another crappy holiday

today is my dad's death day. i totally forgot it, i didn't remember it at all until a friend of mine sent me an e-card this morning to see how i was 'holding up'.

two years, he's been dead for two years.

last session i talked to me therapist about J, and through that discussion we also ended up talking about my dad. i said that i think that already, at 32, J has accomplished what my dad never managed- he recognized his weaknesses and his mistakes and then he willingly made a change in himself and his behavior. my dad, at 59, was just starting to work on these things when he died. it makes me so sad to think that he was so close to finally figuring himself out, but he never got a chance to finish the job.

my therapist - i'll call him scott (cuz that's his name)- asked me if i felt like our relationship was resolved when he died. i said no, that we had just started down that path when he went off and drove into a ditch. that makes me even more sad. we were so close to being friends, so close to finally having a real relationship with each other, and that chance was taken from us. again. i had resolved myself to the fact that we would never have a normal father/daughter relationship, but we could have been friends. we were so close. it's not fair that we never got that.

i envy people who are close to their parents as adults. hell, i envy people who can't stand their parent's as adults. i want that. i want to know my parents as peers, as real people, to have a friendship with them. i want to argue with my mother as her equal and say 'no' to my dad as a grown-up. i want to go to dinner with them and pick up the check. i want to call them and ask them for relationship advice. i want to get tipsy with them and talk about my fears and hopes and dreams for the future.

i miss my dad. i'm not even close to recognizing his death, and i don't know when i will be. at my wedding? when my first child is born? every holiday and birthday that he's not there for?

this sucks. it just really sucks.

dreaming of tall towers and deep, blue ponds

Kristoise asked an interesting question on a comment to the last post which peaked my scientific interest, and i ran with it much further than i had expected to, so i decided to make it it's own post. she asked me what the difference is between therapy, cognitive therapy and psychoanalysis. i kind of knew, but not as clearly as i would like, so i did a little research, and here is what i found:

-"therapy", as i have known it, is just basic listening and responding; most of my therapists have been licensed clinical social workers, who are defined as follows: 'A social worker trained in psychotherapy who helps individuals deal with a variety of mental health and daily living problems to improve overall functioning. A social worker usually has a master's degree in social work and has studied sociology, growth and development, mental health theory and practice, human behavior/social environment, psychology, research methods.' pretty general stuff, but it gets the job done.

- 'cognitive' and 'behavioral therapy' (or 'cognitive behavioral therapy') is more about recognizing patterns and behaviors in order to change them. to be more specific: 'Cognitive therapy teaches you how certain thinking patterns are causing your symptoms — by giving you a distorted picture of what's going on in your life, and making you feel anxious. Behavior therapy helps you weaken the connections between troublesome situations and your habitual reactions to them. Reactions such as fear, depression or rage, and self-defeating or self-damaging behavior. It also teaches you how to calm your mind and body, so you can feel better, think more clearly, and make better decisions.depressed or angry for no good reason, or provoking you into ill-chosen actions.' sounds good and logical to me- this i am looking forward to trying.

- 'psychoanylisis' is the juicy stuff, the stuff that everyone wants to learn about in psychology class (or at least i did); it was freud's baby, and includes all of those crazy, subconcious freudian ideas. even it's definition sounds wack: 'Psychoanalysis is a family of psychological theories and methods that work to elucidate connections among unconscious components of patients' mental processes, and to do so in a systematic way through a process of tracing out associations. In classical psychoanalysis, the fundamental subject matter is the unconscious patterns of life as they become revealed through the the patient's free associations. The analyst's goal is to help liberate the patient from unexamined or unconscious barriers of transference and resistance, that is, past patterns of relatedness that are no longer serviceable or that inhibit freedom.' it's all about dreams and repressed behavior and suconcious desires as being the root of and answer to your neuroses; you know, oral fixation and anal retentiveness as a child, penis envy as an adolescent, a secret desire to bed your mom and kill your dad (or vice versa), all as evidenced from free associative (aka: babbling) observations made while lying on your back on a couch. freud thought everything was really about sex or death; though i don't totally disagree, i think psychoanalysis is a load of hooey. but the theories are interesting to hear.

so, kristoise, there is my (lengthy) answer to your question. i wonder if i only answered so thoroughly because i knew i was talking to a scientist? freud would probably say i have some deep seeded desire to please you in order to enhance my own sexual identity. i think i am just curious and like looking things up on the internet. i'll ask my therapist tomorrow and see what he thinks.

do i look like brenda to you?

therapy went very well. i like my new therapist guy; he seems smart and empathetic and much much more proactive that my last one (and that's just from one meeting). i also like that he seems closer to my own age. i was thinking about this after our session and wondering why it made a difference, and i think that my last therapist just seemed to have this detached, older, grandmother-figure vibe about her that did not make me feel totally open to sharing every tawdry detail of my life. she seemed more removed and 'above it all' than the new guy, and that was not effective for me at all. i also like the new guy because he has a background in cognative therapy and pscyho-analysis, though he said he would only throw in those viewpoints if the client wants them, if they seemed to fit the situation and if the client was up to it intellectually. the cogantive therapy background is particularly interesting to me because it's all about recognizing behaviors and then learning to change them, which is what i want to do. the psycho-anaylis could be fun just for laughs, as i tend to think it is rather subjective bullshit. mostly, i am just honored that he clearly thinks i am "up to it intellectually".

