At the Manowar show, last night, something weird happened.  During the intense show, the wellspring of energy and emotions, the rocking the fuck out, I had a moment of profound, shocking sadness.  One of my old heart's wounds tore wide open momentarily, and I was overcome with sadness about Tom.  It's been 10 years, and he's still on my mind, though in a softer fuzzy "remembering the good times" kind of way.  He shows up occasionally in dreams, but that's mostly about it.  I'm no Leah.

Anyway, during the song Battle Hymns, I had instant recall to the first time I saw Manowar, in 1996, and how he was there, strong and soft at my back.  That thought led to the inevitable "and never again" which has always been the theme of my mourning him, I guess. He had such wide and varied interest in the world, I often see things that he'd love and feel pangs, that he's not around to enjoy it. Certain songs, stunning blue autumn days, bits of technology, documentaries, new books, new gaming stuff, certain foods, particularly witty humor.  Weird random shit like that.

I burst into tears.  During Battle Hymns.  Not even polite moist eye mistiness, but stormy silent sobs.  No one saw me, of course, but it took me a few minutes to regain myself.  I was fine soon after, and I don't know what triggered it.  It's out of character, and I chalk it up to the catharsis of a good show, after months of stress, pain and bullshit, as well as the Tom related things, like the band and the time of year.  I think about him more in the late fall, which always, to me, punctuated our best moments.

I just had the sweetest moment.  Irv is in the kitchen "popping the drumsticks" which is what we call the process of severing the huge tendons in a chicken drumsticks, so that they're tender bites of chicken, and resemble lollipops when cooked.  Anyway, he's in there doing that, and I wanted to keep him company, because I love keeping him company in the kitchen. Sometimes, I just sit there taking in the sounds and vibe. It's relaxing, I feel loving and loved, in those moments.  The smell of chicken was a little too overwhelming though. Since pregnancy, the smell of raw chicken has always tap danced across my gag reflex.  That, and watching him sever tendon after tendon was giving me empathetic chills.  Anyway, I begged off, and returned to my chair the living room.  Soon after, I became mesmerized with the gentle whackthump of the knife hitting the cutting board, and the soft reggae.  I sat back in my chair just sort of floating my psyche into the kitchen, and I gained the same sense of peace and solidarity that I would if I were sitting right there with him.

So, it's official, plans are in place.  We're going camping on Thursday, through Sunday.  It's funny, because camping is the done thing, usually twice during the fall.  It's funny, because I can't make concrete plans, or mention it too much, or beg, or be decisive, because it drives Irv against a wall, and he becomes reactionary.  So, there's this dance that we do, every year. About a month before, I say "camping" a lot. I bring it up in casual conversation.  I reminisce, I find recipes, and say things like "I can't wait to try this, when we're camping", or "today is totally camping weather".  Then, I bring up how bad I want to go.  That makes it a bit less nebulous.  Then I say "It's September (or October) can we firm up a weekend?".  Then, I start to tell people "no, I don't want to make plans for that weekend, I want to keep it open for camping maybe"  Then, maybe a week, or four days in advance, Irv goes "let's go camping this weekend".  Any other process makes him feel pushed into it, and there's negativity.  If we do go, and he feels pushed, then fights are more likely to break out over petty stuff.  It's also, I think, because he's extra difficult during October. All these years, and it's still a sore month.  He's way better than when we got married, but we're still careful. As long as I know how to help him through these few rough weeks, than we do well.

Anyway, we're going. Now I get to have fun and make menus, and plan.  Luiz opted to go, which was a surprise   He typically enjoys his alone time when we're out of the house, and till this morning, I thought he kinda hated camping. Last year, he had a hard time reconciling "vacation" with "still gotta do some kinda work" and strained at the idea of camping chores.  We all look forward to the camp life, the little things, like cooking outdoors, and heating up water to wash dishes, chop wood, carry water. Luiz, last year, was having a tough time getting in line with that. He envisioned camping as a week long reading fest, he brought volumes of books, and sat around all day reading.  Which is fun, and a large part of it, but there's things that we all do, together.  I suppose it was partially our fault, too, because when Irv and I camp, after long years of learning a system, we work together like a well oiled machine.  Alden is now part of it, and we expected Luiz just to pick up and learn.  He's looking forward to it this time, and he said outright "I go without ego, I want to be a part of the family and help out as much as possible."  It'll be a lot of fun.  It's my therapy.

Since I'm in the boot, Irv was like "we're going to keep everything super easy, and just quick food for dinners" I was like "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME"  Cooking while camping is as much a part of the experience as the fire, or sleeping on the ground. I need to cook at least a little.  I've got plans for making beef stew, with dark beer, and barley, and serving it in bread bowls.  That's my one new recipe for the weekend. Then burgers, grilled chicken or steak, Italian roast beef, and a few delicious breakfasts.

It's a nice Saturday.  The kind with no plans, tonight.  I'm very sleepy from lack of sleep last night and an early morning at bowling.  Alden learned some magical things, this morning, and his score was way more consistent.  It was pleasant, even if I was dozing off by the third game.  Now I'm listening to Peter Murphy, waiting for Alden and Gianna to come home.  They're out walking around town, hand in hand, like a real boyfriend and girlfriend.  It's a joy, for me, as a mother.  He's got a lot of issues, but he has a girl that's devoted to him, and he to her, and it's wonderful.

My anxiety was for naught, last night.  Just to alleviate it, Irv hied me away to Joe Canal's, for a beer run.  We got there in time for a tapping of a keg of Pumking, which was fortuitous.  We also picked up a great 2007 vintage of Monster Ale, a barleywine, a few other random brews.  The thing that made my week was a bottle of Founder's CBS in spite of the rarity and controversy surrounding this heavenly nectar.  Not only did we get it, but we got five bucks off...  We've developed what I hope is a good rapport with the beer manager at JC's, and through talking with him and asking good questions, he's learned that we're definitely "beer people", and managed to snag a bottle for us.  To non beer folks, this means nothing.  To beer folks, this is roughly the equivalent to all the good gift giving holidays, your first orgasm, and your birthday, all rolled into one.

The game went well last night. Luiz found a happy place in his leadership style, the combat was excellent, there were many player-made twists, and what I call "golden moments"  The kind of humor and historical gaming moments that are spoken about for years to come.  Lots of laughter, too, which is my favorite.  If everyone's laughing/chatting while simultaneously fixated and engaged in the story, than that's success, in my book.

Chris seemed adversarial to quote Ian, at first.  Once things got rolling he settled down.  Shelby is great with people, and she went far, through role playing, to make things good.  It's not Chris, but sometimes he arrives flustered.  He brings his demon named Leah into the game, and it takes awhile to banish that.  The demon comes back towards the end of the night.  I joked that the demon is our real boss mob.  I say the demon's name is Leah, because it's all the ugly things accumulated in his head, that she put there, or he collects from her throughout the day and surrounding gaming.  She's a good person, but she has a lot of issues to work out. Instead of actively working on herself, she's actively trying to control his life.  He struggles with it. Gaming here is a weird sore place.  I hope that over time, as we get into a groove with this, it'll fade.  Luiz is definitely coming into his own, as a DM.  It's lovely to watch.

The only thing that might make this day better is a nice nap.  The sun is shining, there's an exquisite chilly breeze, perfect nappy weather.  Maybe when the kids come home, I'll mosey upstairs with my book, and see about napping.

