31 July 2007

I made it through a whole episode of something! Spoiler Alert.

Not only did I watch a shockingly boring episode of something called Medical Mysteries wherein the subject waxed, um, boringly about her overproduction of testosterone and the infertility from which she suffers as a result, but I saw Big Love, the brand new episode with lots of dirty sex (for, you know, polygamists) and a big twist at the end where Roman Grant GETS SHOT! Those crazy inbred Greens, I knew a few of them must have escaped.

Yeah. I made it through two whole shows. Whoopee.

The mosquitos in the yard are awful and Fergus was outside for a brief few before being bitten over a dozen times and needing an Off! hosing replete with white t-shirt and calendula ointment; we ran into a bit of a fire problem when he discovered that he could, um, set things on fire by holding them over the citronella torches that surround the deck. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed by the smell of sage and I run out back to discover that he's burned my sacred bundle and is performing a bit of smudging on his own. I gently took it from him with a stern-and-concerned talking to about the dangers of fire and he seemed to understand for he steered clear of the fire for the rest of the night. Now to work on his obsession with blowing out candles...Ellie, I'm gonna need your help on this one.

Heather, Chris, Melissa and Steve played guinea pig to my tofu curry and even I wasn't completely disappointed, but I did note some changes I would make in the future: I was afraid of scorching/crumbling the tofu and I was too gentle flipping it, too hasty, and it had a floury taste that it might not have had I used a broader pot and more patience. We chatted sleepily after dinner, Fergus lay in his bed listening to Peter and the Wolf, and I was on the couch by 930. Every little bit is a blessing.



Boring: Yes. Necessary: You bet.

30 July 2007

I don't know how to do this anymore...
Current mood: exhausted

...life, I mean. I spent a good weekend with friends, swimming my ass off, taking leaps from high peaks that I would otherwise shy away from, wearing a black bra under a sheer white shirt and drinking mystery yellow beer at the Tavern. I even ate meat, which made me feel a little sick in the AM but it could have been the abundance of fresh jalapenos that went down surprisingly well. I stayed mostly sober, I went with the flow, I did yoga at Beaver Dam and freaked out several children with my extended inversions when my grief would blindside me and I couldn't recover without standing on my head.

I've been sleeping alot. Last night I tried watching Running With Scissors; I don't know if my love of the print spoiled the celluloid or if it was shitty or if I just couldn't watch it, but by 930 I couldn't keep my eyes open and I turned it off. I tried reading with crossed eyes, a book I really want to read, but I had to put it down almost as soon as I picked it up because my mind was willing me to sleep. And sleep I did -- sort of.

My somnambulism is back with a vengeance: Last night I woke to myself naked and supinating in front of the fridge, choking down the last of the vegan spanikopita with one hand and shoving oatmeal cookies into my mouth with the other. Upon realizing my location, I had the good sense to drink a big glass of water and take myself back to bed, where I fitfully slept until almost 800. For the first time in two weeks, I dreamt of him; when I realized that I was sleeping on the furthest edge of the bed, I muttered "shove over, wouldja?" and I shoved him. He apologized but his voice came through Fergus (whom I'd actually shoved -- what a sport!) with a "sorry, Mommy," and I felt like a shit. I grudgingly got up this morning although my body was screaming for an infinite extension but ten hours is more than enough sleep and I know I will drag my ass through the rest of the day.

I want out of our house. I thought I wanted to stay, I do want to stay, but I can't, it's too old and needs too much work and it feels stagnant, tainted-but-not-haunted, Fergus wants to leave, too. There's no evidence of the event and it doesn't feel burdened but the nights are too hard, the quiet is too hard, the solitude and the distance from my friends is unbearable. I want to live within walking distance of support. Melissa will move in soon and I'm hoping that her presence will balance me, will shush the rumination and the what-if; I don't expect miracles but I've self-flagellated for as long as I can remember and I won't do it anymore. I want Tom and Ellie and Francesco and Corey and Viv and Jenn and Roby and Heather and at my beck and call for love and support and possibly alcohol. Being a lightweight has its advantages.