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Dec. 4th, 2007 06:11 amBob: Did you hear about that guy the cops shot because they thought he had a grenade? It turns out he was just eating a pear.
This was said in all disgusted seriousness, but seriously - I laughed A LOT. For a LONG TIME.
Damn that's funny.
Anyway.
Bobby J, aka![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tmfi was here over the weekend. That was weird. He hasn't been here in over a year and a half, yet it's been pretty easy to talk to him on the phone a few times so I figured it would be pretty easy to hang out; but I think sometimes that he purposely excudes awkwardness onto others wherever he goes. Uh, no offense Bobby :p Really though I think the weirdest thing is that you were here for such a very short time, we did nothing special, you seemed bored, and then we dropped you off with no fanfare at all and drove away. I don't know what I expected, but it probably would have involved...I don't know, outings and taking pictures, or something. I hope you felt satisfied when you left, and glad you came. You really missed out on dinner and dessert that last night.
Speaking of dinner and dessert: Grant wrote about it.theneolistickid
A lot of people over the past 7 months have suggested thyroid checks, antidepressants or therapy to me. I got my thyroid checked right before I got admitted to the hospital, and it's normal, I'm not open to taking antidepressants (which is NOT a judgement on anyone else, it's just where I'm at), and I'm thinking about persuing therapy - but mostly just because I love therapy and so it sounds like a good time. You may have noticed I'm a bit of an emotional exhibitionist.
The thing is, and I know everyone thinks this, but I really don't think I am depressed or need help. I need a nap. I need some time alone with Grant. I could use some cleaning help. But I write a lot - on my own, privately, I mean - and I talk to Grant a lot, and my sister, and I cry when I need to, and I pray, and I think I'm working through things.
I do swing wildly, still. I burn to write and get almost desperately frustrated when I can't, sometimes. Or I get miserable lonely as soon as I lay down in bed (...with another adult and two small people...). Periodically a song lyric, a change in the weather, something I come across cleaning - any damn thing, basically - will bring me suddenly to tears over some grandiose thing or other. Mortality, or my own lack of control over certain things, or even with gratitude.
But I have an appetite. I have a sex drive. I laugh, I cook, I am filled with joy several times a day by Elise, and regularly by my other kids as well. There is a balance. The dark times unfailingly coincide with the profound sleep deprivation, which is an awfully big coincidence. I've felt as dark from profound sleep deprivation without failed vbacs, brain injuries or near death experiences involved, in the past.
The month before I went into the hospital, I was depressed. I was lazy and nothing sounded like fun. I had no energy and no motivation, about anything, and didn't want to talk and started saying I was done with this journal and...blah. It was like trudging through quicksand to do anything. I've never felt like that before - and to be honest it gave me a new empathy for people who suffer with that all the time, I mean UGH. I don't feel like that now.
So, don't worry about me :p I appreciate the concern, but a blog is not a complete picture.
All that said...the sweater I was knitting Brian for his birthday (last month)has turned out to be the sweater he's getting for Christmas, and it's looking so big that, well, it may be the sweater JAKE gets for Christmas. It'll be nice either way :p I'm thinking Elise's stocking will be made of yarn, even though all the others are fabric I've sewn. They're all different, anyway, and I have the perfect yarn just sitting here.
I have a confused jumble of writing projects going at once. There is...
-a collection of short stories that so far consists of 2 finished stories, 2 stories I've begun, and 2 concepts for other stories, as well as a connecting theme and a tentative title for the whole thing
-a collection of Children's short stories that consists of one finished story, two story ideas and a unifying concept
-an idea for a fictional novel that I've stopped to make notes on several times
-a finished autobiographical...thing...that has been sitting done as a complete novel for 3 years now. It's mind-numbingly humiliating, not in quality as a book but in the things it reveals and because I was a different person when I wrote most of it (5+ years ago). Yet when I go back and read it, I think it's really readable and has a lot of potential. I sometimes wish I could publish it with a special contractual clause that only total strangers I'd never meet could read it.
-10 pages of notes for a totally different autobiographical thing. The other one is VERY introverted and personal, whereas this is more of a situational group thing. It's a book several people have urged me to write over and over, that would be full of stories that never fail to entertain when told aloud...
