listing my hereness.

If I post in truth right now, it might be depressing. I tend to post during the blues, asking the keyboard to pull me into the yellows. So perhaps a list to limit the damage I might make in the world?

1. I really, really loved the muppet movie. One of few movies I could watch over and over again.
2. I want people to burst into song in my own reality.
3. Maybe if I imagine people singing around me it will become reality.
4. I talk too much in class.
5. Did you know I'm working two jobs?
6. I'm also going to school full time.
7. Oh, and I'm attempting to retain the parenting.
8. However you should note that I've given up on cleaning and cooking.
9. Hoarders here I come!
10. This was fine until I learned my pay for this semester teaching one class online, 9 students (7 of whom are graduate level). Let's just say I cannot bring myself to calculate the actual hourly pay as it might break me into a thousand tiny pieces.
11. It's hard to find funding as a non-nurse in a nursing program.
12. Motivation is hard to come by.
13. Funding, grants, publishing, presentations are all non-required stressors because they are implied requirements outside of work and homework.
14. Diet Coke isn't the motivator it once was.
15. Neither are doughnuts.
16. I love it when Ellis says, "What the heck in the mud?"
17. Millie made me toast as my pre-birthday breakfast. It was good toast with peanut butter on top.
18. I want to crawl into bed and stay there for a week.
19. I don't want anymore requirements.
20. Michel Foucault can be so inspiring and so hard to grasp at the same time. And applying his thoughts to the dichotomy between the sciences and humanities in the way that is right and correct is leaving knots in my brain.
21. Mornings stink.
22. So do showers, until I'm actually in one.
23. Dear Facebook users - why do you post things that are completely offensive to me?
24. Dear Me - why can't you ever reply honestly to these posts?
25. Reading that back makes it seem like I'm offended by like R rated stuff. or whatever. Maybe I am. But people I know don't really go to there. I'm talking about politics and opinions.
26. I recommend Mindy Kahling's book.
27. How do I have time to read this?
28. You are right - I don't. (Please see #12, 14, and 15 above)
29. Clin claims that Fantastic Sam's is perfectly acceptable for a major haircut.
30. I claim only for men, children, and trims.
31. He says it is just as good as the Paul Mitchell School.
32. Is that true?
33. The Secret Garden pretty much rocks
34. but is impossible to read to a 4 year old
35. and only partially impossible with the 6 year old.

Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world....but people don't know what it is like or how to make it. Perhaps the beginning is just to say nice things are going to happen until you make them happen.
~ The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett ~

calm and bright.

Here it is 5:00 AM, and I'm awake, thinking. Nose dripping. Tired. Sick. And awake.

Which makes me think of my Dad. Do I have insomnia? The thought that plagues me everytime I have a night like this.

(Or aphrodisiac, as I so clearly explained to family friends at a game night when I was in middle school. Or maybe it was high school. But that's normal to mix those two words. Right? Insomniac. Aphrodisiac. Same thing. Don't you see it?)

And I was perusing the beautiful blogs, and saw a Christmas Card declaring "All is Calm, All is Bright." But it's not. And I'm not. I'm lonely. And sad. And I miss my family. I miss friends.

It's my own fault. I don't have time for family. Or friends. Which is okay 90% of the time. Because I'm socially inept that way. (Or perhaps you could also say social insomniac. Or social aphrodisiac.)

And I read these posts about people who live near their siblings, and trade children/get together/like each other on a daily basis and it makes me sad. I will never live by my siblings. And half the time I think they hate me because I mess up Christmas (sorry Lindy) and cause anger (sorry Kyle and Nathan and everyone else) and am not eloquent, funny, or much fun. And I would like to pick up and go visit them all but have this adversion to spending money (another reason I'm loving Christmas this year.)

It's so much easier to connect with siblings who know me and all the negatives wrapped in that package. And perhaps still might be okay with that. But maybe they aren't.

And now I'm just babbling.

But same for Mom and Dad. Who fix things. That I can't.

So merry, merry all. I'm going back to bed.

in the snow.

One thing that I enjoy about blogs -- other peoples' blogs -- not my blog -- are the beautiful, vibrant, photoshopped pictures of the beautiful, vibrant, edited lives of lovely, articulate strangers. How easy it is to present life as a shimmering orb of perfection. And I like following shiny orbs. Or I like perfection. Particularly the glossy cover-art kinds.

And I think it might be a fun hobby to attempt the creation of a snowglobe life filled with sparkling whimsy and splashy fun.

