and i'm not Jewish OR Catholic...

why do i always feel so guilty? even when i am completely innocent, or at least guilty of nothing more than doing something for myself, i feel totally and utterly stricken with guilt. sick with it. to the point that i write long, guilt-stricken letters to people that i'm not even close friends with, just so that they won't hate me or think i'm a bad person. and, i stress, people i'm not even close friends with. why do i feel this constant need to solve everyone's problems, make everyone happy, and generally try to save the day?

i need to get over this. i need to realize that i will never be able to make everyone happy. full stop. end of story.

so here's the beginning of the story: a girl i work with asked me to pick up a shift for her next month. she is going out of town and misjudged the dates of her trip when she put in her schedule request, so she is scheduled to work one day that she'll be gone. i told her i'd probably be able to work, but i'd have to check. i checked, and, sure enough, that is the day that i was planning to go to 'movies in the park', a big outdoor film festival held on tuesdays in july and august. it runs several tuesdays, but that week's film is the only one i am interested in seeing- 'the hustler', with paul newman. J and i go to movies in the park every summer, it's one of our traditional summer outings, and sad as that may be, it's a big deal to me. so i stupidly told my co-worker that i couldn't work because i really wanted to go to movies in the park that night. silly me, i didn't just lie and say i had something i couldn't get out of that night, i told the truth. bad move. she kind of huffed away, saying nevermind, and mumbling something about how no one ever covers hers shifts. beyond that, another guy we work with, someone i actually consider a friend, already told her he would work if she couldn't find anyone else- he wanted to be a last resort because his dad and little sisters are in town that night. i, of course, immediatly felt crippled with guilt. why? because i didn't give up my own plans and my own night off to help out a co-worker- no, make that TWO co-workers, one of which is a friend.

and now i feel like an evil, evil, EVIL bitch.

so i wrote this co-worker an email (even worse, i'm a PASSIVE evil bitch), telling her of my overwhelming guilt, my future willingness to help her out in any other situation that i can, and calling myself all sorts of bad names. she wrote me back: "Not your problem. I'll be home in California so I won't be working that day anyway. I'll just be more careful about when I work for other people from now on."

man. talk about salt on the wound.

so my question is this- why do i feel so guilty? i am not killing her family, causing her bodily harm, emptying her bank account or otherwise hurting her in any way. i made her no promises, and i have absolutley no obligation to work- it's my rightful, scheduled day off. and this girl is not even my friend. she won't have to work- essentially the shift is covered. i even called around for her to see if i could persuade someone else to work- did her job for her, technically. as she said herself (though snarkily):THIS IS NOT MY PROBLEM.

but still the guilt persists. if it wasn't too repetitious, i would say this is yet another sign that i need therapy. guilt complex, irrational need to please others, probably because of something my parents did or did not do...

dammit- i get all of the guilt of religion, with none of the comfort.

(totally off the guilt subject: if you're looking for news from my iowa city workshop experience, read below. i actually used links, and i'm pretty proud of myself)

catch up

okay, so like a rodent's advanced scheduling, my plan to blog more often is once again unraveling. but i perservere...

thanks to everyone who sent kind and supportive words in response to my iowa city post. i felt the love, really i did. actually, my time in iowa turned out to be a great experience- i met some fantastic fellow writers, made some friends, gained some perspective and focus on my writing goals, bought a ton of books, and found some vintage scarves for wedding decorations. i realized (and was reminded by one of the women i met there) that i am much better at making friends than i thought i was, and generally recharged my independance and self-esteem. i also decided that i could never live in the middle of the midwest; lake michigan may not be an ocean, but at least it gives the illusion of coastal living.

my workshop itself was a little less than gratifying, but i made the most of it. the teacher was not what i wanted her to be- she was a little cold and withdrawn, not quite as hands on and inspiring as i had hoped- and the workload did not kick my butt as much as i had expected, but i got a good start on some stories about my dad that have been floating in my head for a while. and, most importantly, i met some other writers who are interested in sharing work and critiques online. yea for community! i also met some really cool writers/speakers, including one who was my mini intellectual crush for the (last two days of) the week, and who agreed to help me with my submission to the Oxford American.

(in case Julia or Lauren are reading: i emailed him telling him how much i love his book, and he emailed me back right away- {girlish squeal!}. for the rest of you, his book really is great, you should read it)

(and in case any of the rest of you are indignantly judging my betrayal of J, he knows all about my little literary crush. 'i'm a good girl, i am...' )

(you should also check out this book- she was a great speaker as well)

another interesting outcome of the week was that i realized there are a lot of people around my age who have lost parents. at least half of our class had lost at least one parent, and one other girl had lost both. i always like to meet other "adult orphans"(does that sound morbid?). it's good to share experiences and it makes me feel less freakish, which is nice. it also made me realize that a lot of really great writing has been (and is being) inspired by loss, and that's something i know i've got down. i like to think of it as my artistic liscense- i have suffered, therefore i am validated in my artistic expression. therefore my pain and my point of view are interesting enough to subject others to. total bullshit, i know, but it works for me. anything that keeps the ink flowing. i think i am going to write a collection of stories about my father.

