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.

Les Reves Par Nuit

The human mind is obscenely complex. It is full of connections, twists and turns, hurdling our subconscious through time and space in order for us to believe that everything is normal.

I have tremendously low self-esteem. I think that's been established. However, if there's one body part I'd like to change, it would be my brain. It doesn't work properly. Something is terribly wrong with it, and I can't seem to validate its existence.

For those of you unaware (and I know few of you are, but dammit, I get to talk about whatever I want on here), I have AD/HD, non-hyperactive type. Legitimately; I'm not attention-seeking or making excuses when I say that. It's not just an easy scapegoat for forgetting to take out the trash. Imagine yourself walking through a room, with the intent of picking up three items of clothing off the floor. But, as you're walking, other inanimate objects in the room literally start speaking to you. They start reminding you of other projects, other chores, funny stories, and they become more and more appealing, while the items of clothes start to disappear before your eyes. That's what actually having AD/HD is like. I think it's fair to say I'm in a constant state of confusion. There are literally so many thoughts buzzing through my head at all times that I think it has affected my ability to process sound. I'm serious. I over-think when people speaking. I start to fixate on what sounds their mouths are making and I begin to lose to meaning of those words. When asking me a question, the typical response is: what? Say that again? I've had my hearing tested; it's fine. It's just my brain.

Did I mention that I'm also mild synesthete? My synesthesia applies mostly to seeing and thinking about numbers and letters. Oh, and calendars. Depending on the number, letter, or date, my mind immediately replicates and visualizes it based on a very distinct color pattern. Odd numbers are warm colors, even numbers are cool, and so on. As this is occurring, generally my mind will start to wander and think about color. I also have very odd tendencies to organize things like trinkets or food based on the way color has organized them in my brain. Now, I say mild synesthete because unlike others, my synesthesia exists in my brain for the most part, and it very infrequently interferes with my other senses. Although, it has happened. I know some people think it's a tremendously wonderful affliction to have, being that science is awfully excited about it. For me, it's the things have always been and it does nothing but aggravate my already muddled brain.

Dreams are the worst. They're either so wonderful that it hurts to wake up, or they're so monstrously frightening that they imprint me for the entire day, sometimes longer. I was telling a friend the other day that I don't think I've had a dream without extreme violence (rape, murder, stabbing, etc.) in it for months, possibly over a year. As he seemed startled by this, I realized that's really not normal. That's utterly terrifying. I'm not a violent person. Why would my brain play out scenarios of brutal rapes and vicious murders every night? I mean, it's not all I dream about. Sometimes, they're worse, at least as far as emotional impact.
Our minds can be incredibly cruel. They can make us believe something wonderful has happened, and for a brief moment, we're finally at peace, knowing everything is going to work out. Then, we wake up with a hole in our heart, wounded for the rest of the day.
My cruel dreams involve me having children. My subconscious plants false memories of being pregnant and giving birth, so I truly believe I have my own kids. Sometimes, I even wake up and reach for them, only to realize they're not there. I know this happens to the rest of the world as well, but with other voids in their lives.
Which leads me to wonder what our is subconscious plotting? What part of mind is truly who we are? We use so little of our brain consciously, but was is the rest of it doing? If it contains all of that power and all of that intelligence, why can't it heal us when we're broken and hurting? And if it can, how do we access it?


Here, I spent the whole morning blogging about my brain, and I've distracted myself from doing any actual work. My brain sucks. When is the part where I become a zombie?

Oh, bugger...

I am so tired.

Rent is really exhausting. Emotionally, physically, spiritually...all of those things.

I think we've hit a snag.

I miss my Jacob. He misses me. This is the part when things get complicated between us. It's more than Rent or our roommate or his business trips or golfing or whatever is keeping us apart. It's the fact that we're apart at all. It's also a sense of complacency into which we've fallen. We need to change our way of doing things and talking to each other.

It's difficult now, but in a few weeks, we'll mend. We'll be okay. Besides, it's hard to recognize how precious the beautiful times are without the contrast of ugly.

The Pit of Intestinal Despair

Yesterday started out pretty good, but it wound up pretty miserable for a number of reasons. It was supposed to be great---my brother had driven up from Kansas to interview for a summer internship (making him yet another potential roommate), Jacob was coming home after 10 days on the road, and David and I made Kahlua cake...and maybe had a drink in the middle of the day (I'm a horrible influence; David never drank anything before he met me). Like I said, it was supposed to be awesome.
Then, at 3 PM, I felt a horrifyingly familiar sensation. It's as if a medieval mace is being passed through my digestive tract. Everything tensed up, then it just exploded into one of the worst episodes I've ever endured. The worst part? Jacob wasn't there, and David had to fill in. I try not to suffer in front of others; it's extremely uncomfortable for everyone. I almost asked him to take me to the hospital (which really would have been for the availability of morphine, and I don't need another hospital bill). It just sucked. Fortunately, my brother was not around. That would have just been worse; we don't really do feelings, and it's never good to see your sister at her worst. Overall it was a bad situation.
I did not undergo an incredibly expensive surgery and painful recovery just to go back to the way things were. I'm irate. I am seething with anger. Why is this still happening? Didn't they remove that cyst? Didn't they get enough of that crap out? I mean, what else is wrong with me? Isn't endometriosis and infertility enough? What didn't they catch? I have a tremendous fear of bowel obstructions (don't ask why; I just do), and it's becoming less and less of an irrational fear. Can I please just be normal and healthy? Please?
Also, David, my live-in housekeeper/ roommate/ adopted adult son, has been going through absolute misery in the last two days. His ex moved away this morning. Six hours away. To a new guy (whom I can't say I like and has not made this process any easier) and a new job. It's crushing his poor heart. Last night was especially hard because he came to say goodbye to David ( and to me as well; I tend to mother him just like every other young adult and will no doubt miss him). Needless to say there were tears and sadness, which was oddly accompanied by beer and laughter, as my brother Jacob and my husband Jacob are pretty good friends and supplied me with a pretty welcomed break from being the emotionally stable one (not to say that I minded or anything, it was just a lot for my body to take yesterday)... It's just incredibly hard to know that someone you love is hurting and you can do nothing to help. If I knew it would make a difference, I would volunteer to have an intestinal attack (I mean, only if I knew it would make a difference). I hate seeing my friends in pain. Hearts are such fragile and vulnerable things, and it's an tremendous effort to attempt to heal one.

