater, though. Anyway. I read it because someone ELSE recommended it, but I don’t remember who…and I’m not recommending it. Well, I shouldn’t say that, because I have very particular likes in fiction, and you perhaps have different likes. So try it, and we can commiserate if you decide you don’t like it.

I also meditated. I bet Mr. Meditation didn’t have a cat trying to climb on his lap while he meditated. I had a hard time with meditation tonight. I was crying before I even started. Something about being home alone on a Saturday night, but I had spent my entertainment money for the week at the art thing and I had stuff I needed to get done and I needed to get to bed at a reasonable hour, so this was what Saturday night looked like…

And it wasn’t until I stupidly looked on the internet and realized that my life had been hijacked and put out to pasture or something (I always mix metaphors) and that the things I used to be able to do and want to do were either off the table, but just for me, or I couldn’t go because…well, because I’d have to be way more brave than I am right now, and right now, I am a scared little monkey half the time…so I cried. A lot. And when he said that I had to be willing to “sit with the mind, no matter how it is,” I lost it. I tear up even now, reading that. Silly. Sigh. It’s MY mind. Dammit. “Meditation is a skill that needs practicing.” OK. I’ve done 74 sessions. I’m better. I was aware of my feelings at the sketching place. I am usually aware of them. They are just often so overwhelming.

I even made a fire (I’ve been freezing all day).

And I tried to take care of ME. Because she’s not a bad person and even when Saturday tries to push her down, she tells her to fuck off and find another victim. I worry sometimes that I am repeating the activities from post-divorce, but then I think, well duh. Those are the things that make you happy: movies, drawing, hiking. I have to be really careful with money, so that’s an issue, but that’s why I plan.

I cut out more Wonder Under tonight. I’m making sure to take a new picture of what looks like the same thing every night I cut stuff out, so you can see my progress.

Or because I am slightly insane. You pick. (It’s NOT the same. It’s NOT. It’s NOT.) I’m about 4 1/2 hours into the cutting. I have about 2 3/4 yards of Wonder Under to go. Sigh.

As life and love run roughshod over me…I draw. And now I (hopefully) sleep.

Friday Wants a Sparkly Tree

Moody bitch, Friday. She wakes up with a hangover, even though she didn’t drink the night before. Her headache takes 5 Motrin and 2 hours to wander off. She cries on the way to work. She’s still crying in the parking lot, and she doesn’t even know why. Sometimes she just needs to cry. I manage to kick her butt eventually, dealing with job stuff, kids. Learning. You know. What teachers are supposed to encourage (we almost got there today…really). She wants a fucking donut and I say no. She doesn’t need the sugar; she’ll get a rush and they’re empty calories. It doesn’t matter how moody she is. She’ll get over it. She gets worse during lunch and one period almost takes her down, but I pull her through…by her hair…because she’s still being a bitch. Friday used to be kinda nice, a relief, because I knew the weekend would be relaxing and maybe even fun. Now it’s mostly work and sad…and Friday doesn’t care how bad she makes me feel…she knows Saturday and Sunday will be worse, so she can be as bad as she likes.

Today she is right there when the girlchild is yelling at me in the parking lot (it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that hormones and teenagedness is part of the problem, I can’t handle being screamed at by the end of the day). Friday watches me cry in the car. She watches the girlchild wander off in Target and she lets me walk to the Christmas section. Why? I have always liked the decorating part of Christmas. I like the tree, the smell, the ornaments. I love the lights. I must have had good times as a kid during Christmas. I like just sitting in the living room with all the lights off except the tree lights. There’s always one that flashes…and no one knows why.

Friday lets me stand and stare at shiny sparkly balls and garlands and cute little fuzzy things. Then she wants to buy a sparkly fake tree (really?) and bitches me out when I say no. It’s fucking pink. Not happening. There’s no money. It’s stupid. I don’t want more stuff. Luckily, there aren’t many people in the Christmas section tonight, so I can cry and no one but Friday will know. Maybe she’ll be nicer to me if she sees me cry. Isn’t that how it works?

Sigh. The Target trip just made me remember all the other errands I’ve been putting off…I made a list on my phone while I was waiting…trying to find the girlchild, who stomped off into the store without her phone. She’s not a bad kid. Really. I do love her. She’s having a rough week.

Windshield wipers. A new casserole dish with a lid. I keep breaking things (by accident). Gym clothes that fit. Fabric for the background of the next quilt. Dog food and cat food. The essentials.

The weekend…I’m trying to be brave about some stuff. We’ll see how that turns out. Julie always tells me to Be Brave. I always listen to Julie. She’s wise…and kind…and a little wacky.

I managed more cutting of the Wonder Under tonight…

Notice how it still looks the same. It’s looked the same every damn night. Seriously. This is the torturous part of Kathy quiltmaking. Why not torture myself? It keeps my brain occupied. Progress is going to look like this for a while. Lots of white stuff with pencil lines on it. Woo hoo. Yippee. My lord. When will I be done?

I’m trying to persuade my brain it’s sleepy. It’s not. It’s in overdrive. It’s drawing things. I don’t have time right now to draw things. I guess I will have to make time. I do actually have a drawing thing I could do tomorrow, like an event, but I’m not sure I want to. We’ll see. I’m trying. I really am. I can’t just be the mope on the couch. Well, I can, but that’s stupid. I’m not stupid.

Babygirl is still here. I don’t know if she’s ever leaving. We seem to have some sort of truce going on most days…

Although boychild is still her favorite (she looks bitchy in this photo…that’s because she IS). She’s kind of a goofball. I think we stretch her sense of herself. She’s a really selfish beast, but we don’t let her get away with it. Boychild’s hair is so long and nice-looking in this photo…especially with the claws embedded in it.

While I was meditating, this was the view (before I closed my eyes)…

What a freakin’ mess. Need to clean. Need kids to help. That means I need to yell and put my foot down. That’s why nothing’s getting clean, because I’m NOT doing that. I don’t have it in me.