for our first meeting we mostly just got to know eachother, him telling me about his training and professional background and me answering his many questions about my own background with long, tangential rambles. i realized that i like talking all about myself and my background in a guilt free setting. i guess everyone would. it's nice to talk about yourself and not feel selfish, boring or self-centered. ah, the joys of paying someone to listen.

somewhere near the end of the session i casually mentioned 'six feet under' and he asked me if anyone had ever told me that i look like brenda (Rachel Griffiths) from the show. i said yes, many times, though he didn't have to worry as i am not a recovering sex addict atheist with an odd attraction to my twin brother. i have been getting the brenda thing a lot lately as the show is drawing to a (sniff,sniff) close. i think she is beautiful, and certainly an amazing actress, but i do not think that we look all that alike. mainly it's just the hair and the eyes; her face is much more square and mannish than mine, and she's about three feet taller. plus, she named her child 'banjo', and i would never do that to a child. i liked it better when people used to say i looked like Juliette Binoche.

in reference to a few responses to my last post, i feel i must clarify. my fear of marriage has nothing to do with a fear of the instituion itself, and i also suspect that once it is done i will feel no differently towards J. my fear of marriage comes from a fear of formally bringing someone into my life knowing that i may lose him someday, either to death or abandonment. i am not afraid that my relationship with J will weaken or grow stale when we get married, i am afraid that he wil die. which i know is silly because of course he will die, some day. kristoise, i think you are right, that i would feel just as bad if i lost J now as i would if we were married. but it's the public proclamation of it all, the 'we will be together forever and ever, or til DEATH do us part' that seems daunting. forever and ever has been a cut a little short and death had done me part a few too many times for my taste, and i almost feel like publically proclaiming it is a jinx. i may not even include that line in our vows, or may reword it somehow. if J can ask me not to include 'god' in the ceremony, i can ask him not to include 'death'. vixanne, i agree with you too; it really is just a huge party, and in that respect i am definitely looking forward to the wedding. and no, we haven't registered yet, but we will soon, i promise,; we are thinking it will be at Target and Crate and Barrel. as soon as we get it done you will be the first to know.

well, i just took two benadryl, non-drowsy formula, and they are making me feel high, so i must cut this short for now. i will post again very soon though, because i am desperate to chime in on the last episode of 'six feet under', and i have more to say about weddings and loss and my new favorite therapist (who i will see again this weekend- yea!).

in the meantime, i highly recommend taking two benedryl non-drowsy pills if you want a quick and legal high. i haven't felt this wacked out in a while...

therapy-eve (like christmas eve...only not at all...)

so tomorrow i start therapy with the guy that J's therapist recommended. that's right, a guy, but he's gay, so that made it okay for me. call me crazy (no joke intended), but i would not feel comfortable with a straight male therapist; somehow a gay man is not so threatening. not to stereotype, but i assume a gay man would be more sympathetic. i talked to him on the phone, and he sounded cool- he congratulated me for recognizing that my old therapist wasn't working for me, said that lot's of people just stay with people they don't really like. he also said that he is very interactive and hands on in his style, which is much more of what i'm looking for. my last therapist just sat and listened and then basically repeated back to me what i had said. i could accomplish that with a tape recorder.

in the spirit of my upcoming emotional exploration, i had a pre-therapy session of my favorite kind last tuesday with J: magaritas at our favorite mexican restaurant. whenever we go there (which is as often as the budget permits) we end up having very postive, soul-searching talks, and this week was no exception. in fact, about a half a pitcher in, we had an epiphany, or at least a very interesting realization. all of my fear of commitment and fear of marriage and fear that everyone around me is dead if they are five minutes late comes directly from my belief that everyone i get close to will be taken away from me. because they always have been- from my dad (as a child and then literally, with his death), his wives, K and C (my childhood surrogate family), my stepfather and stepbrothers, my mom's boyfriends, to (the ultimate) my mom, the one person who swore she would never leave. so now i am trying to push J away, because i assume he will leave anyway. i am testing him to see if he will leave, because i assume he will. i am freaked out by marriage because i am terrified to count on someone again, to cast myself in with someone else who i believe will get taken (or go)away again. in other words, MAJOR fear of abandonment. and maybe this doesn't sound like such a revelation, but for some reason it seemed like it to me. i guess because i looked beyond the normal 'people who left me' list and noticed that there were even more, that almost everyone i had grown attached to as a child had gone away. i grew up so seperated from my extended family, and anyone else i tried to 'adopt' went away. i grew up expecting to be left or forgotten about.

the only exceptions, and they came later in my teens, are my friends, many of whom read this blog. so thank you all, thanks for being the ones who stayed. i guess that means i'd feel okay about marrying any of you.

the greatest thing about this revelation is that J made it. and so now he understands why i run away and why i sometimes act crazy and try to push all of his buttons at once. so maybe now it won't work on him. i guess i will just have to try to accept that he'll be the exception to the rule, that he won't leave, or at least not for a really, really, really long time.

and i want to believe that so very much. i am tired of being scared, i want to just be happy and trusting and open. i love J and i want to believe that we will be allowed to grow old together.

maybe my new therapist will help me begin to believe. i'm sure he'll be impressed that i'm coming in with so much homework started (but then i always have been a teacher's pet). maybe i should suggest to him that we have margaritas for our session, just to get the ball rolling...

watch this, you'll like it

i have been desperately in need of a laugh lately, and this did the trick. hope it works for you too.
watch it, really, it's very very weird and funny.

more blogging soon, i promise.

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.