What the Fuck?

May have had a full blown anxiety attack, today.  I woke up feeling sort of punchy today, and besides work (which was awesome) there was just a series of minor setbacks, frustrations, and difficulties that compounded, and added, and heaped. Normally I just roll, flow, ebb, go, and handle it, whatever it may be.  Today, every little frustration, every unplanned thing, every monkey wrench just sent me further along, till by the end of the day I was sort of stumbling around, going through the motions, my chest hurt as though I were punched, I couldn't take a deep breath, my cheeks felt hot, my eyeballs felt like they were going to launch themselves right out of the sockets, and the skin on my face felt drum tight.  I thought I was just feeling "weird".  On impulse, I took a Xanax.  Within 20 minutes, all those symptoms all the weird off feelings faded away, and I was more myself.  More alert, in tune with my surroundings, and of course, way more relaxed.

I don't like that.

Lots of little things crashing in.  The house and it's zillion pressures (cleaning it out, the monetary investment, Kenny's desperation, the dirt, the broken things, the neglect, the fact that we have to find places for all of our stuff., and everything else), Irv's house anxiety as projected on me, Luiz's house anxiety for a whole different set of reasons, the rest of his psychoses, which can be draining to deal with, every day, my budding tarot business and all the little things related to it, Schuyler visiting soon, Alden's shitty grades, Alden maybe not making it to the seventh grade with all those implications, all the plans for every weekend till the end of the world, money, things, this, that, fuckall, it's driving me crazy. Seriously crazy.  Clinically crazy.  Anxiety attack crazy.

At least I've been sleeping. I don't know how well, because even after 8 hours, I still wake up feeling like shit, and groggy.

I need...something. I want to say I need to go camping, but all this shit and more will be waiting when I come back from the woods, so it's not exactly that. Not this time.  I just need to take each day in measured steps, and try not to freak out too much.

My Dio Moment

It's like, since I started blogging again routinely, I actually want to.  I find myself sitting at work, during the downtime, coming up with ideas, and composing in my head.  I'm thinking like a blogger, again.  It was so prevalent in my life, at one time, I found myself carrying a notebook throughout the day, and jotting notes to blog about later, so I didn't forget.  I wished I had my notebook this morning.

I'm really fucked up about Ronnie James Dio's death.  More than I thought I would be.  Here's what's weird.  He was only 67, and he got sick right off a huge tour with Heaven and Hell.  He was blazing, he was touring huge arenas.  He was ever the showman, ever giving of himself.  I got the news yesterday, when my mom and Earl were over, and had to go outside, half sick with it, back out to where everyone was sitting, and tell Irv, who got me into Dio so long ago.  There's Earl.  Alive. Dio's dead, and Earl is alive.  Alive and suffering, but still with us, all the same, just going on and on, being Earl, making everyone miserable... when someone like Dio who spent his whole life doing good, putting it out there, giving himself to us through his music...not alive.  Hate that.

I didn't grow up liking Dio, his music wasn't much in my radar, in my teens.  About three weeks after Irv and I met, there was a Dio show at Birch Hill, and he was like "we HAVE GOT to go"  I shrugged, I mean, I'd heard of the guy, but not much of his music.  I mean, I was a real metal head, Slayer, Pantera, Megadeth, stuff like that.  So, on that day, he made me listen to all his Dio tapes(!) solo, Black Sabbath, just filled me full of Dio's music, and I liked it. When we first got there, I even said to Irv "fucking great, look at all these old farts, I feel like I'm on some aging metalhead cruise, where's the shuffleboard!?".  But when that tiny man walked...no strode, when he strode out on stage, the intensity, the absolute amazing energy, the voice...the...I don't even know how to say this without sounding cheesy, but the star quality.  He had it. He had all of it.  I literally fell in love.  Right there on the spot, I became his number one fan.  We were in the front row, and about a third of the way through the set, Metal Mike, his guitarist and a local awesome dude grabbed my hand and was talking to me about my rings, and stuff.  Dio saw it, and walked over, mid song, and clasped my hand with both of his, and kissed my fingertips.  Mike shouted "You're the YOUNGEST ONE HERE!!!"  Tears. That's my Dio moment.