At the far end of that view? Midnight…

in the laundry basket where laundry goes to die. Seriously, I don’t think anyone has put laundry away since summer. It just piles up in baskets until I get frustrated and dump it on someone’s bed or the couch. Babygirl is about two feet to my left at this time. Sometimes Midnight is right behind me, on the back of the couch. They growl at each other. While I’m meditating. Like I said, I don’t think Mr. Meditation deals with my shit. He seems like a nice guy. He probably thinks it should be relatively quiet and growl-free during meditation.

Friday has gone to bed. Or maybe she went out dancing. Hard to say. I’ll know tomorrow morning…at some ungodly hour, when I have to get up to deal with soccer. That’s why I really need to get tired and go to sleep.

I’m trying to have a life. I’m trying to ignore that Friday bitch. She’s been around way too many weeks. She needs a Xanax…or a martini. I don’t care which, as long as she stops messing with me. Maybe Fridays are always going to be art days from here on out. I used to grade on Friday nights. I don’t think it’s a good idea at the moment. Remaking all the schedules I used to have. The routines. In counseling, we talked about the things I wanted that I haven’t had for years. We talked about why I didn’t have those things. Apparently it’s not unrealistic for me to want those things. I can actually keep that list in my head now and know that those things are important, and because my kids are getting old enough that I don’t have to worry as much about how it might affect them…they will be leaving soon…I can make those things BE important. I don’t have to referee any more, negotiate between people who can’t figure out how to behave in a mature fashion. No one wants to be in the middle of those kinds of negotiations, between their own children and adults who should know better but don’t.

Anyway. Bad television tonight. Really bad. But it didn’t really matter. I was dealing with Wonder Under anyway. Sleep. Elusive. It will hurt tomorrow.

When the Emotion Ends…

It’s a damn good thing I have a job that allows me so little time to be introspective. I make it through most workdays without having to dwell in the nasty place my brain has dug for itself. That said, meditation seems to be helping. Maybe. Sometimes. Hell, I don’t know. I keep looking at happy, at the word, the definitions, all the silly Pinterest pretty quotes about being happy, choosing happy, waking up happy (do people DO that? Without caffeine? Do they have teenagers? I didn’t think so.).

Dammit. I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing, changing small things as I can. I’m not going through a midlife crisis here. I don’t want to go out and party until the cows come home, I’m not trying to prove that death is far far away, I’m not trying to change my life into something brand new like that will magically make me a different person. I can’t do most of those things. I don’t want to do most of those things. I don’t want to join a bunch of new groups that have more claims on my time than I already have (seriously, people…I’m still buried in my life…nothing has changed there). I don’t need to be up all night dancing and drinking and hanging out with people…that isn’t going to make me happy, and I think honestly any 40-some-year-old who is doing that on a regular basis has some major growing up to do anyway. There needs to be something you care about in the world…if it’s your job, that’s great. I can see if I were a full-time artist, that would be the case. It’s not, though…realistically it will never be. But I can still make a daily place for art. I don’t want brand new. I don’t want much of anything at the moment…just brief glimpses of contentment, peace, maybe humorous moments (one of my students tried to hook me up with a cop friend of hers today…I tried to explain to her why Ms. Nida and cops aren’t probably the best match, but she wasn’t having it), and anything resembling joy? Well…I will get there. I don’t know when. But I will.

At times, it seems like never. Seriously. It does. But I am resilient. I will get through. To somewhere.

Yes. It was a rough day. Then again, most of them are.

I made it to the gym, though. I’m reading a frustrating book there. It makes it harder to concentrate on the reading. Stupid mindfucks keep creeping in. I have to try to hold on to the person I know I am…the core of me. It’s there. I know. I hear her. She’s pissed. She’s mad as hell. She’s also sad, but she’s mad because of that. I’d watch out for her if I were you. She’s got a sketchbook AND a blog, and she’s not afraid to use either.

Anyway. Meditation talked about trying to keep track of when an emotion ends, because it helps you realize you don’t feel like that anymore…but how do I know when the sad ends? I don’t even know how to define the end of the sad? Even in funny moments when I’m laughing, it’s lurking behind all that. Maybe sad isn’t ending at the moment. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I should give them levels…Sad Level 1, Sad Level 2…or colors…Sad Code Red, Sad Code Yellow. But then I need a rubric and a measuring system (can you see the left brain all over this? I am evenly balanced between the two, if that matters any more). I guess it’s to remember that the emotion is not a permanent state. Logically I know that. Emotionally, I know nothing.

I cut out Wonder Under for a good chunk of time tonight.

Yes, I should have been grading. Instead, I cut out flames and smoke and rocks and skeleton parts (those are the tiny little pieces). It was a giant pain in the ass. Seriously, lots of tiny pieces and then pointy pieces and just fussy cutting for ages. I’ve been cutting for almost three measly hours now and I’ve made it through two yards…only four yards to go (another 6 hours? Seems light…).

The next yard has body parts and feathers…

fewer pointy parts, so hopefully it won’t be as much of a pain to cut out. Not that it really matters. It’s time spent making art. It doesn’t feel like anything at the moment, because this is the boring work part, but the next step, the fabric-choosing part…that might be OK. LONG, but OK. I just need to keep making. The making is important. It’s…it’s how I am fixing me. Still broken, yes, but fixing. I don’t actually know at the moment if I’m fixable. I have to assume I am.

Speaking of fixable, my bulb on my digital projector at school has been dying since school started…it’s getting darker and darker and kids can’t read anything. They won’t replace it (at $300 or so a pop) until it actually DIES…seriously, the fact that kids can’t SEE anything is apparently irrelevant. So now I have this dark brown splotch over the left side and it was awful looking, so I rigged this…

I turn the light off, but shine a bright light on the doc cam base where the paper is…it works pretty well, although I get a shadow on one corner. Yes, I had to MacGyver my classroom…again. So annoying. We have our new computers, too, but the broadcast doesn’t work on them until they do something I don’t understand. AND our broadcast is totally pixelated, which we’re supposed to ignore (it’s very artistic-looking)…an example below.

They tried fixing it yesterday with no luck. AND we’re getting some type of Google tablet for teachers only in the next month so we can figure out Google docs or something (wish someone would tell me WHAT I’m supposed to be figuring out), because we’re doing some wacky grant stuff in the future, along with Common Core collaboration AND new standards AND I don’t even know what else because I can’t keep track of it all.