so that's enough for now. more later. i hope, i promise... (squeak squeak)

stretching

so here i am in lovely iowa city. trying to be a writer. ho hum.

i was terrified of coming here, for so many reasons. first and foremost, i am not particularly good at making friends, and though i like being alone, i do need social contact after a while, so the thought of spending six days in a strange town surrounded by no one i know was a bit unnerving. secondly, the workshop i am taking is called 'family memoirs' and the thought of spending six days in a strange town surrounded by no one i know while being forced to think about my dead parents thrilled me even less. oh, and then there's the whole 'who am i fooling, i'm not a real writer and i probably never will be; this is just another wild goose chase for a career that i will never be able to decide upon' line of thought.

fun stuff.

but, so far so good. i have actually managed to bypass my usual shyness, and (with the help of two nerve building glasses of reisling) i actually initiated a group dinner last night. and i have been talking to strangers left and right.
in fact, i am off to dinner right now, so more later, but so far so good. all i have to do now is deal with the parents stuff, and that should be a piece of cake...

right?

thanks...

for the support everyone. not that i was surprised to get such a pro-therapy response from all of my therapy-attending friends... i am going to call J's therapist for a recommendation as soon as i get back from iowa city. i know it will take time, and it will be hard, and that i will never be totally "cured" of being sad about my parents. i just want to be able to think about them without crying.
lately, i have been getting really sad about my dad. today, J and i were driving in to work along lakeshore drive, listening to a sam cooke tape that belonged to dad, and i was suddenly overcome with sadness and started to cry. i saw the beach that we went to after he helped me move to chicago, and i was listening to the music that he loved to dance to, and i just started to miss him so much. i hate that he won't get to dance with me at my wedding. i know it sounds stupid, but i think that his death has not really hit me yet. i think that his death brought back my mom's death so strongly that it distracted me from actually losing him.
yikes, i don't like the idea of another wave of grief just building offshore. i suppose therapy can help me batten down the hatches.

on an even sadder note- is anyone else scared as hell of our supreme court now? sandy, why are you leaving us? who's going to save us from the church? who's going to be our moderate voice of reason? i'm glad i'm still renting; it will make it easier to move to canada when the crazy christians finish conquering our government.

movin' and shakin'

i am moving- again. it has been less than a year since i packed up everything i own and walked it down the block, and i would be immensely happy if it could be at least three more until i did it again. but no such luck. the swell of chicago condos must march on. my place is apparently going for $390k. i mean, this is a nice apartment and all, but seriously- four hundred thousand dollars? when i was growing up in richmond, that kind of money could buy a house with a three acre yard and an elevator. here, just a two bedroom condo rehab. the world's gone mad.

speaking of going mad, apparently i need therapy. or at least, J thinks it's a good idea. i agree, i have been a bit of a mess lately, with mood swings to rival a six flags ride, and bouts of minor depression, oh, and the fact that i'm obsessed with my dead parents. and antisocial behavior- if that's what it means when you're always crabby and you can't make friends. (these are all my words, not his). lately i just feel blank and desperate. i can feel totally alone and isolated sitting in the middle of a crowded room. and- i think this is J's issue- i have been getting my familiar born-to-run feelings again. a few weeks ago, out of nowhere, i drank a whole bottle of wine and decided i was furiously mad at J (who had the NERVE to go out with his friends and then call me several times to tell me where he was and when he would be home, the bastard), so i ran away from home, thirteen-year old style. i went down the street to my old (now my new again) house, and lay down in the back yard and fell asleep, deliberatly hoping that J would be worried when he got home. he was. luckily, he found me right away, and then we had a ridiculous fight, in which i tried to act like i was the one who had been slighted, and told him several times that i had HOPED that he was worried. in the morning, it all came back to me in an oily haze, and i felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. i'm lucky he didn't dump my crazy ass right there. he was very hurt, but also very forgiving, saying that he had panicked when he got home and i wasn't there, and that he didn't know what he would do if he lost me. and the night before i actually told him that this was the reaction i wanted! i've never done something so mean hearted and vindictive, especially to someone that i love who in no way deserved it. it was so clearly just a plea for attention, which he would willingly give me at any time, if i just TELL HIM WHAT I NEED. i have such a hard time asking for what i need, and a nearly impossible time asking for help. when did i become such a passive aggressive coward? and where did all of this anger that i have come from? i love J more than anything in the world; he is so sweet and understanding and good to me. and yet i still find myself questioning our relationship, wondering if this is the right thing for me, so scared of a future that involves counting on one person.

he's right, i do need a therapist. and i'm such a stuck-up hippocrite for being so surprised that that's true. J has worked so hard on himself and this relationship, has made it such a priority to be the man he thinks i deserve, the absolute least he deserves is the same effort from me.

