Hell hath no fury...

I have just been given a taste of what it would feel like if my children were threatened in any way. I can definitively say that I will be one nasty, yet eloquent, mama bear. Consider yourselves warned.

This is a ranting blog about random high school drama that somehow permeated into my typically drama-free life. 

I typically like most people. I mean, I give most people the benefit of the doubt after I meet them. Also, it takes a pretty severe offense for me to publicly denounce a person. However, once that offense is perpetrated, you are dead to me. Particularly if the offense had something to do with my reproductive state.
 I should probably admit that this blog may have had a bit to do with one of these encounters. There exists this girl: let's call her Sandy. Sandy was in shows with me, and clearly has some form of attachment disorder, along with not being the brightest of bulbs. Sandy was completely unable to pick up on social cues, however, was extremely self-assured in terms of how great her relationships were with others in the theater. You know the type. Anyway, Sandy liked to assume that since I was married, I should absolutely be pregnant. It's a topic that I had avoided with most fringe acquaintances, but Candy seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable to demand that I fertilize my husband's seed (a euphemism for what she actually said) in front of crowds of people and that she would babysit my children, in no uncertain terms. She also had a habit of physically fondling me in public without my express permission every time we encountered each other. Her boundaries became so excessively bad that I ended up blocking her on Facebook, which she didn't seem to notice. I wrote that blog about things not to say to someone with fertility issues for people like her, thinking that her excessive stalking might lead her to my blog, but alas, no dice.

For the record, Jacob thinks she's batshit crazy. He also has wanted me to cut every tie with her for a long time, which I have resisted, because I had enough compassion for her as person that I didn't want to crush her and send her into a deep depression. Knowing what I know about her now, I don't think she has the same capacity that I do to react to failed relationships. So. Much. Energy. Wasted.

As it were, I am not the first person to suffer her indecent boundaries. Which is what leads me to the "mama bear" incident. I am very protective of my friends; I defend them, even in the worst of situations. David lives with me, so amplify that protective instinct tenfold and you have the monster that I am. Sandy's boundaries with David are obscene, and when she crossed a line, I unleashed my fury (a fury that has been building for years, to which she has been utterly oblivious). What irritated me about the encounter was the deluge of asinine, ignorant and poorly spelled rubbish she spewed back at me. Frankly, if I'm going to take my time and write a letter of denunciation, the least you could do would be to run spell check through the putrid mess that you call a response.

I had absolutely no qualms about burning that bridge, I suppose, but I am sad that there are people like that out there, making the idea of forging relationships frightening, not to mention who I can trust with information regarding the state of my family.

I really do try to like everyone, but I can't do it this time.

Well, I'm sure that was miserable for you to read, but I had to get that off my chest. It's my therapy blog, remember?

If you read that, then be rewarded with this cheerful picture:

Poppies with make them sleep....Sleep!!!!!

Feeling Sinister

Mother's Day.

I debated whether or not to spend it A) eating an entire cake with my face only, B.) mournfully whimpering into my comforter while wallowing in my bed, or C.) a mixture of A and B. I'm sure there are plenty of worn-out mothers in this world that are so exhausted that this is how they spend every Mother's Day. However,, the thing that separates them and me happens to be the small, yet significant fact that I am not a mother. This small, yet significant fact remains the reason that, for me, Mother's Day feels fucking apocalyptic.

It's like I'm on the wrong side of the Rapture.

Every commercial, every advertisement, every person deems it to be a moral imperative to worship mothers today. All of this resulting of course in me feeling horribly wasted and inadequate as a woman. As a good feminist, I should know better, but it doesn't seem to make any difference. It goes beyond any particular philosophical ideology or dogma that I have ever embraced. It just comes down to a girl being unable to achieve the one and only thing she ever truly want in life: to be a mother, to make a family with the person she loves.