I'm tired.  I haven't slept more than three hours a night since Saturday.  It's Friday.  I'm anxious.  I'm anxious for many reasons, but I'm not handling it well because I'm so tired.  The insomnia has extended into nap time, I can't even nap.

Tonight, we're playing D&D here, Luiz's game. I'm anxious about it.  I worry about personality clashes. I don't have the energy to wrangle everyone's baggage into some line, so that we all get along.  I *barely* have the energy to simply play.  Ian sent a message saying they'd be coming over at FOUR.  Luiz had to shut that down. That's when everyone walks in the door, for fucks sake.  I'm barely ok with 6.  I'm more ok with like 8-9 pm, that's when I feel relaxed and ready to tackle a game.  Ugh.  The house smells. I'm hungry, but too anxious to eat or think of what to eat.

I don't ever want to be one of those parents that says "I had no idea what was going on..."

All this stuff came to me, in the shower.  Let's see if typing will stroke the stream of consciousness that I was grooving on.

I finished Crazy Cock.  It was a totally unique experience. The writing went from patchy narrative,  -

Ok, while I was writing this, the bastard fuckers that have been hassling Alden since first grade, threw a bunch of rocks at the house.  This, on the heels of the eggs, and the rocks from earlier today, and the fact that they've been circling around almost daily now, catching him out, and calling him names.  I heard the impact, CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK hitting all around the living room window that I sit closest to.  I called out, "they're hitting the house again." and Irv ran out the door, and caught them. He chased them down the street.  He saw them, Kenny Harrigan and Corey Thompson, leaving on their bikes.  They hit the house earlier today, but we didn't catch them.  They were outside our yard at 9:30 pm, yesterday, while Jake and Janae were over, and they harassed Alden as he was walking the dogs.  Ugh.  I'm husked out. A police officer came, took a report.  Supposedly they're bringing the kids into custody.  All my well composed thoughts pewfed out of my head at the sound of those rocks hitting the house.

I was writing about the book.

I planned on addressing the vibe in the house.

I felt pained at owing everyone stuff because they're doing me favors by coddling me with this foot thing.



My stomach is in knots, big soft revolving lumpy knots.  Our pizza arrived while the officer was here taking our statement, and we sat down to eat after everything was over. I couldn't eat.  I feel like shit.  I have been running around, while the cop was here, without my boot on, and I actually walked around the house barefoot, in the rain.  It's never hurt worse than it has tonight.  I took a Tylenol 3.  Maybe I'll salvage those thoughts.

I used to long for a block of time to just play whatever game, or do nothing at all.  The idea of it always played in the back of my head, like a reel.  I felt like because that's what I wanted, in reality, it meant I was so gosh darn lazy.   I went to work, shopped, cleaned the house, helped Alden with homework, cooked dinner, cleaned more... all the while thinking "I just wish I was sitting, I must be the laziest person alive, all I want to do is play that game or read my book."  Looking back with that 20/20 hindsight, I realize it was my mother's daily litany echoing through my adult mind, as singsongy as she ever used to be-  "L is for Lisa and L is for Lazy.  LazylazyLisa."  Which, as I'm beginning to understand is patently untrue.  Shut the fuck up, demons.

I long for the ability to run around and do stuff like I used to.  I think...deep down, I long for choice.  When I was always busy taking care of my daily domestic duties, I wished I could choose to throw it all off and pursue my pursuits...which sometimes, meant planting my ass and playing some mindless game for hours at a clip, since that was the foreign thing.  Now, I really ache to run around, fucking clean the house, walk the dogs around the block, drive to the grocery store, and instead, I'm forced onto my ass.  It's also woken me up, to my true nature.  Now, when "LazyLisa", to coin my mother's endearing phrase, is really and truly being inactive, I. Go. Insane.  This forced inactivity is way more crazymaking than my old routine "crazy" days.

So, that's all well and good, my current philosophy.  How it shapes my material lowercase-r reality?  Much less idealistic.  Matter is hard to shove around.  Ideas fly hard and fast, but the material plane is stodgy and slow moving.  Recognizing where the pain is coming from, where the stress is originating, that's what needed to be done. I had to write it all out.  It came from that no-mind deep inside me, and even reading it over, I can't quite explain it.  I know.  Now I can apply it to this plane of existence, and start shaping my life a little better.  Till yesterday, I was sinking.  I may not be quite swimming, but at least I've stopped panicking enough to look around and figure shit out.

Something else that matters- I didn't choose this path.  My reality is killing my idols, shredding my safety nets, and pushing me forward.  It's ugly, stressful, messy.  Like giving birth.  I didn't enter into this consciously.  It just is.  Once I recognize it and attempt to explain it, now I can figure out this whole new mindset.

Irv has a wonderfully simple third person perspective.  He shrugs.  He reminds me that as long as he's known me, I've done things like this.  Moving on and up.  He says "you're always collecting new ideas and experiences, and using them to better yourself, how is this any different?"  It isn't.  Just, my navigational tools must come from inside. I can't, right now, rely on other's teachings, or symbols, or whatever, to get me through. There is no magic pill.  I can find comfort in the old terminology and systems, sure, but I can't rely on it.

Luiz, as predicted, is terrified.  He read half of Principia Discordia and determined that it was bullshit.  That's ok, like I keep telling him, it's not for him.  Unfortunately, in reading yesterday's whole explosion, he caught some terminology he disagreed with and kept using the term "bullshit" in relation to my writing.  That discordia is bullshit, or that now all of a sudden I think all the old teachings are bullshit.

That's something he really doesn't get, about me.  I have never looked back and been embarrassed at my path. Same with writing. I look down through the years at writing even as far back as 20 years ago. Spiritual beliefs  as far as I can remember, and I never say "That's such a mess! I am not the person I WAS back then!"  Which is more his style of continuously reinventing himself.  I just add.

καλλίστῃ

Deep in my blackest center heart, I'm an atheist.  When Chris lumped me into his "theist" friends like Pike or Luiz, I blanched.  Lie down with dogmas, get fleas, I guess.  I embrace the philosophy of Discordianism and to a minor extent Thelema (although that's just discordianism with a rulebook, which is the antithesis of discordianism, really) because I know I am the god of my own world.  I control my reality, and I accept the consequences, as well as the benefits of every scrap of it.  There is no divine Other.  There is only Me.  When I was a child toying with folk magic, I knew instinctually that I  had control over the outcome.  When those love spells failed, even at age 13, I knew why.  I have never thrown up my  hands at any part of my life and wailed "WHY" or holyfuck the worst ever "WHY ME".  That mentality infuriates me.  So, I embrace the concept, because of everything I've learned so far, those hit the closest to my own philosophy.  Not religion.  Not "spirituality".  Philosophy.

A lot happened today.  A lot of soul bearing problem-solving demon killing.  Demon, because it's a short word for "the evil voice that comes from the ugliest recesses of my own mind and works to undermine every shred of success in my life"  so, we'll use demon, even though it has many bullshit contexts.  One thing Luiz said, was "How's that discordian thing working out for you?"  I love him, but he can't see three feet in front of his face, so to speak.

I explained it to him like this:

Every "system" I have ever learned, every "religion" has only gotten me so far.  Born Catholic I learned that there was some concept of divinity, and so on down my long line of tried and discarded religions, from Satanism to science, from witchcraft to Buddhism.  Each system has gotten me a little further with sorting myself out, my moral codes, how I explain existence, but nothing has ever taken me there.  If I have to explain what there means, then the whole rest of this body of writing won't make any sense, so I'll let it lie.  Discord strips all the fences away. All the symbols and systems and circles.  No more alphabets, no more numbers, no more giving names to things.  Everything about existence becomes a tremendous ocean.  Do I have the strength to drink it down, every salty drop?  Or will I drown?  That's life's ultimate test.  I've tossed aside all the systems.