Meanwhile, when I borrow the computer cart, 15 of the 32 computers have dying batteries. Like because they’re old and need replacing, not because they’re not charged. It’s a fun technical world we live in. Don’t tell anyone, but I let them use their phones as timers the other day during a lab, because they don’t know how to read an analog clock. I know. Next, we’re teaching them cursive.

Anyway. I’m trying not to wallow in the suckitude. I don’t like all the quiet in my life, the lack of conversation, like the kind where you’re sitting next to someone on the couch or at dinner with them and having a long conversation about life, liberty, and the pursuit of that damn asshole happiness. That said, it’s not like I had the energy or the opportunity to do either of those things tonight…tomorrow night, I will have the kids and we will talk. It’s not ideal, but it’s all I’ve got.

Throwing Peas

When I’m tired, it hurts more. On a long day like today, what I need is to know I’m going home to a sympathetic ear and maybe a back rub. What I have are two know-it-all teenagers and a drop off and pick up at soccer practice, plus I need to make dinner. I need someone to tell me it will be OK and to sit next to me on the couch and make me feel OK. Someone to help. Maybe they got my text that I’m finally coming home, and they have a cup of tea waiting for me when I get home.

Or not. I wonder when that will stop hurting. The not having.

Girlchild needs back surgery. I know she’s sad and scared and depressed, but she’s been screaming at me since I walked in the door. Teenaged anger, reminding me that I don’t have exclusive rights to sadness. She apologized later. So I leaned over and rubbed the dog’s belly and dripped tears into her fur. She doesn’t care…she just loves the attention. The dog. Maybe the teenager too. I can’t handle that level of demand at the moment.

I feel so disconnected. Like I can’t actually connect…it’s not even a choice. I think that’s why all those “You Can Choose to Be Happy” articles drive me nuts…really? I can? I just wake up in the morning and the hole in my chest and my gut, they’ll just be gone? The ache will be gone? My brain will just give up on filling in the blanks, writing stories? Having hope? Not having hope? Realizing that I was wrong about everything? That I believed and trusted in something that didn’t exist? I wish there were an easy way to work past all that. There isn’t. No happy pill. No forgetfulness drink…unless you were never paying attention in the first place. Then it must all be very easy. I think the people who write those Choose Happiness articles are smoking crack. Or maybe I have a gene, some weird wiring in my brain that doesn’t let me be that perky-ass person. Choose Happiness. Choose My Ass.

Days with too much free space for thinking, but not enough sleep. Or recharging. The two are related, I think.

I choose art. I choose creativity. I choose a visual experience that few others can achieve. I choose Me. I have lived with Me for a long time. Me is not a bad person. She’s conflicted and messed up and emotional and doesn’t see things the way you do. If that’s a problem for you, I don’t know what to say. Me is also pretty truthful with you. She often makes decisions that benefit you at her expense, because she cares about you. Me does not always make the best choices for herself because she is looking out for other people. This might be why Me is doing the hermit thing at the moment, because if she doesn’t take care of herself for a while, there will be no Me of which to speak. It’s easier to take care of Me when everyone else is gone.

I had professional development all day and then a union meeting, so I was at the District Office for entirely too many hours…with almost no caffeine (mistake) and food I shouldn’t have eaten. Not a good combo. My brain had too much time to wander.

I came home briefly and had to shuttle girlchild to soccer. Yes. She needs back surgery and she’s still playing. Don’t ask. It’s a long story. Pain is an interesting beast. She can’t actually make the injury worse. So we’ll see how much of the high-school season she gets through as we wait for them to schedule the surgery. I’m the mom. I have to be the strong one. I have to manage her freakouts and not have any of my own. She is going to be depressed. Soccer is a huge part of her life. Not having it, even knowing that she WILL have it in the future, puts her in a deep hole. I know that hole. So I have to try to hold her up, out of the hole, from within the hole where I have been for over 4 months now. Hard job. Need stronger muscles.

Dinner happened between drop off and pick up and then exercise and meditation. The days have some routine to them…maybe too much routine. I don’t know. Is it better to have a routine I can depend on and that doesn’t challenge my limited emotional capabilities at the moment, or is it better to shake it up? This weekend has some opportunities to shake it up. I don’t know if I have the energy, mentally, physically, or emotionally. In meditation, he talked about how emotions change quickly, how you can go from one to the other, and we usually only notice the actual change. I change from sad to really sad to painfully sad. Sigh. Deepening sadness. Tinges of sad. Sadness followed by a grief chaser. There isn’t a lot of relief from sad.

Choose to be happy, my ass. I just keep going. Someday I’ll get somewhere.

I had a little Wonder Under cutting time…

Not a lot. It’s slow going…lots of teensy weensy pieces with really annoying and complicated shapes. Stupid designer. This is going to take me a lot longer than the other quilt.

I’m still a total klutz…I mean, I’ve never been a particularly graceful person. I’m the queen of spilling things. But it’s been worse in the last few months…this was a good one. Making dinner, had the strainer full of peas, draining water, and went to put it in the bowl with the pasta and somehow (SOMEHOW) hit the cupboard door (which is at head height…no, I don’t know how I did it).

The dog was very excited. Apparently she likes peas.

Am I depressed? Yes. Did I cry today? Fuck yeah. Multiple times. Did I laugh heartily (or maybe just like a crazy person) when I threw peas all over the kitchen? Damn straight.

Bring on the Happy, Dammit…

First of all, I am moving on to the next step on the Celebrating Silver quilt. I might pinbaste the other quilt this week, like on a night when I get home before 9 PM maybe. I will be quilting it over the Tday weekend, so it’s not a rush. I do need to get started on Silver though…ideally getting some fabric cut out before that week as well. Cutting out Wonder Under is relatively boring. I watch TV while I’m doing it, but it’s also nitpicky and fussy, especially with all the tiny little pieces, so it’s hard to start when you’re already tired, because it often feels like work.