I braved a Dio concert late in my pregnancy. Alden got to go "see" Dio when he was about 7 and a half months along.  We saw him live countless times, and every time, his presence and voice filled up every bit of the venue, and every corner of my psyche.

I fucking loved Dio.  I really loved him, as much as any person can love someone they never met. Not for his looks, or his fame, or anything, but for his sheer energy and the power he transmits. His demeanor. His way.

Uneasy Alliance

I am watching a documentary about emotions and human connections.  There was a phrase that said "friendships are an uneasy alliance"  Can I get a hell yeah?  Outside of the people I live with, these people in my house....I feel like all of my friendships are like that, even my oldest most treasured friends.

I think, partially, it's because I cleave to outgoing gregarious types.  I am not these things.  I enjoy listening, soaking in, and hearing people talk, so I like when others dominate the conversation.  It's a double edged sword, though. I lose my identity, in relationships like that.  I always feel awkward and uneasy, when I spend an extended amount of time with anyone outside my family. Always.  Even if we're having the best time, laughing, whatever, I always get a little weird, shy, isolated, awkward feeling.  A lot of people I consider close friends, some people that have known me for a long time don't *really* know me.  I hate gatherings and groups, parties. 

Having Irv, Luiz, and Alden around helps, if any one of them is with me (or preferably all of em) I can cope better, in unfamiliar surroundings. This isn't good, though, because trying new things, going places, being around people sort of scares me. Hell, not sort of. It's almost debilitating.

Next time, just punch me in the face, it would be over quicker.

To anyone with a shred of social or emotional intelligence, the term "I'm sorry you feel that way." or any of it's clones "I'm sorry you're angry, aggravated, pissed, or freaking out" isn't really an apology.  It's the classic un-apology. A smarmy way of both ridding yourself of any need to apologize and highlighting the behavior of someone else.

In my world, it's the opposite of anything even remotely resembling an apology. It's a gallon of gasoline and a brick of fireworks on an already burning fire. It's a nuke. It's the red button.  It's serious.  It is the end of all rational conversation. It is the grand finale. It is about the only thing that will make me lose my composure.  It might be distasteful to some, or exasperating, but to me, it's fucking infuriating.  Not like I hide this fact. Everyone knows this about me. Everyone that loves me, and knows even a little bit about my history knows that I spend my whole life, getting this "I'm sorry you feel that way" shit in place of an apology from my mother.  For the longest time, I thought that it is simply the way you say sorry.  I'm sorry...you feel that way.  It's like a household phrase over there.  It took me years to stop self blaming.  Years of self examination.  Even joking about it, or hearing it on TV raises my hackles a little.

Now I'm angry. I went from being mildly annoyed at juvenile behavior, to full on angry at a complete douchebag.

So when you're being mildly annoying, and I snap at you for interrupting my phone conversation, or for being self absorbed...either apologize, or don't. Go be quiet somewhere, or something.  I don't need a special fucking apology.  Don't go around the house throwing your hands in the air, like "ooh, loook out, someone's being a hysterical bitch", then top it off with the grand anti-apology.   Because the hysterical bitch doesn't come out till "I'm sorry you're aggravated."  Silence might have been better.  Kicking me in the shin might have been better.  You don't need to be sorry, whatever. Who the fuck cares. If silence prevailed, it would have faded, and ended, and I would have gotten over being annoyed.

Instead, I'm sitting here, writing this, trying not to witch you into breaking a bone.

Little bits.

I love freezing my ass off in central air.  Most of the time I think I'm low maintenance, but right now, I feel pretty high maintenance.

I shouldn't have fed the dogs eggs this morning, I had leftover egg whites from the French vanilla ice cream, and couldn't bring myself to toss em.  But now I'm sitting between big stinky and little stinky, as they slumber in their own green fog stink collective.

I love meeting good people. Making steps towards real friendship with rare and interesting folks.  I love spending time talking about real stuff, rather than blah blah blah on small talk.  Fucking A, what a good day.

I also love that barbecue season is here.  I want to cook grandly every weekend.