He's having a hard time digesting it, in fact, he won't even pick up the apple.  He's afraid of the wellspring of chaos.  I am too, honestly.

The cards don't work for me anymore.  I can read with precision for anyone else, but for me they're so many pebbles on a blank field.  I've been lugging my experiences with religions and all their trappings like some kind of cherished resume, maintained and curated.  I've been clinging to my herbs, runes, stones, semantics, symbols, god names, demon names, angel names, candles, color associations....blah...I clung to all that like a security blanket.  Nothing has gotten me past the ladder.

I have been repeating so glibly, and with rote memorization my method for reading tarot. Say it with me now, kiddies, "The books, numbers, systems to read, the symbolism will only get you up so high, like a very good ladder.  When you take that leap of faith into the things that aren't outlined, when you read the things that aren't shown on the card, that's when you're really reading the tarot.  When you can step off the ladder and fly, then you're doing something."  Of course you're making progress, as you ascend the ladder! Everyone but everyone needs to climb a little, even the most famous fables, like Jesus and Buddha, had to hurt a little, and learn some shit.  I can say very truthfully, "Gosh, Lisa, you have come soooo far, from those old days of being Catholic."  Shit, when I considered myself a satanist, I could say that very same thing.  It's true, all true!  But not all of the truth.

Even Crowley, my go to-lunatic, a guy who I think may have got it-really got it, could only write about it using bucketfuls of artless bullshit.  His own ego couldn't let this knowledge go, he had to write prolifically of it at any chance, and by doing so, naming it, literally, and separating it from his true self.  He named it "Aiwass".  I blame drugs. By doing so, he just built another step on a well crafted ladder, for seekers.  A very VERY good step, filled with things to contemplate, and "hmmmm" about and theorize, and postulate.  Numbers to explain the whole UNIVERSE.  Secret societies, degrees, titles, funny clothes, and the backing of old white men that call themselves "magicians" throughout the centuries.  Hell..he even named the very ladder of which I speak. (Choronozon) That's so fucking meta!  Crowley's god-self must be CRACKING THE FUCK UP right now.  Oh Discordia, what a hoot!  I suppose my own ego needs to write, too, although I won't blow through my family fortune to become published.

The hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life was climb that ladder, then kick it aside.  I've been perching at the tippy top, for awhile. To embrace discord is to dive into that ocean.  That "ocean" of which I speak is my true mother, father, self, children, my true existence, my reality. The place from which I was born, and the place I'll return to to be born again.  Ocean is the only word.  A great infinite, scary, bitter soup of the reality, that I, God, have created.  Not reality, but The Reality.  I throw aside all the systems! I embrace chaos! Only then will I know my true limits! Only then will I have known temptation!  Do I drown in that wellspring ocean of chaos?  Or do I drink it and allow it to become part of me?  Can I channel it, and own it?  Do I float along keeping my head above water?  Only without my life raft of "religion" can I know!

So, yeah.  Religion. Ick.

I wish Blogger didn't make me title every post.

I've been writing a lot about surface annoyances. I think it's because I need a reason to get near this window  to write, but when I set fingers to keyboard, I chicken the fuck out.

I'm splashing in a wading pool floating in an ocean.

Dots of thoughts

• I love how the most deeply emotionally damaged people I know are the ones that think that they're absolutely normal, and everyone else around them is fucked up.  It seems like the further down the spectrum of fucked up, we get, the deeper the inverse.  It takes a really nuts and bolts totally sane and rational person to admit that they're fucked up.
• I'm so into this Henry Miller book.  Crazy Cock.  It doesn't hurt that we went to Webster Hall this past week, which used to be in the same neighborhood. I was checking out old pictures from the place, of drag shows in the 20s.  Enchanting. I feel like I visited a slice of history.
• Chris loaned me a book, Earth Abides, and I'm also quite psyched about reading it.  He's mostly into sci fi, so at first, I was like "ookaaay friend, I'll read this because you want me to..." but it's not sci fi, and it's awesome, and it's sitting on my nightstand waiting for me right now.  I love when I have good reading planned for months ahead. (Not that I dislike any genre, per se, but I do have things I seek out, and I go through "moods" when I read stuff.")
• Getting nervouser about the review "mandatory meeting" with Jeff on Friday.  My nose was a little stuffy this morning, because I think Bella was sprawled on my face last night, and I was paranoid that I couldn't smell a few jars.
• Less nervous about the foot thing.  Irv has been way better, he's been booking things for us to do all during the month of November, stuff that's going to be epic, like the Anthrax show, the Manowar show, and Asbury's beerfest.  I feel like when I have that to look forward to, I can look past the actual surgery and look forward to good things to come after.  The lollipop always DID help after the doctor visit.  Well, less nervous till I think about it directly, then the nightsweats start again.
• Still not talking to my mother.  She keeps poking me on Facebook, for whatever reason. I poke her back.  Not angry, just for a total loss of words, I don't breach.  I sort of brought it up in a sweeping note to my dad, but he didn't even acknowledge that part of the note, so whatever.  
• Luiz's computer is finally back, and after a day of futzing with it, fixed, so maybe he'll be human again.   Woops.  The machine just died as I typed that.  Back to being a dick.  
• I love hanging out with Michele.  Even a simple day of Red Bank, cupcakes and tacos, and I feel soulfully refreshed.
• The weekend was equally pleasing, though way more chaotic.  I did have some serious anxieties at Leah's party.  Too many people packed into a room. I felt trapped, because I couldn't suavely get up, without sticking my ass in someone's face, or wobbling into someone's little plate of appetizers.  Then I had my usual "No one wants to talk to the sweating fatty on the edge of the couch, everyone's staring at me, and I am so out of place here" set of thoughts/feelings.  I got over my stupid self and managed to have an alright time, even though I really was woefully out of place, and no one really did talk to me, except the party rep, and she was cool as hell.  Definitely had a better time gaming, and hanging out in the morning, in spite of the five hours of loud, shiteous morose formulaic radio-acceptable pop "rock" music that I hated in the 90's and hate even more now.  Bad music just infuriates me. There's no reason for it, not when there's so much good stuff out there. 

Snippets

A dream from a few nights ago:  It was very cold out, with lots of snow on the ground.  For whatever reason, everyone was out grocery shopping in a "national disaster" kind of way, and a store I knew to be Shop-Rite (that looked like no Shop Rite I've ever stepped foot in) was mobbed with people.  As I was leaving with a cart half full of groceries, I felt a presence behind me, in the bottleneck of the doorway.  The crowd was slowly trickling through the door, and this presence got stronger.  It was my mother, and Earl, all bundled up in layers of wooly looking sweaters.  Their cart was brimming with paper bags of groceries.
I didn't speak to them.  I went through the door, and stood off to the side, looking for my ride, which wasn't showing up.  Somehow without speaking, my mother offered me a ride home in her van, and I accepted. I find myself inside their van, which on the outside, looked like their current dark blue dodge caravan, and on the inside looked exactly like the old blue and white Chevy touring van that my mother drove for almost 15 years, my whole childhood.  Once seated on the plush blue couch in the back of the van, conversation started, but I don't remember it.  There was talk of our silence towards each other, and I think she apologized.  She was acting extremely maternal. While I remember Earl in the grocery store, he wasn't present in the van.  During the course of the unremembered conversation, I kept turning up articles of my clothing, a favorite bra, a favorite pair of pajama shorts.  Comforting things that I wear now, that aren't lost, but seemed so, in the dream, like "I've been looking for these shorts forever!".  It was stifling hot in the van, which contrasted with the icy deep snow outside.