You see, every year I make the unfortunate assumption that this will be the last Mother's Day that I don't get to celebrate. Such a stupid assumption; obviously, it never ends well. It puts tremendous pressure on me, giving myself this timeline.
Year after year, my heart is broken. And no, I'm not throwing that term around. My heart is broken, and there's just no getting around it.

I really don't want to dwell on feeling like this. It can't be good for my constitution. I've been desperately trying to collect happy thoughts and consolations. It always starts, "Oh, I wouldn't be able to______ if I actually had kids" or "We won't be able to do this once we actually have kids." True, I've done some great things. Involvement in theater. Consistently running and getting into [better] shape. Fostering a starving artist. Falling asleep next to the man I love every night. I wish that were enough; all of them have been such a beautiful part of my life. Don't think for a moment that I'm not immensely grateful: I am.

I'm just....incomplete.

Some have been a bit insensitive, although not intentionally: church is a miserable place on Mother's day. If I have to hear the words "children are a blessing" one more time, I'm going to vomit like Linda Blair. I also didn't entirely appreciate the looks of disapproval from all the older ladies as I walked into the sanctuary in my heels and low-cut dress, childless as always. I know what ladies like that are thinking. After all, I grew up Lutheran.

I know it's hard for Jacob to see me so upset. It's even harder for him to talk about it. And we actually did. The other day. I did most of the crying talking. It's really no cake walk for him either. However, he doesn't feel the same type of pressure that I do, and since he doesn't process through every single emotion every moment of the day like I do, it's hard to be exactly on the same page...other than the fact that we both want babies terribly, because our love for each other needs to be spread around to more than just us. It's just that potent.

I will also say this: I don't know if he reads this blog or not, but I want to say this: David is exactly who and what I need in my life right now. Even if I go into detail about why, it'll just circle back to that very statement. I just...love that human being so much.


A beloved friend did the most wonderful thing for me today.  It was so...perfect. It was just an email, a reminder that she was thinking about me. But it validated everything in my heart. I immediately burst into tears. Okay, okay, I'm still a little weepy. She understood that there was no way she could understand how I would be feeling, but she knew that what I had hoped for on this day, that it wasn't a reality, and that all she could do was provide support and positivity.  In doing that, I think she might have just saved me thousands of dollars in therapy.

So, I guess I'll soldier on through the rest of the day; I can make it through a few more hours. I'm sure I'll feel less destroyed tomorrow.

Instead of giving myself I timeline this year, I want to give an alternative:

I hope this is the last Mother's Day that makes me feel like this. I hope by next year, I'll feel so fulfilled that it doesn't matter.

Fair enough, right?

Hello once again.

So, where do I start?

I think the last time I actually blogged (there's that word again: blogged. I don't think I like it, but I must use it for lack of a better option), we were at dress rehearsal for Rent.

Rent might have been one of the most meaningful pieces of theater in which I have ever participated. I cried regularly during the performance, I mean, during the sad parts (you know, like when Angel dies. David really sold it). Which, as it were, only made the show more intense for the audience. Even though I played a real bitch, I could feel the character morph and develop every night, which was absolutely remarkable to me, considering the type of character Maureen is. Oh, the whole thing was just beautiful. And, not to mention, most of Austin saw my bare ass. Who wouldn't be proud of that? As one old lady put it: "The city of Austin is lucky that you have a cute butt."

Seasons of  Love

I've bonded deeply with a lot of people involved in the show, and now that it's over, I feel a little empty. Okay, I feel pretty empty. I like being able to use art for a purpose, and there's always a bittersweet release once that's been accomplished. Mmmmm.....I might go pester Jacob for a hug.

Oh and I forgot: we had at one point discussed raising money for a charity called BCEFA (Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS), and after our first week, I actually remembered. So, during the second weekend of the run of the show, we gave a little speech at curtain and ended raising $736.06 for sufferers of HIV/AIDS and other illnesses. I'm so proud of the theater-going community here in Austin. I have no idea what The Sound of Music could possibly contribute to charity, but maybe I'll figure it before that show opens.
I'm in that show too. Just a nun. No big thing. I think I'll spend the majority of that show missing the camaraderie I enjoyed during Rent.  Then, I'll be taking a theater break. Jacob needs it; I'm not sure if I need it, but I love my Jacob.