-4 pages of notes and countless hours of thought about a book on the dangers of unnecessary cesarean section, and how to avoid one. This is not something I feel inspired about, or itch to write, like the other things. But it is A. something I think is important in a way the other things aren't, and B. something I have more immediate hope of actually publishing, because of all kinds of silly things like being on the show House of Babies and modeling for Conscious Woman and having a good friend who's famous for publishing books about the dangers of cesarean section, who has publishing hook ups. Also people seem to think a person is more qualified to talk about things they have a lot of experience with, and I think I've encountered a pretty unusual number of cesarean complications in my real life... Over the course of my 5 there are not many non fatal ones I HAVEN'T dealt with. Also there is a more specific marketing nitch for this type of book, which makes it easier to sell to someone. Hopefully all of that matters to some people, because I certainly don't intend to pretend to have any sort of credentials I don't - it's more like, "There are a lot of things I wish someone had told me when I was pregnant for the first time. These are them."
-a poem I plan to share at Open Mic night at the local bookstore. I had planned to do this before, but then my pain levels got too high and I became incapacitated.
I really am not sure how one builds a career on that sort of hodge podge, and am all too aware that publishing houses are not exactly searching for writers who crank out one book in each genre of work, and periodically something that fits in no category at all. Luckily I have a primary vocation that outweighs writing and so I won't be (as) crushed if I never make it as an author.
Speaking of which, I am OVER THE MOON about Ananda's big Christmas present, which we decided on for sure this evening. It's going to be a "gift certificate", of sorts, for a day out with just me. During this day, and listed on the certificate, we'll go get our nails done somewhere, get her ears pierced like she's been begging to for months, have lunch somewhere together, and maybe see a movie (I have to see what will be in theaters come January). Otherwise we'll do something ridiculous that she'll be nuts about, like go shopping at Claire's.
She has a final rehearsal for one of the two parts of the upcoming ballet show, tomorrow evening. Being back in classes with rehearsals on top, after a month of no dancing, has had her sore all over. But, just like when she's struggling to learn something, she smiles about it like it's awesome. It really amazes me - Ananda HATES to perform, hates to struggle, is terrified of failing. But not with ballet. It's the only exception I can think of.
( 2 pictures )
This was said in all disgusted seriousness, but seriously - I laughed A LOT. For a LONG TIME.
Damn that's funny.
Anyway.
Bobby J, aka
tmfi was here over the weekend. That was weird. He hasn't been here in over a year and a half, yet it's been pretty easy to talk to him on the phone a few times so I figured it would be pretty easy to hang out; but I think sometimes that he purposely excudes awkwardness onto others wherever he goes. Uh, no offense Bobby :p Really though I think the weirdest thing is that you were here for such a very short time, we did nothing special, you seemed bored, and then we dropped you off with no fanfare at all and drove away. I don't know what I expected, but it probably would have involved...I don't know, outings and taking pictures, or something. I hope you felt satisfied when you left, and glad you came. You really missed out on dinner and dessert that last night.Speaking of dinner and dessert: Grant wrote about it.
theneolistickidA lot of people over the past 7 months have suggested thyroid checks, antidepressants or therapy to me. I got my thyroid checked right before I got admitted to the hospital, and it's normal, I'm not open to taking antidepressants (which is NOT a judgement on anyone else, it's just where I'm at), and I'm thinking about persuing therapy - but mostly just because I love therapy and so it sounds like a good time. You may have noticed I'm a bit of an emotional exhibitionist.
The thing is, and I know everyone thinks this, but I really don't think I am depressed or need help. I need a nap. I need some time alone with Grant. I could use some cleaning help. But I write a lot - on my own, privately, I mean - and I talk to Grant a lot, and my sister, and I cry when I need to, and I pray, and I think I'm working through things.
I do swing wildly, still. I burn to write and get almost desperately frustrated when I can't, sometimes. Or I get miserable lonely as soon as I lay down in bed (...with another adult and two small people...). Periodically a song lyric, a change in the weather, something I come across cleaning - any damn thing, basically - will bring me suddenly to tears over some grandiose thing or other. Mortality, or my own lack of control over certain things, or even with gratitude.