A dream from last night:  There was some kind of house party, that started in a public place, like a high school.  There was a group of people there, all from my past (blank faces, but it was determined that they were all grade school peers, appearing in my dream as adults) and James.  The crazy guy that Phil introduced me to, in real life.  I must have dreamed about him because the last thing I read on FB before going to bed was about how he played the lead in the play Mr. Roberts in his town playhouse, and I thought about how charming that is.  Anyway, a large group went to his house, which was a perfectly adorable white clapboard house, with a manicured garden and a white picket fence.  There was an above ground pool around back, and this seemed to be the centerpiece of the party. Everyone was extremely excited about it, and went diving in with abandon. I hesitantly got up to the edge of the pool, and discovered that all these people were frolicking around in two feet of water.  I went inside his charmingly sunny kitchen, to be alone, and read.  I was feeling the same way as I did in middle school, which amounted to "I don't understand what you're up to, I don't see what fun that could possibly be, you don't care what I'm up to, and I don't care what you're doing, so I'm going to separate myself and go read."  But I remember looking up with anxiety every time the kitchen door opened, preparing to get hassled and made fun of, just like I did throughout grade and middle school. A few people came into the kitchen here and there, but when the tide of people finally came into the kitchen in bathing suits, and dripping wet, that's when the mocking started.  It wasn't the brash in-your-face ridicule I used to face, but a more snide, subtle and psychological assault to make me feel alone and singled out.  More catty, or something.  I took myself outside to the front of the house.  There were other partygoers outside hosting a yard sale.  I joined them, and did what I could to help manage the sales and feel useful, but I still felt very alone in a crowd.  My dad showed up and I tried to sell him tribal looking wooden carvings, like the kind they  have in Africa or the kind we saw in Jamaica.

Non dream:  I finished Brave New World yesterday, and I feel richer for it.  I'm going to continue on that path and read more classics.  I went on a kick of reading trashy novels for awhile, but that got stale fast.  With this rut I've been stuck in, lately, reading thick, dense deliciously rich and brain-healthy material is a healthy form of escapism and mind expanding goodness.  Up next:  Henry Miller's Crazy Cock.  Then I'm going to start on a few books that Chris recommended, one called Earth Abides by George Stewart, 1984 and Animal Farm by Orwell, Slaughterhouse Five by Vonnegut, and Dying Earth by Jack Vance.  I still have a handful of Pratchett novels in my Kindle that I've yet to tackle, and I might read them between those other books just to lighten things up.  

Luiz just called me out for "needing a hobby".  He was chafing at the time I spent on FB this morning, after work.  In reality, I skimmed the updates from a few people, and commented on two status updates, one about a friend and his longtime girlfriend breaking up, and one for Mindy's pinched neck nerve.  Then I spent about 20 minutes on Serious Eats skimming headlines and posting twice there, too.  Once contributing to a discussion about nut butters besides peanut butter, and asking for some recommendations for myself, and one totally free-of-virtue post on a McDonald's breakfast thread.  He heard me doing these "inane" things, and got annoyed about how much time he perceives that I waste. Immediately, because I wasn't spending direct time with him, his brain assumed what I was doing was mindless gossip and chatter.  Even if I was, who cares?  I got defensive, and said "just remember before you assume I'm wasting my time, that I read ten books to your one." After I explained to him in detail what I was talking about, he was like "OH, well, that's ok, I just couldn't relate to why you spend so much time on FB"  Thanks for your permission, pal. In retrospect, I feel lame that I had to explain and justify and defend.  The idea of me "needing a hobby" no matter what context, kind or cruel, deserves a hearty "fuck off" from me, and nothing more.  I hate when I get defensive.

I seriously fucking hate that shit.  

A little back

I just skimmed back through the last few posts.  Spark is out.  It didn't last.  Since I hurt myself in July, and all the shit hit the fan around then, with my mother, dieting is the very lastest thing on my mind, and contributes overall to my stress.

I also feel like I've been being a bad friend to people, in relation to being "Everyone's Rock" because I've been avoiding most people, and not really being a good listener.  When I'm stressed, I become selfish or something, I don't know, but how can I listen to someone whine about relationship problems when I Have My Own Fucking Problems.

Verge

I need to write.  I have no real way to alleviate stress, otherwise.  Walking is out. Driving is out.  Retail therapy is out.  At first I thought I didn't know why I've been avoiding writing, but now I do.  It's too big.  There's too many things going on right now, and once the floodgates open, it'll be hard to close them.  I will start with a list of things that are affecting me deeply, right now.  Right this minute.

Alden- He's depressed, he's self defeating, he's getting abused in school.  He practically begs for this abuse, and can't/won't do anything to fix it or try to grow up.  He's stuck in a childlike rut. He refuses to grow gracefully into teenagerhood.  He's depressed.  Just like his grandfather, and his father. He is a victim, and he likes to stay that way.

Irv- He's a complete defeatist.  He's stuck in a long rut at work, and in spite of everyone wanting him to take a white collar position he's keeping himself in a dangerous dirty place in work.  He's not progressing.  Every day he's more and more angry and frustrated, quick with his temper, and quick to take it out on us, mostly Alden.

My foot-  Surgery definite.  I'm terrified.  I'm sick of being in constant pain, sick of being immobile, and being in limbo yet I am paralyzed at the very idea of even a simple surgery, and now it's going to happen for sure.

My mother-  We're not speaking.  This is not some shallow "you call me first" bullshit.  This is "I told her exactly how I felt about her and Earl, and how I've felt my whole life and she swept it under the rug and continues to blame me for the shit going wrong in her life, and I refuse to be apart of that mess."  So, rather than torture myself, she stopped calling me, and I stopped calling her.  No mistake, she's not dialing me either.

Money- Stemming from the mother thing.  She had been handing over my father's pension money to me, since I moved out of the house.  At first, since she was married to Earl and he was working a lot, she felt weird about taking it, and felt that I could make better use of it.  That's what she said.  Well, now I realize that she was doing it for other more shady reasons, that are too long to get into on this list.  And now she stopped with the pension money. It's very complex, but the bottom line is I'm broke now.  I work, but it's not enough to cover the monthly bills that I am responsible for, and have a little financial freedom.  Even with the bit she was giving me, it was just enough that I could afford the bills and little luxuries now and then.  Now, not even that.  Irv has never paid for my personal stuff, like books, music or anything, and I won't ask him now.  I have no money for gifts for the holidays.

I am on the verge of tears every moment I'm alone, and often when I'm not.  I'm constantly tired, sad, angry, I can't sleep at night, so I take long naps, or I fantasize about taking long naps, because I hardly get the chance to.  I'm drinking quarts of coffee a day.  I quit drinking booze because I can see myself turning to harder booze as an escape.  It feels too good to get drunk right now, that's just about the worst thing ever. Same with Xanax.  I'm finding myself eating more. Lots more.  At least I can still shop for groceries, right?  I'm faking it around my friends, who have problems of their own and definitely do not need to hear about mine.

Redux

I'm back doing it.  I'm back on Spark.  Not with the full rushing headlong motivation I had when I joined in 2009.  With a bit of trepidation and curiosity.  My sugar has been out of control. There, I wrote it.