Also, I just spent the last weekend with what seemed like every person I've ever known. Really, it was just my family, Jacob's family, Kendra Fay, and Zach and Holly Nordby. But overall, six people were staying here at once. Oh, and David too. Plus Jacob's mom and step-dad came as well, and they brought us the full bed that Jacob's dad got us a year ago but couldn't transport. So now, David has a real bed and not an air mattress. I feel like such a good hostess now. Or, landlady would be a more appropriate term.

Our two year anniversary was on Tuesday. Unfortunately, Jacob got extremely sick that day. Extremely. Like, temperature of 102 and potential pneumonia (I think it might actually be pneumonia, but he won't admit it.) So, Thursday night, we enjoyed dinner at the Old Mill. It was really nice just to go out and be together. Whenever we spend time together, it's always in front of the TV. I hate that. I really don't want to get into that habit, so I'm hoping that with summer coming, we become more active again. We used to ride our bikes a lot. Or, at least walk...you know, back from the bar....

I'm still working on my daycare; I have an orientation class Monday night. I was at Barnes & Noble yesterday to buy Madeline a third birthday present----I got her Madeline (shocker!) and The True Story of the Three Little Pigs--- and I realized how few children's books I have. There are so many good ones; I need more books around here. Maybe that'll keep the girls occupied better when they're here. We tried to bake cookies the other day, but really, we ended up making one giant octopus cookie and pestering David about being a mermaid. But at least we listened to some good music and had some fun.

David got some movies from his house the other day, movies that I apparently need to see.  Since we end up spending most of our daytime hours together, we tend to watch movies or Dr. Who and talk about artsy things. Well, one of the movies he insisted upon was Wit, starring Emma Thompson. Emma Thompson also stars in Stranger Than Fiction, another favorite of mine. It was an absolutely brilliant movie. It present the story of an academic, a woman who devoted her life to the study of John Donne (whom I studied a bit, but not nearly to the level of the character), a 17th century poet who explores life and death in the abstract, yet is suddenly faced with stage 4 ovarian cancer, which ultimately leads to her death. The character's steely conviction is something to which I can't relate; I don't think I've nearly the strength of character to fight something of that gravity. But I'm positive that David did not expect the reaction he got from me. I wept. I sobbed. Gut-wrenching, painful sobs. Something in that movie hit something so deep and frightening within me that I couldn't help myself. I absolutely fell apart. I couldn't even describe why it was so significant and so frightening, but so many pieces of it echoed things that I have experienced or seen others experience. I felt connected to a greater experience, the experience that women encounter in terms of disease and modern medicine. All the the time. I don't even have cancer and I still have experienced many of the things that the character did. Oh, I could go on, but I think I'll tear up. I'm not nearly as verbose as some; most of my thoughts and feelings never develop into actual words, just tears. I can't seem to help myself.

I also can't seem to help myself in terms of feeling...blue. Sad. The show, which I've been devoted to since January, is over. My uterus is still empty, and I'm still suffering from the same money pit of problems. Jacob is still a little grumpy from me being gone all the time. However, as I've been hearing an awful lot of Florence and the Machine lately:

"It's always darkest before the dawn."

Our Lady of Immaculate Grammar

I'm confused by the new layout of Blogger. Have I really not blogged in that long? Am I really using "blog" as a verb?

I feel like I have so, so much to say that I don't even know where to begin.

I mean seriously.

Maybe I should just post this as a precursor to my actual entry; just a reminder to myself that I'm still blogging.

May the fourth be with you.