(and synge, don't think i am missing the irony of being told i need to go to therapy. talk about the pot calling the kettle crazy...)

tell me i'm not crazy...

i never thought it would happen to me. i thought i would be safe. i saw it happen to my other friends, read about it in magazines, saw it in the movies and on tv, but i thought i would be different. i thought i was stronger. but it has happened.

i am obsessed with wedding planning. and i've got it bad.

i buy every wedding magazine i can get my hands on, even the ones in the sealed plastic bags with the free budget planner notebooks and the target gift registries. i log on to indiebride or the knot at least twice a day. i can't wait to go to flea markets this summer and look for interesting stuff for centerpieces. recently i even had the urge to rent "my best friend's wedding" and "runaway bride" JUST BECAUSE THEY ARE ABOUT WEDDINGS!!!!

i have a problem. it has to stop. the wedding is still a year away, and i have everything done except for buying the flowers and writing my vows.

i fear i am lost.

tell me i'm not completely out of my mind. tell me this is normal. at least tell me this is normal for ME....

a response to a fellow mourner

Dear Vixanne,

i agree and disagree with you. all grief is indeed very different, and losing a parent is not like losing a child, that's true. but, ironically enough, when i lost my parents, i felt very similar feelings of isolation and exclusion to what you have felt, and much of that came from how other people 'expected' me to grieve. everyone seemed to think that it was so much 'worse' for my grandparents to lose their children than it was for me to lose my mother, because your parents are supposed to die before you and your children aren't. maybe that's true, but your parents aren't supposed to die before you're thirty, and even if they are, it doesn't make it any easier. everyone 'expected' me to be over it by now, because i am young, and resiliant, and i have my whole life and future ahead of me. so now it makes people uncomfortable when i talk about my pain, and it makes them feel guilty when they tell me their mother's day plans, because they don't know how to 'handle' my grief that has lasted so much longer and affected me so much more than it 'should'.

true, your grief and mine are very different, just as our experiences and our personalities are very different. but i think that there are also a lot of similarities which you don't see.

i very much mourned the future when i lost my parents; every day i mourn the fact that they are not with me in my life to see the directions i am taking and that they will never see me grow or know my family or my achievements. i do feel that my mother's death is a reflection of me as a woman and a person- through my most formative adult years, i didn't have a MOTHER, i still don't have a mother, i don't have that most essential of female relationships that every other woman in my world has, and that makes me feel freakish and abnormal and faulty. no one knew knew what to say to me when they died- sure, i got the prerequisite 'i'm sorry' and ' how are you?', but no one really knew what to say, yourself included. just because there's a card for it, doesn't mean people feel comfortable discussing it with you. i do have many many memories of my parents, but they are fading every day, and for many of them, there is no one left who shares those memories; they will die forever when they leave my mind, because all of the people in those memories have died. i certainly felt bitterness and jealousy, and i still feel bitterness, every time i see a mother and daughter or a father and daughter laughing and talking together. it makes me FURIOUS that that can't be me, that my parents were taken from me while other people will have theirs for their whole lives. and lastly, yes, hundreds of people mourned my mother and my father, but i mourned them, and still do mourn them, very much alone, every day. in fact, the further i get from their deaths, the more alone i feel in my grief. because i'm supposed to be over it.

because grief is supposed to be simple.

but you and i both know that it is not.

for anyone.

day by day

i fear i am falling back off the blogging wagon. some days it's easier to write than others. in fact, i have fallen off the writing wagon in general lately, and that's no good. but i have a workshop and a new writing class both coming up soon, so that should help me stay focused. sad that i need such structure to keep me on task, but such is life. i have been distracting myself lately with wedding stuff and finding a new apartment (my building's going condo, so we have to go), and apparently i can't mentally walk and chew gum.

we did find a new place- well actually, an old place. we're moving back into my old building, four doors down the block. in an uncharacteristically shrewd bargaining move, i talked my old landlord into renting us the third floor unit in my former building- the owner's unit, a three bedroom, and the nicest aprtment in the building- for $300/per month less than he was asking. it had been vacant for three months, and i knew that he was desperate, so i thought he might bite- and he did! talk about a renter's market...if anyone wants to rent an apartment for a great deal, move to chicago, now's the time. now i have my old yard back and more space than i know what to do with. J is thinking of turning the back sunroom into a meditation room- just because he can- and we will now have an official guest bedroom, so if any of you east coast slackers ever want to go (mid)west, you have a place to stay. it is a little more money than we pay now, but not a ridiculous amount, and i figure if you're going to splurge it might as well be on your home. i know all of you homeowners out there are going to tell me i should buy, but i'm just not ready yet (nor is the chicago housing market, by my budget). one major life commitment at a time- talk to me after i'm married and through grad school.

i am just a little worried about J's reaction to the new place though. he seems a little weirded out about moving back into what was essentially my old apartment, in a building with all of my friends. he says he feels like he's moving further into my life, and that strikes me as an odd phrase from someone who is planning to marry me in a year. as i see it, i spend a LOT of time with his friends, much more than he has ever spent with mine, so in fact moving in there kind of balances the scales. i know that the extra money worries him too, but as i see it, we have the money my parents left me as a cushion for us and in order to enable us to live a little more comfortably, so why not use it to live in a really nice place? it's really only $150 more a month than we were looking to spend, and that's what, like two dinner dates or a couple of cab rides a month we'll have to cut out? i do not count on my parent's money, and i have never squandered it, but dammit, my parents are dead and that really sucks, so why shouldn't i get some happiness from the money they left me? i have so much guilt and so many bad feelings about that money, i am trying to get to a place where i can just enjoy it- not waste it or depend on it, but enjoy it and appreciate the security and flexibility it offers me. using it to enable me to live in an apartment that i love, in a building full of people that i care about, with a yard where i can dig in the dirt- that is how i lose the bad vibes of that money. and that's okay........right?