This time around, my mentality isn't hardcore weight loss, not like last time.  I really need to get my sugar in check.  I tracked, with 100% honesty, everything I ate and drank today, and I checked in well under my calorie and carb goal.  It was surprising and quite satisfying, to say the least.  I let the program determine what might be good for me, this time, rather than setting harsh unrealistic unmaintainable goals. That's what was going on last time.  I found it easy to eat 1200 calories a day, at the outset, and I felt very proud of myself, that fat, "overzealous" Lisa, can eat the bare minimum and be satisfied.  It was fine till I started exercising vigorously five days a week.  Then I became starving, anxious, and I was really fucking up my metabolism.  Naturally, I crashed and burned.  Well, it was slow.  First it was "bah, we're going on vacation, let's not bother tracking."  Then, it was "well, between bronchitis and the holidays, no way we're getting to that gym". Then, "it IS Christmas, after all, sure, I'll have another drink."

Then we started hanging around the bar.  Four, five, six beers in a night.  A cheeseburger.  Chips.  Lots of chips.  That's when the real crashing happened.  Then, comes barbecue season, and beer...and well, it's been a hell of a year.  I lost 66 pounds in six months, and gained back forty of them over the year of 2010. I know I've been gaining.  I still step on the scale.  I watch that needle slide further over.  It was my year of excess, and here I am with all this collateral damage on my body.  My legs feel nervy and weird all the time.  My feet itch at night.  My skin looks thin and unhealthy, and my muscles aren't toned, like they were.

Luiz reminds me of the supernal Love.  To Love my body.  It means more than looking in the mirror and being self critical, and more than just loving how I look in certain jeans.  It means loving it like I love anything, and caring for it, like I care for anything.

I think this is the right time.

Feeling very "fuck it"

"Overzealous eating"  That's what I came out of that doctor's appointment with.  He asked if I had a problem with overzealous eating.  I look around me at the stuff other people consume, and I can comfortably say no, not at all.  

I lost 66 pounds, and it felt good for awhile.  It was the result of very strict crash dieting.  It was not a lifestyle I could at all maintain.  I tried to walk the middle ground for awhile, but for someone my size, there is no middle ground.  There's either "1200 calories a day, tracking every morsel of food that passes my lips, and obsessive exercising" or "fuck it".  Trying to maintain the portion control without logging every bit of food while still exercising...I started gaining weight.  That was discouraging.  It felt very black and white, to me.  Nothing short of extremely drastic dieting would keep that weight off.  One by one, bad habits popped back up.  We started drinking more again.  Then, some of the "NO!" foods eventually worked their way back in.  Then the exercising tapered off.  It's absolutely unrealistic to try and maintain a 1200 calorie diet for life, and that's the only way for me to lose the weight.  

Today's discussion with the doc was discouraging, to say the least.  He's thin, he's always been thin.  He says I have no choice, I have to lose 150 pounds, or else I'll find myself on a battery of meds.  He has no idea, no empathy.  I mean, I tell him the truth.  I still eat properly.  Small portions, very little meat, tons of veggies, lean proteins, legumes.  Not a load of junk food.  I avoid unhealthy snacks and fast food, I eat half portions in restaurants, I try to curb the sweet tooth.  I deny myself a lot of comfort foods, to avoid gaining weight.  I get nowhere.  I left the doctor day, after having blood taken, with a grand "fuck it" attitude.  Why suffer?  Nothing I can do seems to be helping.  Nothing good came of today. Nothing helpful.  No new information, no encouragement, no direction, no motivation.  I don't expect that sort of thing from my doctor, but usually after a weight discussion, I find it in myself.  Hell, that's WHY I eat the way I mentioned.  Every time is some new resolve, like "ok, let me start by cutting my portions in half".  Ever evolving, except for today.  Dead stop.

 I stopped at McDonald's on the way home, for breakfast.  I haven't had a sausage biscuit for breakfast in about 4 years.  It didn't taste that good, and it didn't make me feel better.  I thought, maybe it would make me feel bad and gross enough that I'd feel guilty.  I don't.  Or maybe it would be so delicious, it would at least have some aesthetic value.  It wasn't delicious.

It's something, at least.

Yesterday was the piercing day, and it was a very good day.  Like last weekend, I spent this part weekend making other people happy and sacrificing my time and energy.  Sometimes, it was for the great, helping Jake and Janae move in was a good experience and I know it wasn't a waste.  All the drama between Devil and Stooge, and their unrequited obsession.  All we set out to do was go to the bar and unwind after a long day, moving J+J, and instead, I spent the evening in the middle of high drama appeasing, and trying to comfort and do damage control.  That's all I'm going to even say about that.  That kind of bullshit doesn't deserve to get repeated or mulled over.

Sunday, the plan was to go grocery shopping, then spend the rest of the day relaxing.  I'd planned on finishing a video game, and giving myself a pedicure.  None of that happened either. Well, the shopping did, of course, because that was for other people.

Monday, though, that was all for me.  Michele and I hit Bobby's Burger Palace, then went on to Southside, to see Mike for the first time in over five years.  Walking in was strange. We were on good terms, I'd been there a few times after Michele quit, and we were cool.  She hadn't been there since The Break Up, when she took off for Fat Cat.  Mike looked at me, and greeted me with a smile.  A blank smile, one that says "I know you, and I think I like you, but who the fuck are you?"  Then I said "Hi Mike, I brought a friend in to see you."  and then the smile got huge and genuine.  It was an awkward few seconds, but everything went really well. We sat and chatted for hours.  Mike was once a skinhead, and a very angry dude.  Now he's Born Again, and while that normally irritates the hell out of me, I suspect he's in it for the right reasons.  He;s let go of the hate, and has a real loving and harmonious kinda vibe about him.  The new Zen Mike, that's got a fire in his belly for Christ.  It's cool.  Talking to him at length about his reptiles, piercings, people in general, ideas, the big questions, the big answers has always been a pleasure, but somehow even more, yesterday.  I got my earlobes stretched to a 2, a monroe, and my nose rings put in place.  I plan on seeing him more often now, for sure.  The ears are going up to a 00, both my conchs are going to be pierced with a 10 ring, I plan on adding at least two more to my already double pierced eyebrow, and then probably I'll be getting some microdermal implants around my cheekbone. I'm very happy to be in contact with Mike again, for an assortment of reasons.


I think the piercings and the Wii, and the desire to get things for myself is something of a backlash towards all the energy and time I've been giving to others.  Like, I seldom have a moment to myself, and when I do spend time alone, like now, I get something of a guilt trip over it, "You didn't wake me up! I miss you!".  I think spending money on myself is sort of filling in for that right now, and I get less shit for it. Not *no* shit, by a long shot, but less guilty feelings.

Great Monday

Today was exhilerating.  Not like soap and tampon commercial exhilerating, but really really soul renewing.  Back to work for the first time in a week, then home to to some writing here, then wild mad crazy quickie sex, then out for a lovely day with Michele.  It started with plans for a hurried lunch because she was so busy, but she wound up moving her day around, and I joined her when she visited her mom and her nephews.

That's right, I spent a large chunk of my day with BABIES.  Sweet, adorable, pleasant, mellow children.  Michele's sister Lisa's kiddos.  We walked them around her whole development, to get them napping, and it was so nice.  Holding the smaller one, he's about six months old, was such a flashback to Alden.  It *almost* got me thinking I wanted another one.  Almost.  As predicted, that feeling wore off about a half hour after I got home.  It was still a really great day, with Michele, the babies, her mom, lunch, fresh air, all that.