But I did it anyway, because I’m persistent (and crazy) like that…

I didn’t do a lot, 45 minutes, but it’s a start. I got one yard cut out, but it was a yard with lots of long big dirt pieces in it. If I work on it every night, it won’t take very long, and then I can start picking fabrics for that one as well, which means I need a background fabric, which means I have to make a decision about the color of the background fabric, which means I have to start coloring that sucker in my head. No problem. Especially if I have another insomniac night when I wake up like three times for no apparent reason and can’t go back to sleep. Meditative breathing got a real workout today, starting about about 1 AM. At least I’m using what I learn in meditation practice, eh? I’m hoping that between the lack of sleep two nights running and the bitchy workout I did at the gym that I can sleep through tonight…because little sleep makes Kathy really sad and unhappy and that’s not good.

I read an article today about 10 simple things you can do today that will make you happier (backed up by science)…the article is here. Is it OK to get irritated by articles like this? I was angry at first, because they make it sound so easy and it’s not that easy for me at the moment, but when I read it the second time (no, I’m not obsessive, shut up), I realized I do most of this stuff already…

I do exercise a lot. I’m revising HOW I exercise, but I don’t think adding 7 minutes/day is going to make a difference…I’m already over 9 hours/week. Wow. That is a lot.

I don’t sleep enough, but hell, it’s not for lack of TRYING. My biology is fucking with me. How do I deal with that? I can’t force myself to sleep more. My brain wakes me up, completely wired, and refuses to go back to sleep (last night truly sucked, and I’m convinced a lot of it is hormonal).

My commute is 2.47 miles. I could walk to work if I didn’t have to carry all that teacher stuff.

I do hang with a small number of friends and family. I could improve on this…but is it quantity or quality? I vote for the latter. It’s on my mind and I’m taking steps.

I could go outside more…although teachers do spend more time outdoors than a lot of office drones. I get to stand outside between each class and walk back and forth outside regularly. I could add to that…not sure how, but working on adding some hiking to my exercise repertoire (more hours!).

Help others, 100 hours/year. Now, does being a teacher count for that? Because I feel like all I do is help others some days, when some days maybe I should spend more time helping myself. I get all helped out. The article talks about spending money on others (being a teacher definitely qualifies for that). So I spent a ton of money on my students and about 6 hours a day for 183 days a year. Seems like a lot.

Practice smiling. Despite the depression, I do smile and laugh every day. Sometimes it’s some dorky kid thing (whether it’s a student or my own children); sometimes it’s something someone wrote (Tanya, Sion, and Monique are good at making me smile). Sometimes it’s that dorky video of cats. Or dogs. You know what I mean.

Plan a trip but don’t take one. OK. That’s just depressing. BUT…that said…I realized yesterday that there were some places I wanted to go, and yes, money is incredibly tight, but at some point in my future, the kids will be gone and on their own, and I could travel, and I am no longer limited by…um…well…certain factors that limited me, shall we say. I talked to my SIL years ago about going to India together…

because neither of our significant others wanted anything to do with that trip. I want to go to Antarctica…

the Galapagos Islands (can you say science teacher? Iguanas that swim!)…

Hawaii for the volcanoes and that park you have to walk into…

I found a friend’s picture of Machu Picchu from when she went a few years ago (at least, I think this is her picture)…

All those places…the Mayan temples, the Egyptian pyramids, all the places I’ve seen in pictures and read about, minus the tour guides and that crap. I just want to go. So I guess I can plan for that, even if it’s 10+ years in the future and I don’t get everywhere I think I want to go. Even if I’m going by myself. There was some animal reserve on the West coast of Chile where only a certain number of people were allowed per year. There. I want to go there. So. I guess that’s a plan. Of sorts.

Meditate: yup. doing that. every day. So there, brain. Take that.

Practice gratitude: I talked about this yesterday and how it goes against my nature. But if you look back at my years of blogging, I do show gratitude…for good books, good movies, good art, being able to make art, pets, kids, donuts, stupid shit, beautiful landscapes. I do it all the time. I just don’t use the words “I am thankful for…”. Maybe it’s just the triteness of those words being trotted out every year in November that I object to…the being thankful for the stuff that keeps me sane and here on the planet? I can do that. I do it all the time. I just don’t label it properly (much like the water faucets in my shower, says my plumber…I blame Dad for switching them around). Tonight? Tonight I am thankful for apples and a decent cup of tea. In a minute, I’m going to be thankful for a warm bed and a Kitten. I’m hoping to be thankful for a reasonable amount of sleep. Did I cry today? Oh yeah. But I still did the stuff I needed to do and even some stuff I wanted to do. I’m thankful for Brussels sprouts, however weird that is.

So that’s it. I’m doing all the things that should be making me happier. I need to sleep more and go outside more. OK. I’ll do that. Bring on the happy, dammit.

A Persistent Drive to Create

Seven hours to iron it all down. Two and a half hours to stitch it down.

It needs a good ironing, then batting, backing, and pinbasting.

It was quick and easy. But I cried a lot while stitching. Not sure why. Too much free brain space.

The back…the brain really shouldn’t be allowed out on its own. It causes trouble. Runs amok.

I didn’t get as much done as I wanted, but I got some done. I never get as much done as I want. Goals keep resetting as I get closer to them. Never be satisfied. Always you could have done more. Why didn’t you? Failure.

Sigh. A persistent drive to create. It’s an obsession. It gets me up and out of bed.

I had troubled sleep last night, partially because my brain just worries about stupid stuff and can’t drop it, especially if I’m too tired to MAKE it drop it. Also, the girlchild was up really early to go to some soccer thing (thank god she sets her own alarm and I don’t even need to get out of bed, but it still wakes me up and then I drowse until she’s gone). So there were two dreams that were interrupted in all of that. I usually dream a lot, but lately, um, for the last 4 months, to be specific, I’m not remembering any of them. That might be a blessing, who knows, but since they’re usually pretty random, it might not be. The first dream, I was at school, in class, and kids were handing in their homework…one of the more stressful times of the week, since I hate excuses, and that’s all I hear for the whole day…my dog ate it, you didn’t give it to me (one of my favorites), I didn’t know it was due today, I had to go to the hospital last night because my sister was having her baby (were you helping her?). So I was collecting homework and it was supposed to be strips of paper that kids had written some stuff on and their names (another thing they have issues doing, writing their names on their papers), and as I collected them, I realized it looked like they had done the work and someone had then cut all of it up into strips, but not so everything lined up, so someone’s name wasn’t on the same piece of paper as their sentences, and I couldn’t tell whose was whose. The kids were thrilled by this, especially those who hadn’t DONE their homework, because they thought I should just not count it, because I couldn’t tell who had handed in what. Stubborn Kathy. I sat down at one of the desks and started laying the strips out, matching them up with the pencil marks, taping them together, while the kids groaned. Dammit. Talk about obsessive.