damn. i need to go back to therapy.

is anybody out there?

or am i writing this for an entirely empty room? lurkers, unmask yourself (if you exist)- i'm feeling neglected here...

stop the world, i wanna get off

right after my mom died, my dad gave me a book called 'when bad things happen to good people'. i never read it. when my dad died i looked at the book and thought it was ironic that he was the one who had given me the book and now he was 'good person' i was missing. when my mom died another friend of mine gave me a book called 'motherless daughters' which i also did not read for a while, though i eventually stop/start-ed my way through most of it (the crying made it hard to read, hence all the stopping). this summer i will attend a writing workshop in iowa city led by the woman who wrote 'motherless daughters', hope edelman; the workshop is called 'writing about family'. yesterday one of my closest friends told me that she had some irregular, possibly pre-cancerous cells on her cervix, and would have to go in for minor surgery and, if that didn't work, she might have to have a hysterectomy. this morning i broke down crying on my way to the gym, overcome with a terrible sadness, suddenly absolutely exhausted by the world. i am tired of trying to fix everything. i am so tired. i am tired of bad things happening to good people. i am tired of worrying that more people i love might die. i am tired of putting forth a brave face, and being positive, and supporting everyone else, and taking care of everything. i want someone to take care of me. i want someone to make everything okay. i just want to stop and be happy for a while.

i want my mommy.

digging for roots

today i spent the entire afternoon on my hands and knees in the dirt planting my vegetable garden. the weather was hot and the work was strenuous, but there are few things in the world that i love more than sitting in the sun wiggling my toes into the dirt, so overall it was a wonderful afternoon. i finished the day dirty, tired and amazingly satisfied.

crouching there, placing each tiny little plant into the earth, i thought of my mother. when i was growing up, every single saturday morning i can remember found my mom in our back yard, on her knees, messing with her flowers. i would wake up, usually hours after she had, to a pan of bicuits on the kitchen counter, a pitcher of sweet tea on the back stoop and mom, dressed in an old sweatshirt and cutoff jeans with a bandana holding back her hair, half covered by plants somewhere in the yard. she loved her garden, it was her haven. she told me once that that was her release after a long and emotional draining work week, the only time she could really call her own. though at the time i didn't understand how working could be a release from working, now i understand. just the sensation, the satisfaction of doing a job that you want to do, on your own time, in your own way, and for only your own reward, is an amazingly calming thing. gardening makes me happy in a way that few other 'hobbies' can; part of that is the activity itself and part of that is the nostalgia and sense of private indulgence i associate it with.

as i realized how much i share my mother's love of gardening i was faced with the fact that i am like her, and unlike my teenage years, when that would have terrified me, i found that idea very comforting. maybe it's because my parents are gone, but now i'm pleased when i notice their traits in my own actions. it makes me feel closer to them, it reminds me that they were a part of my life and they will always be a part of me. when i catch myself making up silly songs, i remember that i am like my dad. i catch myself making facial expressions that remind me of my mom. i hear the tone of my voice and it sounds like dad. i share both their good traits (curiousity, generosity, friendliness) and their bad ones (arrogance, impatience, lateness), but the important thing is that i am LIKE them, they are still in me. i am their daughter, here or gone, and no amount of time or distance will change that. they are my roots, they are my foundation. though i am my own plant now, producing my own fruit, it is my parents who first helped me grow. to grab for another plant metaphor, i guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

wow. all of this, found in an eight by four plot of dirt. who'd of thunk it.

these boobs are made for walkin' (but DAMN, my feet hurt!)

this weekend i participated in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer (not 'against' breast cancer, 'for' it-?!?) and my body is now in complete revolt (well, that, and the tequila-soaked congratulations dinner i ate last night didn't help much either). it felt good to finish though, and though it may not sound like much, i must say that walking 40 miles is HARD! it was primarily through the city, and yesterday was steam-heat hot, so that added to the discomfort level. but it was all worth it when people along the route cheered us on, and when cancer survivors thanked us for walking- it's the least i can do to fight a disease which has taken the lives of my dearest loved ones. so many of the teams were walking in honor of someone they had lost, and it really hit home for me how very common this disease has become. there were all sorts of signs along the way reminding us that one in seven women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime, and those are some scary odds. it also reminded me, on a much more selfish and superficial level, how hard it is to stay in shape, and how much i need to keep up regular exercise. i consider myself in pretty good shape, i go to the gym at least four or five times a week and i try to eat well, but MAN, my body was pushed to the limit this weekend, and i was only walking! i have told myself that some day before i die, i want to run a marathon (in honor of my dad, who was planning to run one when he turned 60), but i don't know how i will get into that kind of shape. if walking a marathon nearly killed me, how could i possibly manage to run one? but i have time, and exercise is a habit i am trying hard to form, so maybe one day...