We made plans for next week, to go visit Mike the Piercer down at Southside, and I'm excited like a kid anticipating Christmas.  Getting pierced is such a rush.  I just tried to describe it to Luiz, like it's a good therapy session, massage, and orgasm, all at once. It doesn't feel like those things, but when it's over, that's what I feel left with.  Calm, renewed, clear headed, reset.   I go for the sensation, and have jewelery as a keepsake.  I'm making a list!  I want my ears stretched more, both my conchs pierced, my nose rings back in place, maybe seamless rings, and one more facial piercing.  I'm thinking of a monroe, which is that beauty mark piercing, or a medusa which is a post directly over the cupid's bow.  Also plan on looking into microsubdermal implants, for my cheekbone.  I know it's not for all one sitting, but now that there's a promise of going back to Mike, I'm all excited again.  I haven't seen him in over five years and I am LONG overdue.

What are YOU doing in my dream?

I had a weird fragmented dream.  I was visiting Guam, only for whatever reason, in my dream Guam was a big campsite field with all kinds of people living like refugees or hippies or squatters in general genial chaos.  Lots of old friends, living in tents with new families, sunshine, grass, and clothes everywhere.  The dream shifted to an apartment or hotel room, where I was rooming with someone.  In my dream, we were best friends, or maybe more, and I knew her intimately.  She was taller than me, and very thin, almost androgynous, although I knew she was female.  She had a dark complexion and almond eyes like natives of Guam, maybe a bit more Asian, but her skin was the coppery tan of Polynesia.  She had long straight hair, but it was sort of cut to look shaggy and raggedy on purpose.   I was under the impression that we were getting ready for bed, so I was naked and totally unselfconscious, puttering around the room.  I recall dimming the lights, and closing the blinds, and preparing to sleep in my bed.  Even though I was nude, there were no sexual feelings, and we were sleeping in separate beds.  She suggested that I get dressed, because we had plans, that I'd probably forgotten about.

I quickly threw on clothes, and moments later, our hotel room filled with people.  People that in my dream, I vaguely knew, no faces, just a press of humanity, noise, the hum of conversation, music.  At some point, I was trying to find something in my backpack. It was my enormous LL Bean backpack that I had in my late teens.  And something was lost, something I wanted to eat, like beef jerky, or some source of protein was in there, and I couldn't find it.  I was getting paranoid and uncomfortable, akin to that feeling of searching for your wallet at the checkout line, and finding it missing.  People were noticing me, but not gathering around, but I knew these people were looking at me.  Then I looked up, and saw Dan standing over me, Dr. 80's Dan.  He looked exactly like he does now, a little heavier, short hair.  He was holding a drink and looking mildly amused.  He was the only crystal clear face in my whole dream, and at that moment, I thought "this is a dream, I can't find this thing, and I have no idea why he is here."  So, I asked him.  There was some conversation, and I said something like "isn't fifteen years enough time to get over our bullshit?"  He was the only clear voice, too.  He helped me find the thing, calming me down and helping me sort through each section of my giant bag.  The girl in the room with me initially was off mingling and conducting this party.  There was a bar in the room, and she was behind it, serving drinks.  Everyone seemed cool and witty and urbane.  Dan was hanging out with me on the opposite side of the room, and he felt like the only person that really understood me in this room of "beautiful" people.  I was glad to see him, and I distinctly remember saying goodbye to him, before waking up.

Everyone's Rock

I wasn't sure whether to put this here or in Spinning, so in here it goes.  I seem to bitch a lot here (well, on all of my blogs, really, even the seemingly innocent gaming blog.) so, I feel like this could be more positive.

Saturday, Gina came over, and we went out to lunch.  She likes talking, and I like listening to her, and we often talk about things that are beyond the mundane.  Every time we spend a great deal of time together, I feel like there's a grand exchange of ideas, and I always come away with some new knowledge, or insights.  I wish I could help her sort out her life, a little better.  I think that listening, and going out for ice cream, and keeping things away from intense relationship talk, or freaking out about her situation, or shit talking her almost ex boyfriend, is important.  She probably gets that from other friends, and it's not really my place.  She probably thinks about that stuff enough, and it's nice just to detach and talk about how pretty that honey calcite stone is, or how gamma waves launch us into some otherspace.  Spending upwards of 14 hours together seems like it could be exhausting, but it actually wasn't.  It was pleasant.

Then, yesterday, after spending the day with my mom and Earl, taking them out for a belated birthday dinner, I got into sweats and planned on vegging the rest of my meager Sunday.  Then Steve came over.  I really genuinely like Steve.  Even though we disagree on just about everything, superficially, I feel like he has a good heart, he's smart, funny, and really deserves a break.  He hung out here for about four hours, and unburdened his heart.  He kept asking if that was ok, if he was bugging me, apologizing for taking my time.  I wouldn't agree to it if I didn't want to.  At one point, he looked at me and said "you're everybody's rock, aren't you."

I don't know that I'm *that* but for whatever reason, people seek me out and talk to me.  I don't offer unsolicited advice, or any at all, sometimes.  I listen.  I listen and empathize.  Sometimes, I bring out the cards, and help them gain insight.  I think merely listening is a rare thing.  I feel happy, like it's a good thing for me, and for my friends that I can offer myself.  It's part of my True Will.  Irv looks at me askance, and sighs, when I'm on the phone for two hours listening to a friend's woes.  I never trivialize them, nothing shocks me, and I don't judge, and I don't blab.  Somehow, I get that my True Will has something to do with helping one or more people to greatness.  I feel blessed, totally absolutely blessed in my life, and if I can help people find insight and realize that they're blessed too, or help them see through the veils of bullshit to understand more about existence, life, love, co-existence, intimacy, whatever, then it's only right that I do.  Not try, I don't TRY to help, or insinuate myself, or offer, but  I'll never turn down a friend, no matter what hour or reason.

Not everyone, either. Some people will talk forever and I sense that it's some sort of mental masturbation, and that I am a non-entity.  Some people are acting out this tremendous Drama Of Life, like some low rent reality show, and I'm merely an audience member.  That my essential Lisa-ness is not a part of their interaction with me.  I seek to close down those situations, fast.  That sets up unhealthy expectations.  There have been people in my life, like that, and it took a while to cut them away, people that have swallowed up my whole identity, and personality, and I may as well have been a stuffed doll.  Harriet (guest star of Epiphany for years) was one of those types.  I'm really glad that there's no one around like that, now.  Being "everyone's rock" is my way of giving back to the people that I love, and to the Universe, but there's a danger in being "everyone's doormat" too.

Today, after devoting an entire weekend to others, I'm taking this day for myself.  People have expectations of me, today. Errands, chores, social duties, and I'll get to them as I see fit.  Today, I'm listening to music I love, reading and writing, and being selfishly indulgent with my time.  It's the balance.

Arms...shoulders...I'm grumpy.

So, Saturday, Irv was working overtime and fell off the back of a truck. He landed on his left arm and twisted it pretty bad, so they took him to the ER.  He didn't break anything, and they weren't sure if he strained or tore any ligaments.  Saturday he was in pain, but not immobile.  We went out to dinner on Saturday night with awesome friends, and had a nice night.  He slept well, and had a full day yesterday, including going out grocery shopping and puttering around the house.  He has his arm in a sling sometimes, but I've been watching, and it seems like he has a full range of motion, with it being stiff and a little painful when he twists his wrist, and extends his elbow fully down.  So, yeah, he hurt himself, but I'm starting to think he's fine, and that he strained it, or sprained his wrist. This morning, I caught him using the arm for leverage getting out of  bed, and later reaching out and scratching the cat between the ears.