I want to go camping, very soon.

It's a time for action, building, growing, doing, planting, creating, breathing in and exhaling in the vibe of the season.

I read an excellent blog today, one that inspired me to pick this baby back up, and go with my old style. I read back through some of my more recent blogs meaning This Next Chapter Stuff, not epiphany, and I get so goddamned explainy. Who the fuck am I explaining to?  I feel like it has to do with when epiphany got an audience, and I had to be all expository and shit.

I just re-read the Mark blog. May update. The guy is an alcoholic.  Serious business alcoholic.  Sometimes I think I may have the beginnings of a drinking problem, but Mark has a real problem.  We hung out for two months, got to know his situation, even hung out with Jen some. Can't do it anymore.  Can't babysit a drunk that likes his life at rock bottom, that loves his issues and his "crazy motherfucking life" as he puts it, more than his many children.  Unplugging and pulling away. A little remorse, because as we all (and by we all, I mean me) know, I am a fixer. I can't fix this one. Packing up the Chariot and moving on.  I mentioned AA. He stopped talking to me.

Ebbing and flowing. People come and go. Some people I wish would come and stay, or come back and stay.  Some people I wish would go forever.


The dog keeps farting and she's driving me off.  It's pouring outside, and I love that.  I am too tired to get deep, and wax eloquent on the mix of interesting bits that comprised the past few days. Maybe I'll get into it more tomorrow. Maybe.

Blah blah blah

This is a good Saturday, one of those yawning days that seems to stretch on forever. Up early, like every Saturday, but blessedly done with most obligations by noon.  Looking forward to going to the bar tonight, for maybe dinner, definitely a few beers.  Hopefully Maureen and Don will pop in, I have yet to hang out with her outside of work, or meet the famed boyfriend, but I'd like to.  I'm on something of a mission, to increase my inner friend circle. We need more "couple" friends, grownups as couples, that we can have barbecues with, go to the bar, whatever.  Intelligent conversation, varied interests, all that happy shit.  Next weekend, Leah and Chris are coming over for the First Official Barbecue of the Season (woo!).  Really excited about both the aspect of a barbecue, and hanging out with them.  Then Maureen's bringing the family over for a 'que, in a few weeks, and the cherry on the awesome Month of May Sundae is Memorial Day weekend, when Jake is coming over, and bringing a trunkful of beers he's been cellaring, including some Nugget Nectar he's laid aside, and possibly a bottle of the fabled Dark Horizon.  He said he's saving them just to share with me. Best friends forever.  Now for the fun of planning menus for all of these get togethers.  I live for entertaining.

Also, my birthday and Mother's Day. Last year they went over with a resounding thunk.  I always expect too much, (like a card from my son, and flowers from my husband) and wind up being disappointed.  All I want this year, is to go camping. I could do with the flowers and nice things, but I'm dying to go camping, I've been trying to plan something since the season started, and I've been getting shit from husband....so maybe I can get bratty about it, around my birthday.  Here's hoping.  My mother noticed the bald tires on my Jeep, and said she wants to buy me tires. I said "do not buy me tires for my birthday"  She said she'd give me money, for tires. I told her I would spend it on booze and whores.  For fucks sake, tires?

I have PMS. I know this, because I've been listening to a solid rotation of Gossip, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Amanda Palmer, and Hole.  That, and my dire need for beef, dark chocolate, and dark beer (even more dire than usual! During this time of the month it goes from a mild want, to a pervasive, almost painful yearning...).  I've also switched from light and floral perfumes to my smoky, sexy badass scents, like Wanda and Vintage.   My hormones swing weirdly, not by moodswings, but by taste changes, and craves. 