i did think a lot about my mom and dad this weekend. along the route there were lots of families out, holding up signs to support their loved ones who were walking, and it made me wish that my mom and dad were there to cheer me on. they both would have been so proud and supportive of me for doing this ( and doing it 2 years in a row now); my dad in particular would have been really impressed. most of my family didn't even donate, let alone call me up to cheer me on (except my stepmother M, who totally rocks). i guess this is just another incident in which i have to consider my friends as my family, because all of my friends were so very encouraging and generous in their donations. i also thought of my mom as i saw so many mothers and daughters walking together and once again i wished that she were here so that we could do the walk together. i wish so much that i could walk and celebrate with my mother the cancer 'survivor', instead of desperately missing my mother the cancer 'victim'.

recently i heard on the news somewhere that they may have found a cure for cervical cancer, the disease that killed my mom. some doctor said that now no woman should ever have to die from cervical cancer. i have such mixed feelings about this news. while i am happy that no other women will lose their lives, i feel so angry that this should arrive too late for my mom. she fought so hard, and so valiantly, and to hear that the disease that beat her is now not even a threat makes me absolutely furious at the unfairness of her death. too little too late seems like the biggest understatement of all time.

so if i can walk, and raise money to help find a cure so that generations of other daughters will not have to feel the anger and the sadness of losing their mothers, so that even one woman will not have to feel the pain and frustration that i feel every day, then give me my damn shoes, i'll walk it again right now. it would be worth it.

Dreams

i woke up this morning from a night full of dreaming, and the dreams were so close to the surface and clear in my mind that i felt i must write them down. the first one i remember was more fantastic and indulgent than significant- i dreamed of an elevator bar. i was in a big fancy hotel with two other people ( a man and a woman, i'm not sure who) and i wanted to show them an elevator i had found that somehow served cocktails. i went to the elevator bank, pressed the button, and the door opened on a long, steel gray metal room with an older, salt-and-pepper haired black man in a tuxedo standing behind a beautifully laid out table. the table was dressed in perfect white linens, set with bottles of liqour and wine, a silver ice bucket and several kinds of glasses. there were three black stools pulled up to the "bar" and when i explained that we were only here to get a drink and return to our rooms, he shook his head and told us we should come in and sit down. we did. he poured us drinks (once again, i don't remember what) and then began to produce (from nowhere) small plates of the most extravagant food- a mound of caviar with small round toast points and sour cream, a hunk of very nice french cheese, chocolate mousse, raspberry trifle, and minature lobster rolls. we began to eat and drink, and i had the distinct feeling that the room was moving, in fact i could see it rotating so that the elevator door was pointing away from the outside lobby- so that no one else could get in. i wasn't afraid, it seemed to make sense to me, to close the bar off. the older gentleman bartender explained that this was a very exclusive bar and that not many people knew about it. he told us that he had many regular clients, and that they all had their normal visiting hours- one man always came by with a friend or two at 1am- and that this was good, since the bar only held four people and if it was full when you arrived, you would open the door to find only the back of the elevator car and you would not be able to get in. all the while i was eating this amazing food, going for the caviar first, since i knew it must be good caviar and i have never eaten good caviar. i picked upa toast point (well, a toast circle, really) and noticed it was soft and flexible, not crisp as i had thought it would be. the man across from me ( i'm still not sure who it was) had folded his toast point into a kind of caviar taco, and i remember thinking that seemed odd and very decadent. i loaded my taost with caviar, put some sour cream on, and then ate it, but do not remember how it tasted. in fact i remember thinking it did not have much taste, not as much as i had expected. the man acrosss the table from me ( i almost want to say he was like a young tony randall) noticed a crock topped with white whipped cream and dug in to discover it was raspberry trifle. we both commented on trifle and then dug in. that had lots of flavor, very sweet and light and fluffy, sugary and rich. after that things began to fade. i remember being away from the table for a moment and turning back to find that the food had disappeared, except for a crock of chocolate mousse and a small bowl of cocoa powder. our drinks were still there, and the linen was spotless, as if nothing had ever been there or been removed. i remember thinking that i had never gotten to try the cheese.
the second dream was much more significant, but i'm not sure where it came from. i was sitting in a small room, like a screened in porch type of area, with most of my mother's family- her sisters, nieces, nephews and her mother. we were all sitting there talking and clearly waiting for something or someone, and i eventually got the impression that we were waiting for my mother in some way, though i'm not sure why. as we waited, my aunts and my oldest cousin, dawn, were talking about my mom and they were saying all kinds of bitchy things, like how she would put on airs, that she thought she was better than everyone else, that she was really irresponsible, that she was just as much of a good time girl as everyone else but she pretended to be so good, that she was always running late and making people wait for her. i got more and more angry as they talked, and yet i didn't say anything, until finally dawn was saying something in a particularly sneering tone and i broke down and told them all that they shouldn't talk about her like that, how dare they, she was my mother. they all gave me a look and were quiet, then slowly drifted back into their conversations. i remember catching my aunt katy's eyes and she looked so sorry for me, so pitying, and i felt like she was the only one who understood. that's all i remember of that one, but i woke up wanting to talk to my mom and talk to my aunts.