Today, I had to drive him all over the county to sign workman's comp papers, visit the guys at the job, bring them coffee, pick up his x rays from the hospital way out in Freehold.  Soon, we'll be going off to a doctor's appointment.  All morning, he's been talking about his arm, how he can start eating with it, and how he can wipe his butt with it, and how it hurts to do this-but-not-this and how he's beginning to get his range of motion back.

I'll drive him anywhere, and take care of anything he needs, and listen to everything, and I won't complain, except here.  I'll admit.  I'm a bit bitter.  I feel like this weird little feeling that picks at the back of my brain when I'm feeling down is coming true.  I feel like, sometimes, if I injure myself...whatever.  But he did, and we have people calling and stopping by every damn day, and he's a hero for falling off a truck.

The point is, I tore my rotator cuff, narrowly missing a collision with an elderly driver, two years ago.  I really fucked myself up, but I thought, at the time, "well, it wasn't a real accident, and I can live with the pain, I'll just baby it, and get through shit."  And, I did.  But, throughout the next 6 months, I re-injured it three more times, working out, doing day to day shit, hauling a milk jug out of the car, till the pain was unbearable, and I was all but crippled.  3 months of physical therapy, and two doctors said I'd probably need surgery in the future to fix it.  If I didn't go when I did, I would have had to get the whole thing replaced.  It still hurts, it's twinging and hurting right this minute, as I type.  It's ok, and it's not extra damaged right this minute, it's just permanently fucked.  They said it would never not hurt.  I'm bitter. I didn't take care of myself properly, and no one forced me to go to the doctor, or showed any concern.  I drove home from being out that day, when I got the accident, I went out driving the next day.  I cooked dinner that night, and went grocery shopping that week, doing everything that one would do with their right arm, in varying levels of agony.  I didn't sleep at night, rolling over on it had me waking up in a cold sweat, in tears.  I still, two years on, cannot sleep on that side, lift heavy things, or use my arm in certain ways.  Irv told me yesterday, that he really didn't get what I meant, when I tried to tell him all these things.  His mentality was "you'll be fine, suck it up".  He would chuckle at me, when I tried to get something down off a higher shelf, and pull the whole shelf on my head, and cry tears of frustration.

Last year, at the Faith No More show, I fractured my right heel. My heel was jet black and swollen for months.  I didn't go to the doctor, because what are they going to do for that?  I gulped even more Advil, and lived with it.  Everyone in this house knew about it, and everyone saw.  The best I got for the heel was an interested "hmm, that really is black, wow."  And I drove and walked and took care of everything that needed to be taken care of.  Climbing the flight of stairs to go to bed was like climbing Mount Everest, for the first few weeks after.  I was really suffering, but what good would it do to complain or go to the doctor or anything?  It's fine now, I healed fully from it, but it's a little stiff in the mornings.

I've broken my ankle, and sprained one three times, and the other twice.  I've fallen down stairs, and landed on my coccyx, and I've torn ligaments in my left elbow.

Irv falls out of a truck and twists his wrist, and now everyone's exclaiming and cooing over him.  It's a little difficult to feel...I don't know...the opposite of bitter, whatever that is, when he's like "look! I can move my fingers!".  I want to say, "you were moving your fingers when you got home on Saturday."  Because...he was.

The only thing, right now, that I can take from this is, hopefully, from here on out, he'll have a measure of empathy, if I hurt myself.

I think, next time, I'm going to really speak up when I damage myself, although the bitter part of me says that I shouldn't, and the very bitter part of me says that I shouldn't have to.

Connecticut, again!?

People ask me why we keep going back to Connecticut, for long weekend vacations.  Ok, mostly my mom, and I suspect she'll give me shit about anything under the sun, but it still has me thinking why.  I've been going there since I was a kid, nothing much has changed, we've seen all the attractions dozens of times, and there's not a hell of a lot going on.  Sounds dull.

We don't go in spite of those things, we go because of them.

One of the highlights of the trip is sitting in Tim Hortons, in the late afternoon.  It's not about the junk food or the coffee (although they're both a delight) it's about seeing the same old dudes roll in around the same time, sit at the same tables, and gossip about the post office across the street.  They're all old boatmen. They hate the Seaport and the tourists, and the wealthy elite.  Even though I've never spoken to them, we sit alongside and between their tables, and become immersed in the culture, and it feels like home. I get a weird doubling sensation, that one day, we're going to be old, sitting there talking politics, gossip, griping about SUVs and New Yorkers.  It feels absolutely right.  I look for the same resturaunts, and the same patterns of sightseeing.  We always try a few new things every time we go there, festivals, new places to eat, something, but normally it's all super familiar.  This visit, we're ranging as far as Providence RI, and going to Al Forno for dinner.

One day, Irv wants to retire up there.  He restlessly scans Craigslist and real estate pages for housing up there.  It's a far off dream, we have no intention of moving anywhere anytime soon, but it's a nice thing to think about.  A tiny century home set into the side of the tall hill, blocks away from the drawbridge.  Oh, fuck yeah.  My blue heaven.

Coffee and a fritter at Tims before check in, Margarita's happy hour for snacks and pitchers of margaritas tomorrow!  Cab to the hotel, whirlpool tub, more drinks.  Late night pool maybe.  Kitchen Little for a ridiculous early breakfast tomorrow, then to RI, to walk around, go to the huge mall, and see the city. Al Forno for dinner.  More coffee, drinks, pool, tub.  Sunday...maybe Old Mystic Village, and downtown walking around? Cemetery walking?  Waterfront, driving around, antiques, looking at all the houses, see if Clyde's is open? I love the open ended days.  We always have one or two.  Steak Loft for dinner for sure.  Monday, more open ended, definitely Kitchen Little, Devil's Hopyard if the weather's nice, more cemeteries, and Mystic Pizza for dinner, and a take home pie for the boy.  We might be the most boring people ever. Ever.  Lots of lazing around in the hotel room in between.  This visit, we're not going to the Seaport, or the Aquarium. We just went in October, and turned over every stone at both places.

I think it's a weird part of my makeup.  I crave routine.  Going somewhere adventurous or new throws me out of my comfort zone, and while it's a thrill, while I love it, a real vacation to me is nestling somewhere I know and love.  New places and events give me anxiety, here in my old age.  I am within my anxiety free comfort zone, I know what to expect, and where to go.  That's why we return to the same campsite year after year, too, I think.  I think I traveled enough as a kid.

Zombies in Atlantic City

Yeah, it's another dream.  I've been facing a serious writer's block, but blogging about my dreams always feels good.

So, I was on a bus with people heading down to Atlantic City.  I seemed to be not with anyone in my family, though Luiz and Irv show up vaguely later.  There's a lot of vagueness here.  I know I'm with a group of strangers, becoming friends with them on a long ride, down to my dream AC, only like all resorts and famous areas in my dreams, it's not quite AC.