But I can't write that way. If I did, though, you would now be reading about the crisp evening in a backyard covered in mounds of snow, pristine and untouched. Steam from the dryer vent adding a haze to the cloud covered sky, creating stage effects for our first attempt at throwing ourselves into such perfection.

Small bodies stuck in drifts after each fall, as mother makes her way to save each one from the snow angels holding them hostage. Rolling out the snowman layers, creating snowball machines, eating the productions and starting over again.

Frosty appearing underneath the large tree, without carrot, hat, scarf, or buttons but sculpting replicas out of the excess snow that just happens to be laying at our feet.

And you might imagine an evening of perfection and beauty, within a snowglobe of our own.

Until I admit that this is our first snowman. And I feel bad about that.

And that is where I fall out of the orb, in that I am compelled to admit my guilt and complete lack of abilities of submitting my will to the needs of my children.

anxious and insecure.

Perhaps it is the eggnog that I had for breakfast. I should not drink eggnog for breakfast. That is what I've learned this morning.

But PhD studies is like a big fat mirror pushed really close to your face and you can see all of your pores, hair, and other exciting weaknesses.

One of which is my inability to accept that I make mistakes. I know that I do, but I cannot handle it when other people think that I've made a mistake. Particularly when it was unintentional. No - particularly when it really wasn't a mistake, but is an assumed mistake on the part of the recipient. And I hate being misunderstood, because that is when I get really, really anxious that something bad is going to happen and have trouble breathing and it doesn't go away.

You know - many of these misunderstandings happen via email, where I send out a message and get something highly unexpected in return...

In the past my solution has often been to declare a decrease in the little socialization that I have. You know, ban myself from people. The thought of which calms me, but it never works because people keep unbanning themselves from me.

So perhaps my solution needs to be more focused to email. However, I can't figure out how to actually ban myself from email without it hurting my grades, job, life. Insight anyone?

schooled. Week 1.

Orientation began at 8:00 AM last Monday and ended at 4:00 PM Friday. And every hour was scheduled. I was home around 10 every night and left at 6:30 AM each morning.

How strange to see my children a total of 10 minutes awake. Or what seemed like 10 minutes.

What I learned in my first week attempt at PhD:

- I'm vulnerable.

and have very thin skin. One reason I wanted to stop auditions was the call back. Where you return and perform in front of your competition. last week was a callback. Not that I perceive my fellow students as competition. But it still had a callback feel. Particularly by the end of the week when I was very, very tired. I tend to think of this as my hallucination period.

Kind words can bring me to tears.

So can smiles. and familiar friends from the past.

I did nothing at my house last week. And if it weren't for some amazing parents, I don't know what we would have done. Not only was the house clean, dishes put away, family fed, but my daughters were schooled, homework completed, and lawn mowed without a finger lifted by me.

It was insane how kind and giving my parents were. And now that they are gone (refusing my cries for them to move in and take care of me until my vulnerable period ends)....I am on my own.

So I will continue to claim hallucinations until my skin thickens a bit. And I stop perceiving unfounded emotions from others. Or opinions of me.

Because I will just continue to tell my psyche: this is not middle school. this is not middle school. this is not middle school.

a big, fat, piece of cake.

Yes I am. And whenever I feel like dessert I want to eat more. And then it becomes this mad circle that spirals into a slow motion life of little motivation.

That's right, and top on my no-motivation list? Scrapbooking. Hair. Getting out of bed. Showers. Cleaning. Brushing my teeth. Cooking. Dishes.

And then my resentment increases at others for sitting while I have to move. Because. I. don't. want. to. move.

To fight this? I made lemon squares AND Halfway cookies yesterday. Today I plan on making the homemade oreos.

But I have a really good reason. Payment for the substitutes in primary. 36 instructors equals a lot of subs. And the few who actually say yes to subing are getting burnt out.

So my evolution into dessert will be shared, so that the majority of these feelings will not end up in my stomach. But on someone else's doorstep.

And then I will go back to bed.

in mourning...

for the life that was full of potential but never realized.

doesn't returning to your childhood haunts do that to you?

it makes me sad. every time. and i think of things. like how in first grade i visited Portland, and then wrote that i did not see shark meat, avocados, or policemen on horse in really great handwriting.

my mom and my sister said it was really great hand writing. for first grade.

and i think. at that time. what potential was seen? and was it realized?

not fully. i'm sure. or at all in the manner imagined.

kind of sad.

and now.

the time spent with my girls is coming to an end. and i'm sad.

for i had a vision of the potential of that time. and it wasn't fully realized.

and i also really want that family that all lives near one another. so i can abuse privileges by utilizing the safety of cousins and comfort of siblings to shield me from anxiety and fear.

i've never had that. reliable, automatic, adult friends through family to hang out with on a school night.

but then again, i don't like people. and would probably en anger some.

and then i would have to apologize.

quoted and red. part 2.