there's the dream report. discuss amongst yourselves.

only thirteen months to go!

i must confess, i am beginning to get a little wedding-happy. i know it only springs from too much free time between classes and my upcoming visit to MD to start talking to vendors, but i fear i am becoming somewhat obsessed. and i still have a year to go. yikes.

i was in NYC recently to visit synge, and we went to try on wedding dresses. i have come up with the brilliant money-saving idea that i will buy a bridesmaid's dress for myself instead of a wedding gown because they are cheaper, simpler and more in keeping with the style that i'm looking for (and most of them can be ordered in ivory- suckers!). so we went to vera wang maids, and tried on two absolutley beautiful dresses. but right before we got to VW, i was looking at a dress in a window on madison avenue, and it suddenly hit me that i am actually going to buy MY WEDDING DRESS, and i kind of freaked out for a moment. i have been so caught up in planning the wedding (ie: the party), that i have not really thought about the marriage (ie: the point). this is actually the second time i have gotten chilly feet since the engagement (in december), and i still have a year to go. once again: yikes.

so i am officially admitting that in my return to blogging i am going to start writing about my wedding journey. my everyday friends are already starting to get tired of me talking about wedding stuff, so i will use this as a guilt-free outlet for all of my obsessing and worrying (and, oh yeah, joyous excitement, blah, blah, blah). i feel better already. not to say that i will never talk about anything else, but it is nice to know i have this as an option. there will be discussions of "together forever?!" fears, and "i want my parents" moaning, and "what do you think of ___ as a centerpiece?", as well as the usual general life insecurities, self-pitying and doubts that i have already displayed on this page.

buyer beware, i'm on the bridal path now! read at your own risk....

what not to do

if both of your parents are dead, and you loved them both, and you miss them both very much, and you happen to be planning your wedding to a wonderful man who they never got to meet, oh, and you were just getting close to your dad when he died quite suddenly and unexpectedly, just about the WORST thing you can do is watch the movie "Father of the Bride" with Steve Martin. especially when you have been drinking wine. and it is the first day of your period.

now i am going to drink more wine and cry. a lot. and watch the rest of the movie, because i am a glutton for punishment. for those of you that will be at the wedding, know that this is why i will be crying when the song "the boy i'm gonna marry" (by some 50's girl band- it 's a nice song) comes on. and it will, because (did i mention that i'm a glutton for punishment?) my dad loved that kind of music.

i am sad and pathetic. so sad, so pathetic. but thank god for the indiebride website and all of the other motherless and fatherless brides i found there. they reminded me that at least i am not sad, pathetic and the only one of my kind.

grumble grumble grumble

okay, so i just wrote this nice, clever, funny, light-hearted account of my return to the writing world, and my recent success in the music world, and my day to day battle with living in the moment, and then i went to spell check it and it went away.

dammit.

i am too irritable to write it again. dammit.

i'll write again later.

boo.

promises, promises

after a three month absence, i am planning a comeback to the world of blogging. i have throughly exhausted the merely observational interest potential of the internet and have found myself with nothing left to do but to add my own two cents on this 'life' and 'living' phenomenon. i will be back soon. i promise.

i'm beginning to see the light

it's true, i have been beating up on myself a lot lately, and that does need to come to an end. funny that i am the meanest to myself right about 21 days apart each month. hmmmmmm.... but i do need to stop comparing myself to other people and start giving myself credit for all of the wonderful things i am capable of. synge is right, i am not sans career right now because i am stupid or lazy or untalented, but just because i have not found the right thing yet. and so i have been looking....

i spent the whole day online on wednesday trying to be proactive with my non-career-gal blues. for those of you who don't know, i have been taking creative non-fiction (read: personal essay/travel essay/memoir) writing classes at northwestern since last fall, and i love them. i have always wanted to write, i have had ideas swirling in my head for a long time now, and finally doing it has felt great. and the cherry on top is that i really think i am good and so do my teachers and the people in my classes. that's certainly a start. so when i began my career search i thought to myself, 'how can i turn this writing thing into a situation that would be more steady and employable than constantly submitting essays to magazines and This American Life but would still allow me to do that?' (and no, teaching is not an option for me- i don't like children particularly, i am not patient with strangers and i am not good at explaining how i get from a to b). i have always known i would have to go back to school at some point, because i just don't want to work in theatre and i don't have the training to do anything else. so i began to scan some local colleges' grad school majors and that's when it hit me (bear with me; i am trying to walk to the fine line of being positive and not belittling myself while still acknowledging that some of you may be thinking you've heard it all before as far as me and my job ideas, but i really do think this is different): journalism.