Up & Up

I feel like these blogs are incredibly erratic. Either manically positive or full of despair. I have a vast depth of emotion, however, I don't feel as bipolar as these blogs portray me. Most of the time, I'm pretty even keel. It's just trigger events that set me off. I tend to swing pretty rapidly if something dramatic happens. You know, like last Friday. Or, you know, losing my voice a week before performances. Or if Jacob and I try to make gravy together. Any one of these things can pitch the mighty ship of my heart to or fro in the vast sea of my emotions, so to speak. It's pretty easy to send me reeling, but I eventually end up back to where I was. I have very low mental flexibility; I have a hard time adjusting, I guess. I live with my heart fully exposed, fully vulnerable. I guess I don't know any other way. But, just like the rest of us, I move on and get over it. It's life.

Anyway, my voice is almost completely back. I knew it would be, but it still frightened me a good deal. I drank two liters of water every day. That probably helped. Jacob also had a boys weekend in Ames, IA. That probably didn't help. It meant I spent the weekend only with David, which inevitably meant that we talked too much, and my throat got pretty raw. Plus, I was pranked into thinking my house was haunted and didn't get nearly enough sleep. But, remarkably, it's back. I tried to put a humidifier in my room, and I think it helped. Also, the water. And Throat Coat tea. I drank more than was recommended by physicians. I can't help that it's tasty.
Dammit, this show is important.
Speaking of which, it's kind of awesome. Everything is coming together. I wear a whole lot of ridiculous things. And not nearly enough. So that's exciting.
Oh and I plucked David's eyebrows for this thing. That's nuts too. I mean, plucking a man's eyebrows. It's odd for two reasons. First of all, you don't expect to see the finished product. Secondly, men don't deal with pain well. I'm not sayin', but I'm just sayin'. I thought it was just Jacob that was a big baby about pain. Apparently not. But seriously, I should take a picture (although he's already taken many) and post it. I'm very proud of my eyebrow work. I've done great things to many faces in my youth.  I actually used to aspire to be a professional eyebrow...plucker...technician? Is that the term? I don't know, but I want to do that for a living sometimes...I should probably apply a numbing agent to their skin before I go that crazy on someone's face again, though. Shit got real.
Whatever. I'm a girl and I'm awesome. I mean, aside from that awesome part.

Curses

It's Friday the 13th. Yes. It makes so much sense now.