HOLY LIQUOR CAKE

Did I mention that I was also pretty hopped up on Codeine all night? That happened too.  I was in a lot of pain, and typically, would have spent the evening in bed, but circumstances refused to allow it. I didn't get to bed until pretty late, and I even needed a two hour nap today.  My body is getting to the point where I need a few days to recover from things like this. My insides feel like they just participated in a colonoscopy triathlon.  Fortunately, rehearsal was cancelled last night, and I don't have to worry about it until Monday. Good. I need the recovery time. I'm finally to a point where I can stand upright again, so I count that as a major success.

Throughout all of it, however, I actually managed to keep my house clean. WHA?????? I absolutely did. Clean. Even despite eating an extremely saturated Kahlua cake.

 I am going to make it a goal to become proficient at being an adult, chronic pain or not. We'll see how that plays out.

Cacao to emotional exhaustion...

 I need to warn all of you: I mentioned earlier that I'll be swearing from time to time on this blog. This production of Rent has conjured up a festering ball of profanity in me that I didn't know existed. Or if I knew, I suppressed it for the sake of all sanity. I can't keep dirty things from falling out of my mouth, so I apologize in advance for offending all of you in future blog posts.

I tried to write this post a week ago. It didn't work. There was just too much information. About a million things happened.
Did I mention that I tried to write this blog a week before that?
I started this as a therapy blog to deal with issues pertaining to infertility. But I've come to realize that while those issues have the tendency to infect everything else in my life, there's still plenty of unrelated drama that can seep into my brain.
In the last month, I've had one hell of a roller coaster. And the funny thing is, none of it directly applied to me. It all happened to a friend. A friend whose life pretty much, well, to put it bluntly, shit on him. Life shit on him. Everything bad seemed to happen to him, but the most painful was the imminent departure of  the love of his life, who was leaving everything they had together. He was in a very bad place (and he's still not in a great place), and he's one of those people whom many others love and care about, myself included. I couldn't let him wither away, I just couldn't. I forcibly inserted (um, ew?) myself into the situation; it's a weird mothering instinct. I like to mother sometimes. But things just kept getting worse. Then one day, while at lunch with Jacob and his coworkers, I got a phone call from him. I couldn't recognize his voice, and it scared me. So I booked it to his house (I probably drove 90 mph), and found him on his kitchen floor, a completely devastated mess.
So, I did the only logical thing. And by logical, I mean right. I took him home. He needed a change of scene. So, now Jacob and I have a new roommate for an indefinite amount of time. And yes, Jacob is okay with this. I may or may not have called him at work one day and said, "Jacob, David needs to live with us. NOW." And he agreed. Not many husbands would allow their wives to bring home another man. Although, in my defense, he's four years younger than me and gay, so that most certainly gives Jacob some peace of mind. Then again, Jacob's the one who cleaned our house when he thought I had invited a guy over for a "sleepover."
Having David around, even in his state of utter despondence, has been really therapeutic for me. I have to say I'm really benefiting from finally have a man in the house who smells good all the time, sings beautifully (he'll be portraying Angel in the upcoming production of Rent; he's been walking around my house in heels to prepare), and cleans constantly. I mean constantly. I may or may not have cried on a number of mornings (obviously before David gets up) over the fact that I am a completely worthless and incompetent housewife. But, as my house is always clean, I can't complain. And aside from cleaning, he pretty much knows how to do any other thing I could ever ask him to do, and is completely willing to do it. He's even helping me prepare for opening a preschool---he's opened a business before and knows the ins and outs of the legal crap. I pretty much cycle through gratitude and guilt all day long. But above all of that, I just feel relief that if he's here, he's...alive. Living. Maybe not functioning, but not deteriorating. I suppose that makes me feel alive too. Friends can give you purpose when you feel like you have none. And I am very familiar with feeling purposeless; unemployment and incompetence does that to a person.
Plus, I can't deny how much fun that kid is. I've been living in a rainbow theater camp for the past few weeks, listening to Rent, rehearsing for Rent, watching Portlandia, cooking tasty (vegetarian) things. I've even introduced him to real Topeka people, with whom we've had epic fun. Which, I might add, is a wonderful distraction from feeling like you have no purpose. And, mothering him gives me the satisfaction of mothering something that isn't Linus (who, by the way, is thrilled to have a new best friend; David feels likewise). My body still can't stop wanting babies, even though my mind is trying to distance itself from that idea, so being able to release some of that built up longing feels really, really good.
Jacob never lets me mother him, dammit.
Speaking of Jacob, he's in Illinois until Friday. He left last Wednesday, actually, so he's been there for a while. I drove there this past weekend, six hours both ways, just to spend a night with him. We took a train into Chicago and had a wonderful afternoon at the Art Institute and Millennium Park. It was beautiful. We don't go on enough dates. After seven years, romance gets buried under bills and business agendas, and occasionally we need a kick in the pants to rekindle it. Like weekend dates. Or, say, unofficially adopting an adult gay man. I mean, do what you gotta do, right?