So I created the title for yesterdays post. got poetic. and drifted from the intended topic.

I thought I should share the quote that got whisked away. Far from perfect. Doesn't really fit me. But alas, it's done.

Laughter is much more important that applause. Applause is almost a duty. Laughter is a reward.
~Carol Channing

I will be honest. I finally just thought, what do I like? And Carol Channing always pops into my head when I utter these 4 words. So I found a very Carol quote for my time of need. And while I agree. I don't think it truly fits my me-ness at this time in my life.

But you see, this is what happens when one is toasted. Red. From a day at Seven Peaks. And completely embarrassed at the fact that I'm being forced to purchase a new swimsuit bottom.

I spent a good 6 hours trying to hide the fact that what used to be my cute, sassy (and might I add flirty?) swimsuit skirt turns into an uneven, unflattering, evening gown when wet.

Seriously. And rolling it into the waist cannot hide the the atrocity.

You see, bras and swimsuits are in the same category for me. Purchase one every 10 years, and forget about it. Because shopping for these items is a pain. One that should be banished to once a decade. If that.

Unless it's a swim skirt that doesn't hold it's elastic past 2 or 3 years. Which forces you to swim in embarrassment or shop before ready.

So right now? Laughter is not a reward. Only a reminder of those 6 hours. With no place to hide.

needing a quote.

So where do you go to find a quote that's supposed to be your favorite. Knowing that it will be listed under an image of you, out for all to view and judge. Based on someone else's words?

Seriously. I need a quote. As in yesterday.

continuity theory in human form.

and now i admit to the world the truth.

not too much here in regards to redeeming qualities.

i made cinnamon rolls.

to find redemption.

for everything.

but only found joy in the short journey to my stomach.

and it didn't work.

failure people.

right here.

at connecting with humans. siblings. plumbers. kids. PR.

racing...

towards an end. sometime. in some way. do you know that feeling that invades after reading for eight hours straight? brain headache. of sorts. that is how i feel. all the time. right now. i can't get my mind to stop running. and just breathe. it won' stop racing. even when i close my eyes. or attempt escape. like through a post. such as this. it jumps to another place, another job, another thought. and I can't organize it. at all. it is everywhere. all the time. at once. continually. i am not in the moment. but ahead of the moment. or behind. i'm unsure.

and i don't know how. or when it will find release. it is out of control. and i am all over the place.

stacks of books. jump drives full of articles. i drown in pages of lists, thoughts, questions, quotes, references, resources, websites, videos.

and i can't seem to come up for air.

spilt.

Today I made a lot of mistakes:

I forced myself out of bed.

I burnt a crockpot dinner.

I woke Millie from a nap at a stage when she never naps.

I purchased doritos for a rebate only to discover that they do not meet the rebate requirements.

I forgot to use a fifty cent coupon that expired today, causing me personal frustration at the knowledge that my ten items could have been $3.56 instead of the $4.06 I paid.

I boiled my hot chocolate to the point of overflowing - loosing half of the original cup to the microwave.

I wallowed in a pile of academic readings on art, creativity, and aging; accomplishing absolutely nothing.

And I allowed all of the above to accumulate into overwhelming anxiety.

photo via Dano

calm and opaque.

Damn you GRE. You have pushed me over the edge and into the edifice known as carbs. Laughing as I grovel and swell amidst the homemade rolls, chocolate dipped pretzels, and lemon squares that have become my sustenance.

Obsessing over numbers and words has turned into an obsession over sprinkles and yeast. And Clin says that I can't help myself now. Failing practice test over practice test three days before the exam is not going to improve my score.

But that would be giving up.

And Dear Amanda,

you delivered emollient to my soul in the form of John Denver, the Muppets, and a big jar 'o' fudge. Kermit provided a moment of peace. And I am now washing it down with a few chugs of chocolate directly from the mason jar.

funded...

Remember this? Well break out the eggnog and buy myself a Cafe Rio salad because I was awarded the funding.

And now I get to spend an entire semester gathering, organizing, and molding information into a course about aging and the arts.

or

as I prefer to call it

heaven.

here.

I didn't want to get out of bed this morning. And had it not been for a planned visit from cousin Becky, I would still be there.

Clin would categorize this as PMS. But who knows? I mean I've given up on calendaring these things. And maybe I'm just in a state. Or tired. That would definitely be a label I could wear.

But who isn't?