But I have an appetite. I have a sex drive. I laugh, I cook, I am filled with joy several times a day by Elise, and regularly by my other kids as well. There is a balance. The dark times unfailingly coincide with the profound sleep deprivation, which is an awfully big coincidence. I've felt as dark from profound sleep deprivation without failed vbacs, brain injuries or near death experiences involved, in the past.
The month before I went into the hospital, I was depressed. I was lazy and nothing sounded like fun. I had no energy and no motivation, about anything, and didn't want to talk and started saying I was done with this journal and...blah. It was like trudging through quicksand to do anything. I've never felt like that before - and to be honest it gave me a new empathy for people who suffer with that all the time, I mean UGH. I don't feel like that now.
So, don't worry about me :p I appreciate the concern, but a blog is not a complete picture.
All that said...the sweater I was knitting Brian for his birthday (last month)has turned out to be the sweater he's getting for Christmas, and it's looking so big that, well, it may be the sweater JAKE gets for Christmas. It'll be nice either way :p I'm thinking Elise's stocking will be made of yarn, even though all the others are fabric I've sewn. They're all different, anyway, and I have the perfect yarn just sitting here.
I have a confused jumble of writing projects going at once. There is...
-a collection of short stories that so far consists of 2 finished stories, 2 stories I've begun, and 2 concepts for other stories, as well as a connecting theme and a tentative title for the whole thing
-a collection of Children's short stories that consists of one finished story, two story ideas and a unifying concept
-an idea for a fictional novel that I've stopped to make notes on several times
-a finished autobiographical...thing...that has been sitting done as a complete novel for 3 years now. It's mind-numbingly humiliating, not in quality as a book but in the things it reveals and because I was a different person when I wrote most of it (5+ years ago). Yet when I go back and read it, I think it's really readable and has a lot of potential. I sometimes wish I could publish it with a special contractual clause that only total strangers I'd never meet could read it.
-10 pages of notes for a totally different autobiographical thing. The other one is VERY introverted and personal, whereas this is more of a situational group thing. It's a book several people have urged me to write over and over, that would be full of stories that never fail to entertain when told aloud...
-4 pages of notes and countless hours of thought about a book on the dangers of unnecessary cesarean section, and how to avoid one. This is not something I feel inspired about, or itch to write, like the other things. But it is A. something I think is important in a way the other things aren't, and B. something I have more immediate hope of actually publishing, because of all kinds of silly things like being on the show House of Babies and modeling for Conscious Woman and having a good friend who's famous for publishing books about the dangers of cesarean section, who has publishing hook ups. Also people seem to think a person is more qualified to talk about things they have a lot of experience with, and I think I've encountered a pretty unusual number of cesarean complications in my real life... Over the course of my 5 there are not many non fatal ones I HAVEN'T dealt with. Also there is a more specific marketing nitch for this type of book, which makes it easier to sell to someone. Hopefully all of that matters to some people, because I certainly don't intend to pretend to have any sort of credentials I don't - it's more like, "There are a lot of things I wish someone had told me when I was pregnant for the first time. These are them."
-a poem I plan to share at Open Mic night at the local bookstore. I had planned to do this before, but then my pain levels got too high and I became incapacitated.
I really am not sure how one builds a career on that sort of hodge podge, and am all too aware that publishing houses are not exactly searching for writers who crank out one book in each genre of work, and periodically something that fits in no category at all. Luckily I have a primary vocation that outweighs writing and so I won't be (as) crushed if I never make it as an author.
Speaking of which, I am OVER THE MOON about Ananda's big Christmas present, which we decided on for sure this evening. It's going to be a "gift certificate", of sorts, for a day out with just me. During this day, and listed on the certificate, we'll go get our nails done somewhere, get her ears pierced like she's been begging to for months, have lunch somewhere together, and maybe see a movie (I have to see what will be in theaters come January). Otherwise we'll do something ridiculous that she'll be nuts about, like go shopping at Claire's.
She has a final rehearsal for one of the two parts of the upcoming ballet show, tomorrow evening. Being back in classes with rehearsals on top, after a month of no dancing, has had her sore all over. But, just like when she's struggling to learn something, she smiles about it like it's awesome. It really amazes me - Ananda HATES to perform, hates to struggle, is terrified of failing. But not with ballet. It's the only exception I can think of.
( 2 pictures )