I had an incredibly traumatic morning. It didn't even start out normal. I mean, I don't have a voice at all right now, and we're opening in a week. So, enter the stress of not having a voice. Well, I decided, with my omnipotent wisdom, that I needed more medicine and more tea and, hell, I needed it now. Also, a dry erase board, so I could stop talking. I had been feeling a little more sick than usual, even nauseous, so medicine would be a good thing.
So, I get up, I shower, I get into my car, and I start driving to Walmart (being that it is the cheapest place to buy medicine and Organic Throat Coat Tea). At just under a block away, I'm hit by a painfully familiar feeling: I'm having an intestinal attack. What follows is a stream of consciousness account of my morning. I need to write it down, because I'm still kind of in shock and I have to process it.
Damn.
I shouldn't have had that wine last night. It must have had something in it that triggered this...damn.
What do I do now?
I know that I need to be home. I can't be driving anymore, or else I'm going to get into an accident. I white-knuckle it back home, but even as I'm nearing my house, I feel my mind starting to detach. This is one of the worst things that could happen; it means that I might lose consciousness. It's only happened one other time, and that was the time I had to be rushed to the ER.
Okay, so I'm terrified.
Thankfully, I make it back to my house, to my garage, and....I'm stuck. I need some pain medication fast. I foresee this turning into a really frightening episode.
Shit.
Shit.
SHIT.
Oh, God, this hurts.
I need to get into the house. I have to get that medication so that I can handle this a little better. I used to take Benadryl just so I could sleep through part of it.
Maybe I could text David? He's sleeping and has to work tonight, but surely it wouldn't take much to just run downstairs to get my pills for me?
Okay, now I just wait.
Waiting.
Ugh, I can't wait this long.
Maybe I can quickly run into the house. I mean, these episodes work like contractions; there's always a lull after a few minutes. If I time it right, I can make it inside.
Shit. I forgot that changing positions makes it worse. Maybe I can still make it to the house, though. It's just a backyard away.
Oh, hello grass. Would you like me to vomit on you now? No, I think I'll save that for later; too much energy would be expended doing that right now and I'm starting to lose my grip on reality.
Wow, the grass is really green right now.
Why can't I seem to move?
Oh, this is so incredibly painful. Ow. OW. GOOD GRIEF THIS HURTS.
Grass? Pretty grass.
Maybe I should just lay down.
If Jacob were here, I would be at the hospital right now.
Wait, was that a car driving by? Can they help?
Wait, I can't call for help. I don't have a voice.
....
...
...
...
Why am I in the grass?
...
...
...
Oh, I have a purse.
Wait! I have a phone. Maybe I could call someone.
David's in the house! I need to call him.
Shit, he didn't answer. Whatever, I'll call him again.
THANK GOD! I can barely squeeze words out, but I manage to get out the words, "Help me!"
Suddenly I hear noise and perk up. David's there. What's going to happen now? He can't possibly pick me up.
Oh good lord, he's picking me up.I hope he's not judging my underwear choice today. It's pretty heinous.
Wait, now I'm in the other garage...am I on the freezer? Yes, I'm on the freezer. Where's Da----oh, there he is. Oh, and now I'm being picked up again.
I don't think anyone has ever picked me up like this before. Well, not in my adult life anyway.
Oh, here's the couch.
Oh God, I'm going to vomit. DAVID I'M GOING TO VOMIT.
Bucket? Ah, bucket, sweet bucket.
I hate throwing up.
I am freezing. I'm still wearing my shoes and my coat, but yes, I will accept this blanket.
Yes. I would like Codeine now. Thank you.
Please don't leave me. I can't be alone. Thank you. I am so sorry that you have to be here for this.

Ok, now I'm going to sleep....


At this point, I passed out.

Ugh, I really hated this. This may have been the most awkward, horrible thing in the world to happen to me. And once again, it's horribly awkward to have to put a friend through this (particularly a friend who happens to very emotionally vulnerable right now). I wish I didn't have to put anyone through this. Or put myself through this. I really need answers.
How am I supposed to open a daycare with all those little children, if I'm going to pass out and abandon them?
How will I be able to parent?
How will I be able to do anything of value?

Once again. I am so exhausted.
And I'm still freaking out.

Meatless Easter and Its Horrors

It's horrible being a vegetarian (or pescatarian for that matter) on Easter Sunday. Ham is my favorite. There was magical ham yesterday. I almost cried. Oh, it was beautiful. Not to say that I didn't stuff my face. It's easy to fill the meatless void in my heart with other things. Mostly things with butter.
I almost cried for another reason; there are always a million babies at family gatherings. Babies make me sad. So does fielding the question: when are you guys gonna have one? Painful. Irritating. Unwelcome. I'm kind of glad this wasn't an occasion for binge drinking; I would have said too much...not that I don't already do that here.
However, I was able to use my talents as baby whisperer to lull no less than three children into napping. I'm good. I'm really good. Once they end up in my arms, I become overwhelmed by maternal instinct and sooner or later, I have them napping. And no, there is no neck-snapping involved.
I wish all of that talent wasn't going to waste right now. My future children are going to be excellent nappers. Just like me. I am a fantastic napper. Do I ever sleep well at night? Hell no. But I'm a fabulous napper. I actually reserve most Sundays for sleeping, because I just love napping that much. The other night, I "slept" 8 hours, yet at about 2PM, I sat down to watch a little tv and completely crashed for two hours. And, they were the greatest two hours of sleep that ever existed.
I should get a medal, or something.
Look, everyone a picture of a tiger!

Guess who went to the zoo last week? THIS GIRL.