Alden has these weird phases he goes through, where one week he's so insanely good, and by good, I mean 360 degrees. Good grades, good bowling scores, excellent behavior, motivated, intelligent, interesting, perky...I mean, it's fucking crazy.  Then, he'll have a week where his IQ drops to below functional, lying, being lazy, acting stupid, trying to get over on everyone, sneaky, shitty grades, shitty bowling scores. Seriously, his bowling scores change when his whole mode dips.  I wish I could find the magic, like we have today, and make it go forever.  I wish I could find where he loses his shit, and help him prevent the downswing.  Days like today, I want to reward him, buy him anything he wants, take him places, spend loads of time with him, and we go like this for awhile...then inevitably he will do something ridiculously stupid (like lying to my face) that brings it all crashing to a halt.  Sometimes, I think the rewards and extras he gets for being awesome (like taking him out for a special lunch, or spending an afternoon playing Magic: The Gathering with him) brings about the crash. Something ego-related.  I hope not.  

Paranoia?

I need to get this sorted out. I don't even know what I'm going to type, except that I have to do something, anything.  Things have been weird in the house, and at first, I thought it was me. I thought it was good old red-blooded paranoia, on my part, so I've been spending a great deal of time sorting out my own feelings and motivations.  I'm beginning to see that maybe it isn't just me being paranoid.

Things I know:

Irv has been very squirrely about money.  Acting like we're in deep poverty, so broke we can't even go grocery shopping for a few things here and there, refusing to go out to eat, going on and on about money, making me pay for all kinds of stuff.  Really cutting back on all sorts of stuff, important stuff, not just luxuries.

He has been grumpy and short tempered.  Standoffish towards me.  To the point where it's affecting everyone, and as of tonight, blowing up in our faces, and causing a ridiculous bullshit fight.

There is a real, palpable tension in the house, coming from his direction.


I way oversimplified it, but those are the pure facts.  Now, operating on intuition (only, no cards yet. I still feel a little close to the matter, to start flipping cards) I feel like he's obsessing about money and the control of it, and somehow punishing me, or taking something out on me, involving finances. In one case scenario, at least.

Another case, and I don't even want to begin thinking about it, has to do with what my mother has said.  During our huge issue, back in January, when I was talking to my mom on the phone, she said "You be careful, you watch the money. Make sure you know what he's doing with his money, that's how I found out your father was cheating on me."  It's been galloping around in my head since she mentioned it.

Things I know, regarding that:

He has a bank account that I don't have access to. Maybe two, I'm not sure.  He said he opened it to make chasing his checks at a certain bank easier, and for a Christmas Club sort of thing. Said he would put a bit away every month, to make the holidays easier.  Great, we used it for that, two Christmases ago. Not this past holiday, though. He said it was because he stopped putting money there.

I told him in the middle of all that, that I would start saving every penny and making sure I was ok, financially, because I needed the ability to be independent. I was ready to pack Alden up and leave with him that night.

I half wonder if he's subconsciously keeping me poor by having me pay for more and more things around the house, so I can't save a hundred bucks from one month to the next.  So...tell me, at least, so I can plan for it.  I half wonder if he resents my newfound solvency since the raise and extra hours at IFF, and is taking it out on me in certain ways.  I half wonder if he is stashing a large amount of money in secrecy, then I wonder why. Is it like my mother says? I honestly doubt it...but it could be paranoia on his part, setting in.  It could be that he wants to buy some sort of huge equipment, and he knows I might question it. (I've never said no to him making a big purchase in his life...I mean, fuck, he bought a Ford Bronco two years ago, and it's been sitting in front of our house, he drove it maybe a dozen times....)

It's causing me a lot of stress.  Barbecue season is upon us, and I like entertaining. I can't mention having someone over, without a terse "why?" or "well, fine, but keep it cheap" or some vague non-answer.  I can't make plans to go anywhere-do anything, not camping, nothing, without either the vague shrug, or some argument.  I've been cooking from the freezer and pantry for months, only going out and buying groceries, with my own money, out of desperation. Any time I mention groceries, I get the vague shrug.

It's not about the money. It's about the evasiveness. The sneaky feeling, the terseness,  the silence.  If he came right out and said, "hey, since you're making more money right now, can you cover the groceries?" I would agree in a heartbeat...I mean I already have been, hell.  I just want to know, I want it to be on my own terms.

This will make no sense. I am going to go back and read it anyway, to see if I learn something new about myself, and my situation.  Then, maybe, since I've dumped it all out of my head, I can do a good clean tarot reading about it.