I'm friends with them, and there's a zombie invasion down where we were going.  It was something of a survival horror bit, where we were wading through only semi agressive zombies to get where we were going.  Some details:  Hot summery sunshine, cool shore breezes.  No smell of decay.  Only some of the zombies were aggressive. There was a small child with us, who we adored.  We holed up in a house, trying to protect the kids.  Some of the people in the house got affected.  I remember being super concerned for the kid, who reminded me of Jake's daughter Natalie.  Outside on the boardwalk area, there were tables set up with prepackaged food and supplies labeled with some sort of Emergency Management stickers.  Lots and lots of these kits piled on top of the tables.  At some point we were in a grocery store with other survivors, gathering stuff, and there were lots of survivors.  That's one thing that set my dream apart from typical zombie survival games, only about half the population was affected, there were loads of healthy people around.  The zombies were only aggressive for a short time after becoming infected, and then they sort of just shambled around, looking rather healthy and dazed.  Their eyes went pale grey, and the pupils disappeared, and they looked totally mindless.  Back at the house we were at, the affected people, were rampaging, and the healthy people were trying to fight. I vaguely remember the one dude was kind of good looking and shirtless, and they had him of tied up, but he was struggling against the rope.  There was a woman, too, with brown hair.  I got too close, and the dude bit me on the hand. No flesh chunks came out, just a hard bite on the top of my hand that was bloodless, but red and painful.

We decided to leave, and it was Irv, Luiz, and I.  We were walking along the boardwalk at dusk to try to find a vehicle to get home.  We passed a modern looking glassy cafe with a couple that was on the bus with us. They were healthy and we offered to bring them back with us, but they claimed to be enjoying their time.  The male of the couple was eating what looked like dog kibble out of a huge silver bowl.  They were both Hispanic, and very attractive, in a movie star kind of way.  Rugged and polished.  We kept going. The dog kibble thing reminded us, before we left, to get some for the critters.  Luiz grabbed a huge 50 pound bag of kibble from under one of the supplies tables, and I grabbed a few cartons of the Emergency Supplies.

The ride home was uneventful, only that the sun set, and was full dark by the time we got home.  We were looking around town as we were driving in, to see if our area was affected, and the only the bar was any indicator.  There were tons of cars parked in front, but most of the lights were out inside, just the blue glow  of TVs.  That filled me with a sense of foreboding moreso than anything at the boardwalk.  The last thing I remember is us unloading the car, in the darkness, all the lights being out in the house.  I turned to get more stuff, and a stranger was on my porch.  Some soccer momish type with helmet hair, and a dazed look on her face.  She had wide staring bright blue eyes.  I was like "zombie?"  She actually answered me, "no, just a little sleepy."  Somehow I surmised that the zombies got better after while.  Aggressive, then calm, then sort of recovering and sleepy.  Also, I couldn't tell if I was becoming a zombie and able to communicate with her, or if I wasn't infected, but she was recovering...or she was just a dimwit on my porch.

I realized, with the bar being all dark like that, and the heavy darkness surrounding our house, that shit just got real. Everything was fully dark, the house, which looked like the house next door, only slightly modified, was silent and black, and even the pets were silent.  We couldn't tell if they were there.  That unnerved me so much, that I willed myself awake, and some super concious part of me, that knew the dream was a dream all along was like "ok, too much, party's over, time to get up".  In the first bleary moments of waking, I noticed all the pets in the bedroom, Jasper and Harmony at the foot of the bed, Bella by my side, and Smokey on top of the headboard, and I thought, just for an instant "oh they're all clustered here because they're scared of the zombies"  Which carried that crazy unnerving fright over into my first waking moments.

Also, I realize that I was lucid dreaming, for a lot of it. Controlling how things went and why we weren't in any real danger for awhile, and that it was still a pleasant atmosphere in spite of the zombie problem.  I was in control till arriving "home" and then I got very scared.

The car crashes into the bar, a nutty dream

I keep wanting to document certain dreams, and this is a good one to remember.  I had it during the 20 minute long snooze before getting up this morning, and the details are crystal clear.

It was a typical day, in this neighborhood. There was less snow on the ground, but it was still slushy.  Our yard was much larger than in real life, and it wasn't raised.  The layout was much the same, with the bar across the street.  I had to go to work, so while I was getting ready at 9 am, I went to warm up my car.  It wasn't my Jeep, though. In my dream, it was a small car, a black Geo Storm, wedge shaped, and I distinctly remember "Geo".  So, along with warming it up, I needed to move it, too. I swung it wide in the driveway doing a looping turn onto the grass, nearly missing a tree, and leaving wide tire tracks in the wet slushy ground.  I parked it facing out, at the very end of the driveway, with the wheel turned sharply towards Florence Ave, and I left it running.  As I hopped out of the car, I somehow kicked something, some mechanism.  I shut the door, and immediately the car went racing out into the street, and into the bar parking lot.  It crashed through the corner of the bar.  Upon first examining it, as I was running across the street, it looked like my car took out a full quarter of the front wall and windows, and was parked in a twisted heap, inside.  Later in my dream, it wasn't.  There was a huge crowd of people inside, and the interior didn't look like it does in real life.  There were a lot of couches and tables, and there was a circular area in the center, with couches all facing a huge flat screen TV. The actual bar part was across the back wall.  I seem to remember visiting a place like that, in real life, or maybe the interior was a composite of a few different places.  But there was a huge crowd. No one got hurt. There was some sort of sports event going on, with merchandise being sold from some back tables, and lots of people wearing team colors.  Even in my dream, I thought it was strange that the bar was so crowded at 9am.  Someone quickly located Bruna, and she just walked over to me, and looked at the car and me, silently.  I said, "We both have insurance, we can work this out."  She seemed to half-nod.  Told me to wait here, and she forbade me to leave.  She walked into a back room, that seemed adjacent to an old fashioned chill box cooler like we had at Kellers.  Coming out of the cooler was a girl I went to school with, grown up, and she was sneering at me.  I wandered around sort of lost, and then I realized the time, so I went back to my car to find my phone and call out of work. I plucked my phone out of the dead center of the wreckage, which was off to the side now, and seemingly smaller.  The inside of the bar wasn't really all that damaged, and people were partying right around the outside of the car.  My phone seemed unharmed, but the buttons didn't work.  I would try dialing one number, and another would come up, and I remember talking to all the wrong people, trying to dial home, work, my mother, and all sorts of different results came up, and I was trapped in this bar with a bunch of people who didn't care about what happened, or seemed totally put out by it.  I was    becoming increasingly desperate and sad, and scared.  I couldn't get through to anyone, and sometimes, if I punched certain buttons, the huge TV would go off, or change channels, only pissing people off even more.  I sat down on a huge couch, a dark colored couch with a very high back, and Leah showed up.  She gave me a hug, and offered to sit with me. Her presence was very maternal and comforting, but I was super worried that she wasn't at work, so I kept apologizing.  She shrugged, and seemed like she had nothing else really going on, and that she'd rather sit there with me.  Her presence helped the situation a lot. There was an old movie playing on the TV, that a group of people were really into, called something like "The Best of Times" and there was a blonde on screen, one of the old fashioned bombshell pinup types with red lipstick, blonde hair, and a green dress, and it seemed like a very glamorous movie.  I felt extremely anxious about my fate, and the fact that I couldn't simply get up and walk across the street home.  I felt very isolated from the family, and really wanted to get back to see them.  Leah's presence was a minor comfort, but it didn't really help the overall anxiety.  I woke up while watching the dream-movie.

Sometimes it doesn't work

That foodathon thing didn't work out so much.  The next two weeks after that were totally swamped.  Maybe next year I can stick to it.  I'd finish baking (over 1200 cookies and 30lbs of fudge this year) clean up and fall into bed.  It was too much to also write about it.  Stuff like that, when I make promises to myself, and fail, make me shy away from blogs reading and writing in general.