The second dream was in a doctor’s waiting room…god knows, I’ve spent enough time in those during my life. I was sewing. I’m always sewing. I don’t know why I was there, whether it was for me or one of my kids, but the room is full, and I look up, and there’s Jim K. (from college) with his MOM (no really, he looks like he’s 12) and he’s ignoring me. They’re talking to one of the doctor’s staff, signing in or making an appointment, but even though I wave at him twice, he purposely doesn’t look at me. There’s someone else in the waiting room that I know, but in the time between dream waking and waking up enough to type the basics on my phone, I forgot who it was…someone from school, like high school or college. Why do we go back to that so often? Or is it just me? The third guy was Mike S. (from high school, names shortened to protect the innocent, because I really don’t know why my brain has picked these people out of all the people in the world that I know), but before I saw him come out of the door, I saw his mom and sister. Actually, I saw a mom and sister I thought I knew, but I couldn’t figure out why (this happens to me all the time), and the girl waved at me and I waved back, and then he came out and smiled at me and talked to me, and then his sister sat next to me, held my face towards her, and spit at me like a camel, a huge wad of goo, and for some reason, I found that hysterical and started laughing. That’s when the girlchild started squawking in the hallway (for real) about her shoes to her dad or something, I was half asleep so I only half heard any of that.

Unless the dreams are working through something for me, I’m not sure this is that helpful, brain.

What am I scared of? I wrote about being scared last night. The funny thing is, I don’t even know that most of the time there is something specific that I am scared of…I am just scared, like when you’re walking on a dark sidewalk in a not-so-great part of town and you wish you weren’t walking alone, but you’ve got to get from A to B…that kind of scared…or when you wake up in the middle of the night with your heart pounding and you have no idea why. Then there’s the standard fears: not enough money to (a) send kids to college, (b) ever retire, (c) pay the bills. There’s the fear that I will never really get over all this shit, that I will be damaged beyond full repair forever. I don’t think that’s a realistic one, but it’s hard to get past it when you don’t FEEL better. The two are linked. The fear that I will be alone forever because there is something inherently wrong with me that caused all this. That’s one I know is unreal, at my core, at least the second part, but the first part? You don’t get to control that. This whole experience (this whole experience being the last 25 years of my life) has made me think I am perhaps a difficult child…and that may doom me. So I have to get OK with just being here on the planet by myself and not blaming myself for it…because deep down, I know I wasn’t the issue either time. I picked badly, but I was not the issue. I’m afraid of screwing up at my job, I’m afraid I’ll have to be a teacher forever and I’ll start to hate it (there are parts I hate now, but that’s true of all jobs). I’m afraid I’ll get old and there will be no one to help me. Yo! Kids! Guess what? I’m afraid I will never stop crying. I’m afraid I’ll be a hoarder. I’m afraid my really old car will just die and I won’t be able to afford a new one. I’m afraid the kids will move away and rarely come back (a real fear, that one). I’m afraid of my health issues, the diabetes, the family heart issues. I’m afraid of going blind or deaf. I’m afraid my computer will die and I won’t know how to fix it…or be able to afford to fix it.

So lots of them are money-related. Those are very real fears. Many of them are about my future, which my counselor has advised me to stop thinking about, because worrying about something that hasn’t happened doesn’t stop it from happening, and I’m just wasting a lot of good mental energy on that stress and worry. That said, I should plan for some things (I have…I have retirement money, some…I have college funds put away for the kids…some. I don’t have a plan for the car. I am doing my best to deal with the health and mental issues.).

There’s this song, All Cried Out…

by Alison Moyet…I think of her as the Adele of the 80s (or Adele is the Moyet of the 2010s?). Apparently she’s released a new album this year (and she looks a LOT different).

I keep wondering when I will be all cried out, when I will run out of tears, when things will not affect me like this. My med-pro friends will say that is a sign I need to be on anti-depressants, but I don’t think the crying is a problem…it would be if I didn’t do my art and shower and leave the house and do my job and do the shopping and buy Xmas gifts. That would be an issue, but I DO all the things I’m supposed to. So yeah, I’m sad. I’m depressed. But I don’t think meds that push that sadness away are going to be the answer. I don’t know what the answer is besides time and lots of it, but I don’t think it’s meds. You don’t have to agree with me. But I’m the only one who really knows my brain and how it works, and I spend a lot of time watching it and listening to it. So I get to make the decision.

The toenail finally fell off…

Friday. During class. Yup. I bandaged that sucker up and kept dealing. It looks lovely…which reminds me. It’s that stupid Gratefulness month. I’m not a fan of the post-a-note about your thankfulness every day…it just seems trite to me, like we should try to be that way all the time, and with fighting the depression for the last year and a half, I haven’t felt very grateful for anything. It’s too hard. It feels painful to be thankful. I can’t really explain that. But I was thinking about it while stitching stuff down today, which made me cry (the stitching and the thinking, potent mixture), and then I read an article about being mindful and how being thankful is part of that paying attention part…so I tried.

I’m thankful that my toenail finally fell off and it’s not too painful. I’m thankful for my kids keeping me sane (and alternately driving me insane) and requiring me to be present on a regular basis. I’m thankful for the driven creativity that keeps me going and out of bed and away from illegal drugs and scrapbooking and compulsive online shopping and other nefarious pursuits that would not do me well at the moment. I’m grateful for all the authors out there who write books for me to lose myself in, so I don’t have to be alone with myself all the time. I’m thankful for Kitten when she’s snuggled up against my back at night in bed. She is a comfort. I’m grateful for the plumber who came today and quickly and cheaply fixed my cold-water faucet so I don’t have to shower in the kids’ bathroom again. I’m thankful for British tea, PG Tips. I’m thankful for a brain that takes the worst and tries to deal anyway, that rages against the way it is and tries to make changes, even as it sinks into depressoid mud, that rails at me and tells me it’s going to be OK, that I am strong and I will survive this, yet again, and it will not take me down. I’m thankful for warm socks, because I am cold all the time these days. I’m thankful for all the words that help me clear my brain each night…hopefully to sleep like a child, without nightmares though…the dreamless sleep of the truly untroubled innocents.