in the fall of 2006, i am going to go to columbia college in chicago to get a masters in journalism. i can finish it in one to two years, and they are very big on getting their graduates internships and helping them get jobs in the city. i had always thought about journalism, but i thought it would involve many many more years of school or that as a theatre major i would have to start from scratch. but not so at columbia- they don't even require the GRE (yipee! i won't have to relearn math!). and though columbia college may not be columbia university, it is still a well known school locally and, like i said, they are good at making sure you leave with contacts and job possibilities. as i see it, a journalism degree is somewhat like a law degree for writers in that it can turn into a million different jobs, including many of the more creatively bent ones that i have always dreamed of (travel writer for Gourmet anyone??).

so, having that goal in mind, i feel much better. i am attending a workshop at the Iowa summer writer's workshop this july (taught by hope edelman, who wrote 'motherless daughters'- i'm so excited!), i hope to begin submitting pieces to local publications by the fall, i will finish up my creative non-fiction courses at Northwestern by next winter, that leaves the spring free to fully immerse myself in wedding planning, and then i go off to get my masters! so maybe my life is fuller and more exciting than i thought. i just need to keep my eye on the big picture and not get bogged down by my little jealousies or my hormones. that said, i am off to let a woman insert a cold metal device into my vagina and scrape my uterus with a stick. (as sarah jessica parker says, ' i love being a girl!)

more of the same

it seems that i have taken this blogging as jounal phenomenon to the darkest extreme and turned this into a place where i can bitch and pity myself in public in order to get nice reassuring comments from far away friends. i suppose with a title like 'the dead parent's society' one could deduce that i am a bit of a dark wit anyway, and i was setting myself up for melancholia; i'm beginning to think that maybe i should have gone with something cheerier, like ' rainbow brite and the chirpy sunshine band' or ' happy tales of bliss and glee", but really, wouldn't everyone just hate me even more for posting on somthing like that? i think reading blogs can be a nice way to remind yourself that everyone's got their shit to deal with, it's not just you. and so i continue the trend...

i am having major career envy. i finally understand my friends that are sick of hanging out with married or engaged couples. my on-again-off-again friend Sunshine (with whom i am currently mostly on-again) is always bitching about the fact that everyone she knows is getting married and how it makes her feel so alone and single and how she hates hanging out with couples and people who are always talking about their boyfriends. well last night, i spent a very nice girls' night out with some of my career gal friends, and today i feel like a big worthless pile of shit. they were all talking about their jobs, and how much they love their work, and how hard their jobs are, and how busy they are, and how so-and-so had just asked them to be on such-and-such board, and how this project and that project was coming along. and i just sat there, seething with jealousy and feeling about as stupid and uninteresting as i've ever felt in my life. as much as anyone has ever wanted a boyfriend, i want a career, and, dispute it or not, i think that it's much easier to find a boyfriend than a career (though techincally both have about equal power to make you feel miserable and insecure). i listen to my friends who have great jobs that they love and i just feel so lost; i don't know what i want to do, i am almost 30 years old, and i don't know what i want to do! and everyone keeps telling me, "oh you've got plenty of time" and " you don't have to know what you want to do right now" and " you can do many different things in your life", but none of those things make me feel better, especially when faced with so many of my friends and my peers who started out at the same place as me and are now so far down their own paths that i can hardly even see them anymore. i feel like i am sitting at the starting line, and i don't know how to start the race.

i feel like i've become a joke, every week i've got a new career idea, and every week i either lose interest or momentum. i'm too picky, i want my dream job, but i don't have the follow through, and i feel like everyone is just looking at me and clucking their tongues and saying, " if only she wasn't so lazy...". but it's not that i'm lazy (well, not primarily), it's that i don't know where to go. i don't know which path i want to start down, and so i keep putting a foot on one path and then doubting it and then turning around and putting a foot down another path and so forth and so on. not to keep speaking in metaphors, but i feel like i'm standing in the middle of a train station with a ticket in my hand, all paid and ready to go, but i can't read the destination, and my platform doesn't exist. so here i am, a traveler with no destination and no mode of transportation, everything i need except where to go and how to get there.

and J trys to help, but he is so goddamned confident and patient with life. and i can't talk to R, because she's the queen of the career gals, she has always known where she was going and how to get there. and i keep trying to think about my mom, and how she started her career in her late twenties (with a three year old, no less), and my stepmother, and how she didn't go to law school until she was in her thirties, but those things become less comforting as i slip closer and closer to the age that they were when they did finally make up their minds, and i still don't have a clue.

it's at times like this that i really and truly envy my old across-the-street friend Jill. she knew she wanted to be a math teacher from the time we were in middle school. so she went to college, she majored in math and education, and now she teaches high school algebra. just as easy as that.