Maybe it's the four point five day food free-for-all that began Thursday and has not yet declared an end. I can't stop. Right now I'm downing a glass of the DC and graham crackers with a bunch 'o' frosting in the middle. And I'm not satisfied. Seriously, the frosting/graham combination used to be so much better than it is in this moment.

But I did put on a new, old pair of jeans this morning. Size 8. I only own 1 pair of eights. I've only ever owned 1 pair.

Perhaps the one exception could be Brian Rothery's hand me downs that ended up in my college dresser during my boy jean phase. But they were labeled based on that male system that makes no sense. So those can't count.

My eights are considered new because they were only ever worn for a couple of months preceding the pregnancy of 2004. They have lived in the closet since.

So this should be some cause for celebration. For not crawling back into bed.

But I just don't feel it.

*I would like to take this moment to give a shout out to the high I got yesterday from the Ginger Snap bubble bath scent wafting from Ellis's hair. That was nice.

trying....

so i tried to make up for my lack of pre halloween revelry with a day of mothering perfection.

what does that entail? food. lots and lots of food. as in i made breakfast. for all. pumpkin pancakes with cinnamon cream syrup.

followed by a quick round of candy land castle.

snack time: candy corn

and an afternoon of making: pumpkin stew (served out of a pumpkin because themes are really important when meeting my mothering expectations), pumpkin hummus, halloween eye of newt, with veggie fingers.

and i forgot to take proof. but it was there.

and the kids were happy. and went scavengering with cousins. and it was the first time that i wasn't stuck home handing out the candy. but watching the girls. actually running from house to house. and shreiking. and millie waiting for ellis. and helping her to the door. and telling cousin caleb, everytime a street crossed their path, that they had to hold hands before crossing. and he agreed.

learnin'

that I don't know:

--how to cross multiply.

--the Pythagorean theorem.

--how to choose a title for a sample paragraph.

--that three angles of a triangle equal 180 degrees.

--many, many, many words. or roots of words.

This is what the GRE is teaching me.

In other news:

I fed cooked coke to missionaries tonight. And they loved it. And it wasn't the decaffeinated kind.

suspecting a new suspect.

I had reason to suspect. Oh boy did I ever.

When Mr. Furnace showed up, the first thing he said was:

Did you change the batteries?

Um, batteries?

Me, trying to address my stupidity. You know. To make me feel not so stupid: I'm going to feel really stupid if you came all the way out here just to change a battery.

And then he took the thermostat off the wall. No battery.

HA, HA! I don't have to feel stupid. There really is a problem with this thing.

And then he went downstairs to further inspect the furnace.

One second later, the heat came on.

Mr. Furnace: Your furnace switch was off.

Um...okay. Feeling worse about a switch than a battery, I didn't even bring the topic up.

Instead, I let him pretend that he was servicing the furnace. To make the visit seem as if it was worth the $45.00 he was about to charge me.

grossed out.

There is nothing worse than stickers on skin.

(Well, maybe long finger nails.)

But just looking at this picture makes me vomit a little.

Thank goodness the girls have one parent who allows them sticker fun.

Because I cannot go there.

Ugh.

Just posting this.....

makes me want to close my computer.

Now.

biased again.

I'm not sure. Perhaps this has come up before. But I would like to admit it again.

I don't like beautiful women. I just don't.

I realize that those of you who I do like are now re-evaluating our friendship, thinking that I just called you ugly. But no. I'm not talking about your down to earth beauty (which I find to be the most attractive.)

I'm talking about those women who are so beautiful that you can't stop staring. Wondering which lab and who they were cloned from?

Have you ever noticed that they seem to congregate together?

I just saw four. Walking, sitting, and clinging to one another.

All in heels and makeup with long, loosely curled hair and banana republic looking dresses. Actually something more than the republic. Only I don't know what it would be.

And I was completely put off. I knew that I didn't like them. Because:

1. They were all together. And the word that came to mind was clique - having no desire to interact with those of us of normal caliber.
   


2. They looked perfect. Per.fect. Really. Who has time for that? I don't. And I guess it's about values. I don't value spending time on such things. Me? I value reading, or working, or sleep. Okay. I really just value sleep.
   


3. Who has money to spend on that? Nude shoes that match a nude dress? How often does one wear nude heels? Money spent on matching bags and matching makeup and keeping that hair blond. Um, I tried blond once and I know about upkeep. Never again. A bit of insanity goes into that. I would rather spend my money on bills, dirt, ballet classes or a PhD application.

So why am I sharing this? Because I thought it. And I am biased. And I know that's mean. I don't think it will ever go away. But admitting it kind of makes me feel better.

photo via Tammy Manet