Wishful Thinking

I get to milestones and they don’t register. Or they don’t register correctly. You finished a step in making a quilt! Cool! Yup. Not feeling it. It’s almost worse getting a step done…because then I think, wow, you don’t feel any better, any different. You are still sad, depressed, slogging through the days, taking the next step and the next one, waiting for something to make a difference, to make your heart show up, to make the feelings get out of the sad realm. But they don’t. It’s just the same.

I ironed today.

Every tree needs lightning bolts.

In the long run, it doesn’t really matter that I ironed today. I also helped the boychild with his college apps; we got through the worst of it (well, he still has to write essays and ask for recommendations, so that might be the worst of it, and I have to pay for all of it, which also could be painful). I cleaned a bathroom. I grocery-shopped. I wrote a quilt statement. I did a bunch of stuff that needed doing. I worked out. I added a new bunch of exercises to my regimen, because if I’m going to be an antisocial, lonely old lady, I might as well be a strong, buff, antisocial, lonely old lady who does not have osteoporosis. None of that really mattered. I don’t know what matters.

I found the eyelid, after I had cut another one. That whole pile is pieces that I’ve found after I cut another one, or pieces I had cut out twice, or pieces that were totally the wrong color. I don’t know what to do with them. It seems mean to throw them out simply because I fucked up when I cut them out.

I’ve found that most TV shows right now rub me the wrong way. People are so shitty to each other in relationships that I can’t handle it; it makes me feel sick. So I’m watching X-Files. Mulder is kind of a jerk sometimes, but he’s well-meaning. I can handle shows from the 90s. Great. And Masterpiece Theater Mystery. That’s about it.

I didn’t start ironing until after 9, I think. I don’t know where the day went. It just went.

Once I got it all ironed together, I pulled it off the ironing sheets and rolled it up while I got the background ready to go, ironed it flat and laid it out on the floor.

I laid out the base first…the tree is easier to put down once the main section is ironed flat.

That’s most of it…missing two toenails, a fingernail, some drops of blood, a question mark, some dots over i’s, and a plug. I did get those on too, but didn’t manage a photo of that. You’ll see it again, once it’s stitched down. I’m hoping to do that tomorrow. It’s about 40″ wide x 50″ high. Something like that. She’s not happy, is she. I drew this back in June…before my life fell into a crack in the earth. I guess she knew what was coming. But she’s not crying…

I have to admit to a new emotion that’s showing up in meditation. Why do I have to admit to it? Because it’s scary. Admitting to it will hopefully make it less so. What emotion? Fear. Straight up. I’m scared of my future (or lack thereof), I’m scared of not feeling safe and comfortable…like…almost…ever. I’m just plain scared. I thought I had the future figured out. I knew shit would happen…it always does…but I thought I could handle it. I didn’t know then that everything that made me feel safe would just be gone. Without any input from me, without any chance to have a say or work on things…just gone. And I know that’s what happens when you put trust in other people, which we have to do to be in this world. OK, some people don’t…it’s true…but I don’t want to be one of those people…I’m already a bit of a hermit, and I know I could go further along that road, and I may very well wander down there for a good long time. It’s quiet, there are very few people, and I don’t have to deal with other people’s stupid shit affecting me.

But I don’t like being scared. No one does. We rush around when we’re anxious and scared and we try to control everything so we feel better, safer, and it doesn’t really work. It’s inside us and we have to work on the part inside us that reacts to things; that’s what causes the fear. It’s not the other people, the things…it’s us. So if I see scared in meditation and I feel scared in meditation (and elsewhere), I just have to face it and figure out how to make it feel safer INSIDE me. Because that’s where it lives.

Tonight’s meditation kept talking about my mental state…and I kept thinking, “like California?” A state as in a physical place with a flag and a state flower and state bird and state motto, “In nothing we trust,” and a state tree. A state of mind. A state of being. A state of matter. And then Mr. Meditation started talking about the blue sky, and that’s when I lost it…my state? The theory is that the blue sky is always there. It may be obstructed by clouds, sometimes light and feathery and easy to push through, and sometimes big and black and dark and thick…but if you just push through, you can see the blue sky. I don’t know how thick the layer of big black clouds is, but I can’t see the sky. I know it’s there, though, and that makes me sad…knowing it exists and I can’t see it, I can’t figure out how to get high enough to see the blue. It’s there though.

So yeah, that makes me cry. I’m fucking hopeless some days.

And during the 20 seconds when we’re meant to let the brain just do what it needs to do, and we sit back and observe and “note”…it’s screaming…full on screaming its head off…and I’m crying. That’s not stepping back. That’s not noting. That’s responding. That’s watching the movie and feeling it in your gut, your heart, where your heart used to be but where there’s a giant sucking hole now. That place.

Boychild sent me this link to the DSM-5 reviewed as a dystopian novel. It’s actually fairly amusing, especially when you know you’re experiencing a few of the things in there. I should just think of my life as a fucked-up dystopian novel, write it as a book, and make a couple million (someone’s debut novel just made them that amount…seriously? What am I doing wrong? Oh yeah. I’m not writing a book.).

I realized today that I had meant to ink the Earth Stories quilt, but then I forgot. Or something. My brain not being itself and all. So it’s photographed for the catalog already, but I didn’t ink it. So I was thinking…should I ink or should I not? It doesn’t ship until March or April of next year. I have time. How the fuck did I forget the inking? I don’t know. I wasn’t there. My brain, it wanders off and does things without telling me, and I don’t find out for days or weeks after. I could just leave it alone (the quilt, not my brain…my brain needs me to pay attention to it). Fuck. I don’t know. Does it matter if it’s different than the catalog? It probably won’t be hugely noticeable? I don’t know. I will have to keep thinking about it. Maybe I could think about that instead of all the angst my brain currently dwells upon.