the other night at work, i overheard a young girl who was in town visiting colleges with her mother. she was fresh-faced and old-fashioned pretty, with the look and the attitude of a girl from a J.D. Salinger short story, all intelligent innocence and grown up idealism. she and her mother were the second pair in line for the show behind an older couple who were asking her about her school visits and her college ambitions. i was inspired by her youth and freshness, happy for her in all of her yet-to-come-ness, until they asked her what she wanted to major in. she said she wanted to double major in theatre and english, she wanted to be a playwright, and the bitterest, most beaten-down part of my soul wanted to run up to her and scream out "NOOOOOOOO!" i was shocked and appalled with myself, but my instinct was to tell her to major in pre-law or business or at least to take some education courses, because you can't do anything with a theatre degree or an english degree (bear with me synge) and you'll just end up careerless and struggling and confused when you're thirty or you'll have to go back to school later. and of course, this instinct made me feel horrible, like i had lost all of my own youthful resolve and hopefullness and creative idealism. of course there are exceptions to the rule, there are people who do make wonderful use of these degrees (ie. Synge, and MAH, and R), who do get a job in their art, and who do find wonderful careers, but could someone please tell me their secret, because i am sick and tired of standing in this train station.

anniversaries

mondays are going ot be my special days from now on, my days just for me to write and think and clear out my brain, to spend a little time checking in and taking care of myself. a much needed day. and this particular monday is an especially free one, as i have no writing class tonight, and J is working a double, so i have the whole house and the whole entire day to myself. yea. but strangely, even with all of this free time and space, all i have motivated myself to do so far is eat and sleep, and it is almost afternoon, so here goes.

last saturday was the ninth anniversary of my mother's death. it's strange how her death day has become almost more significant to me than her birth day. sad. friday night at midnight i was over at my friend R's house and my phone started beeping right at midnight. i'd forgotten that i had programmed the day into my phone's calender, unaware that that also set an alarm. what a wake up call- " your mother died today! your mother died today! remember, remember! your mother died today!" most of saturday i tried not to dwell on it, and i worked that night, with plans to go out drinking later that night with J and some friends, so i figured i would be fine, plenty to distract me. but both of my aunts called me at work to see how i was doing. and later that night at the bar it was all i could talk about, until i got myself distractingly and purposefully drunk. but i woke up sunday morning just fine, sure i had made it through another one, better than usual, less drama, less mess. we had friends coming over for dinner that night, so that whole day was full too, cleaning the house, going to the grocery store, cooking like a madwoman. so much to do, no time to dwell, busy busy busy!

the trouble started with the red wine, though even that took time.

dinner was great, company was great, except for a slightly runny cheesecake, all was well. when everyone left, J and i settled into the couch and watched Carnivale, a show i have become totally obsessed with, while my giddy, tipsy hostess high wore down. the house was warm, my belly was full, i had spent the evening with some of my favorite people, now i was watching my favorite show with my favorite man, and all was well in the world. until the show ended, and the wine began it's usual tricks.

red wine makes me sad and emotional. i don't know what it is, or why it's so, but it always happens. i love it- last night we had a rich zinfandel, so deep and dark and sweet like cherries and smoke- but it is always a dangerous thing to play with if i have anything important on my mind. even things that are deeply buried will come out when i am drinking red wine. (remind me not to drink it at my wedding...)

as J turned the tv to a sports channel, and i got up to go to the bathroom, the sadness began to hit me. suddenly everything that i had been trying to ignore on saturday began trickling through my brain. i felt sad, and hopeless, and lonely, and isolated, and scared, and hard, and cold. i told J i was going to take a shower. i stripped off my clothes and crawled under the hot spray. (i wonder why it is that when i am upset i always want to take a shower- is it a womb thing? a water as redemption thing? just a sensory distraction, a guiltess indulgence?) but even standing there in the water i could not cry, either for myself or for her. lately i have been sad, but i cannot seem to cry. i just stood there, with the water hitting my back and thought about how alone i have felt since she left. how i have never let anyone into my life all the way, even J (though he's come the closest), since she died. and how i am so sick and tired and frustrated and angry at the way i have shut myself off. how desperately i want to be open and brave and hopeful like i was when i was a child, when i felt safe and protected and sure of myself. i hate remembering her death day. i hate always noticing that she's gone. i hate that now i have to do that with my dad too, and i can feel myself not believeing that he is dead. i want a day when i do not think of them. i want a day when it does not cross my mind. or i want

hell, i don't know what i want, but this melancholy thing is not nearly so romantic in real life as it is in tennessee williams plays, and i am more than a little tired of being so damn introspective and aware of my feelings. sometimes i see stupid shallow people and i envy them. it must be nice to go through life not thinking about things all of the time, just doing what you're told or what you're supposed to do. and who can i blame for my acute self-awareness? my mother, of course.
i just miss her. i want her back. i want my dad back too, but my mom more, because i am starting to forget what she looks like. i am starting to forget what she sounds like. and i don't know if i do remember who she was. we never got to be friends. we would have been great friends. i wish i had gotten a chance for her to drive me crazy, like everyone else is always saying their moms do. i wish she had been the first one i called when i got engaged. i wish she was pressuring me to have grandkids, or pushing me to get a better job, or calling at the most inconvenient times, or trying to treat me like a child even though i'm all grown up. i wish that i had been the one to let her go, to push her away as i grew, instead of her leaving me first.

three thousand days. next year it will be ten years. and ten years after that she will have been gone from my life longer than she was in it. right now i am becoming a grown up, and my mom is not here to see it. i will start my own family some day, and no one in it will have known her but me.