Wishful thinking.

Hard

Today’s blog post is brought to you by R.E.M.

Every time I watch this video, listen to this song, it just kills me. Even if I’m in the best mood in the world, this song makes me cry. For some reason, I’m listening to R.E.M. today. Mood music. Maybe not the best choice…but it’s my choice.

Yeah, I know I’m getting better. It doesn’t feel better really, but I can feel shifting in something. Whatever that something is. That said, today was a throwback. I had an hour or so intermission in the evening with art and food and wine with a good friend, but it was sandwiched by Crying Act I And Crying Acts II and III. I don’t even know why. It’s not like I can pinpoint an event or a thought that warranted all those tears…they just happened.

The art was good, by the way…the new exhibit at Visions Art Museum is recent purchases by Del Thomas, a big collector in the art quilt world, and it is definitely worth seeing. There was a good variety of quilts, some truly beautiful works of art. It’s there through January 19. You can see some of the work on Del’s blog (link above in her name). I enjoyed seeing Charlotte Bird and Cathy Denton’s works about words that start with C as well. The intermission was appreciated.

Mr. Meditation tells me today to step away from the feeling as I identify with it. I step away from some pretty fucking overwhelming sadness and fall into the hole behind me of deep dark weeping. Nice. You could have warned me, man. Seriously. What am I aware of? Did you just ask me that? I’m aware of feeling like shit right now, Mr. Meditation. I’m sure there will be a positive outcome from the meditation in the long run, but today? Not so much. Today it is just sad.

I had goals today…I wanted to get grades done (it’s the end of the Trimester), so I would have the rest of the weekend free. I had to be up at 4:40 AM to take the girlchild somewhere, and when I got home, I went back to sleep. I was going to be all gung ho and go to the gym, but when I realized they weren’t even open, I was much more cavalier about the day. It’s not like I really had to BE anywhere. No one was waiting on me to be done with my stuff and be free. So I went back to sleep and Kitten tried to head butt me awake, but I put the pillow over my head, and then Calli (the dog) was whining, but I didn’t get up until she started farting…because that’s never a good sign.

It took me about 4 hours to get through all the grades, but I did it. Then I finally packed up the two quilts that are going to Poway…which should have been shipped already, but whatever…they’re not late yet.

Dehair, label on one of them, cut a dowel and put in eyescrews, pack it all up, print labels, tape it up. Shipped it before I went to the gym. Then home and showered (the cold-water faucet is stripped…makes showers very exciting at the moment…plumber can’t come until Monday)…and off to VAM. I cried all the way there. Don’t know why. Really don’t. It just happened. I got it under control about 4 times, the last time while walking across the street to go in to the museum. Good thing…I know a lot of people in there.

Babygirl witnessed the grading…

by sitting on the gradebook. It’s either there or she sits behind my neck on the chair, like an overly heavy scarf…with claws. That’s where she is now. It explains the crick in my neck.

When I got home from food and drink, which was a pleasant experience…it was nice…I ironed for a while. I really want this thing stitched down by the end of the weekend.

I don’t know if that’s really possible, but I can try. I don’t have anything else important to do, well, except shopping and lesson planning and dealing with plumbing and pet food and kids and helping the boychild with college apps and probably saving the world if I get around to it. Did I mention housecleaning? No I did not. Someone still owes me a year of housecleaning. This would be a good time to have that. In the above picture, I’m ironing the eye and the face separate from the rest of the body. I actually lost the eyelid. It’s a big piece. Usually I lose small pieces. Who knows where it disappeared to.

Once I had all the pieces ready, I ironed the head onto the body.

This piece is holding together pretty well as a single, large ironed piece, which means I keep having to move it around on the ironing sheets…they’re not big enough for the whole quilt. I finally pulled off the whole body so I could do the top part with the tree and the hair…

Here’s the already-ironed bits (from the back).

They look a bit different. And there it is with the body ironed to the hair and the tree…

With the body hanging off the edge of the ironing board. The roots that belong on the neck are sitting to the left, waiting to be ironed on.

All I have left is everything in the tree…which is about 130 pieces…not too bad, but not getting done tonight. Too tired. I’m almost 5 hours into the ironing. At least a couple of hours to go, if you count ironing down to the background.

It was after the ironing that I hit Crying Part III. That was meditation’s fault. Sigh. Obviously there’s a reason for all of it…I’m just not allowed to know what it is right now, except if you watch this TED video…

TED Talk Ash Beckham

There is no competition for who has it harder. There is just HARD. Coming out of any closet. I guess I’m out of the depression/grief closet. Sort of…because I do close the door again sometimes when I can’t deal any more, keep hiding in the closet. It’s easier to be on here and write about it than to talk about it in person. It’s easier to draw how I feel than to talk about it. I don’t know what that means in the long run, whether it will take me longer to get through the grief than it would someone who shares more than I do in person. I can’t really do anything but what I am doing, though, so it will take as long as it takes…and while it’s taking its time, it will be hard.

Not Normal. Cracked. Kittywampus.

I went to sleep early(er) last night, knowing I was tired. Then woke up an hour early and was completely wired, couldn’t go back to sleep, tried meditative breathing and pretending to sleep. No luck. Like I was being electrocuted. Then the have-to list kicked in and there was no hope. I just wanted to sleep for the last hour. I’m writing this early tonight, because I’m exhausted from this week (I ran three labs this week…plus all the other crap that inhabits my brain and makes it tired) and I have to be up to get the girlchild somewhere…I think I have to be up at 4:45. I know. Really.

Sigh. Whatever.

Meditation: Wants me to notice when feelings begin and end. Can’t. Tried. Really hard. Also he talks about being at ease with whatever arises in the mind. I am getting better at this. I practice at school, noticing when my irritation levels get super high and talking myself through it, paying attention, breathing and remembering that kids are kids and it’s not about me. But it’s still hard to drop certain feelings. The sadness feels like a shawl I am constantly wearing. I shrug it off and when I think about it again, it’s back, too heavy on my shoulders and somewhat scratchy. Horrible yarn. Get it off. Feels like it’s choking me.

Counselor says I managed to be positive during the session today. I didn’t come up with any “buts”. Yes, this, but that. I don’t know. I don’t feel positive. I told her I felt flat. Like the emotional waves were less extreme (most days, certainly today and yesterday), but that the entire wave was still under the X-axis. Yes, I used a math analogy. I guess I really am a geek. I also talked about protective walls, how mine are still all the way up…and they seem like they will be that way for a while. A teacher friend asked me if I was really depressed, because I laughed. I do laugh. I don’t laugh a lot. I do laugh. I can fake it too. Have to. On a regular basis. I hate that phrase “fake it till you make it.” I hate being fake. I just want to be me, and if me is depressed, then so be it. Eventually I won’t be. But there’s only one person I have to have a relationship with for the rest of my life, and right now that person is sad and wandering this misty world of confused crap…and I’m just following her until she finds the way out. It’s cold in there.

I had this vision of a dead tree coming out of the uterus or the vulva area. I did a bunch of grading tonight (grades are due Tuesday) and had about 15 minutes of a show left and didn’t want to just sit there (I never know how to just sit and watch)…so I pulled out the almost-full sketchbook and started one version (there are about 5 in my head at the moment)…

It’s not done. There’s a window. She needs a head. Although that might be problematic…fitting it in and all. I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Or draw it again. Who knows.

I also have ideas for menopause drawings. Reproductive function shutting down. All the stupid stuff we deal with…the stuff that colors huge parts of our lives, and then it’s gone…but it causes such massive pain and chaos on its way out. Don’t appreciate it. Don’t want to become one with it. Uterus is like an alien at the moment, asserting a parasitical nature. Speaking to me.

I am tired. Yes. Counselor asked when I felt normal. I said I thought I needed a new normal, that the old one was no longer relevant. Sufficient. Locatable. She thought I might feel normal while teaching (nope. definitely not. I am a different person this year.) or while being a mom (nope. not there either. and they know I’m not in my normal state). What is normal any more? I don’t know. I still feel damaged, broken, lost. It’s less in-my-face-at-all-times, but it never stops. Do you feel normal when you make art? No. Then I really know that I’m broken and trying to fix it with fabric and thread and pen and ink. I feel that broken in the making…I feel like I’m desperately trying to put myself back together by sort of frantically making art at all hours…it’s obsessive even.

It’s the way out, I know that…but I also know I don’t feel normal doing it. It’s…um…not quite right. I think the work coming OUT of it is fine, good even, but the doing of it is damaged…the reasons behind how and why, the feelings while actually doing whatever art activity I’m doing? Not normal. Cracked. Kittywampus.

Not in Focus

My camera was taking blurry pictures earlier this evening. Seems my fingerprint was smeared across the lens. I feel that way all the time, blurry, not in focus. Trying to stay sharp, keep the important stuff in the front part of my mind (or on my electronic calendars, so I have some chance of remembering). Trying to get a hold on a new life, a new existence? Also fuzzy, unfocused. Can’t grab on to anything. If I’m not already doing it, it’s not getting done. Even as simple as changing up my exercise routine, per my health coach…sheesh…I think I need to write down the routines (type them on my phone, duh)…because it’s just too easy to keep doing the same thing. I don’t have the brain power to be creative at the gym. I’m all used up.

I’ll get there. I guess. I only have 5 more health-coach meetings. That’s OK. I think they’ve served their purpose. I’m trying to pick her brain as much as possible before then, though…types of exercise that are more useful, how many reps, what helps build muscle mass. Fun stuff. Something to focus on besides my lack of focus.

I had my monthly stitching meeting tonight. Nice people. Distracting. Good thing. Needed some. Distraction.

Noticed as I left that they all have uncolored hair…they all are naturally gray/white…unlike my work cohorts, who are all coloring their hair (if they’re old enough to think they need to). I fit in with the first crew…it’s going white and crazy all by itself (my hair, not the crew).

I finally finished this…

Now I have to frame it…it’s a gift. I’ve only taken about 4 years to get it done (started in June 2010…maybe May…so 3 1/2 years). Seriously. It means I’ll have to pick something new for the next meeting. Not a problem. I have no shortage of things in my stash, many already started. It’s more about the process than the product, obviously. I made a ton of mistakes on it, stopped reading the instructions a year ago. Oh well. No one but the designer would know.

I also finally pulled this thing out from under the cat the other night…

It was almost done…I had decided it needed another flower and leaf, so tonight I sewed some of that on. I’ll need to finish sewing on and do the embellishment…then I can sandwich and quilt this one. Probably not a huge priority, that part of it. It’s last year’s Block of the Month from Sue Spargo. I was so close to finishing. Oh well. The world’s not ending soon. I have time.

I managed to only feel sort of like shit on the way to and from the meeting…this has been a difficult drive for the last few months…too many memories. I can’t handle memories of good stuff, because it hurts too much to think about it being gone. There’s nothing replacing it. I’m not forgetful enough to disremember looking forward to the evening of stitching and what came after. I remember and my gut gets torn open. At least I could relax a little during the meeting itself. Forget a little. Much as I ever can.

Thought I would get some useful stuff done when I got home…not. I exercised and meditated (necessary), but my tired brain is telling me to go to bed, so I will do that soon.

Calli this morning…

She really didn’t want me to put her outside. Please mommy. I could just sleep HERE all day.

This is what you do with your leftover spiderweb stuff after Halloween…

Because he needed hair, that’s why. I also did the Can Can with a student. What’s funny is he went along with it. Sometimes I wonder…about them as much as me.

The reason I pulled that wool quilt out is because Babygirl was sleeping on it the other night…

So I gave her the boychild’s baby quilt instead. She seemed OK with that, but that’s what reminded me that I needed to finish the wool quilt. I guess that’s a good reminder.

The wonder of teaching middle school: I always tell the kids, “If the fat old lady can do it, then so can you,” especially when talking about exercise and homework and stuff like that. Today, one of my kids says, “Ms. Nida, who’s the fat old lady?” I answered, “Me.” He said, “You’re not fat.” “But I’m old?” He smiled. Sweet kid. I laughed. I guess I don’t qualify as fat any more. Nice to know (but I’m still old).

Bed time. Still not focused. Walking through fog. Slowly. Quietly.