Sometimes I wish

I could move far away because I'm so embarrassed of things my neighbors may have heard.
I wish that there were (literally) two of me so I could do more.
I wish that I could do everything I think of.
I wish I could remember all my weird little daily realizations so I could write them in this blog.
I wish I had small pores.
I wish my wedding rings were different.
I wish we had a third floor.
I wish I was even emotionally.
I wish I had shaved my head or had dreadlocks at some point in my life.
I wish I'd gotten star tattoos when I was younger.
I wish I didn't feel weird about having sex when I'm pregnant.
I wish I was more regular about getting pedicures.
I wish I could have the time to make mix cds.
I wish I'd ended unresolved relationships before I got married.
I wish I were a perfect wife and mother.
I wish I were a better neighbor and would sweep my steps.
I wish I did not have ADD.
I wish I could be friends with all the people I'm interested in.
I wish I could live in California again.
I wish I could live in New York at least for a little while.
I wish there weren't so many cool things to do in this world.
I wish people didn't have tragic things that happen to them.
I wish that I could play an instrument and be in a band with Mike.
I wish that I could stop time.
I wish that I could go back in the past.
I wish I could really protect Emmett for the rest of his life.
I wish I had computer cleaner for this disgusting monitor with smudges.
I wish we had a warehouse to store the good deals we get, and resell on Ebay.
I wish I wasn't addicted to good smelling, expensive candles.

There's a lot to be said

about a caring and loving person. Someone that's there through thick and thin and accepts every awful thing about you. There's something to be said for the man that sees you completely disgusting, doing horrible things, and being less than you want to be. The sad part is, the person that loves you the most is the person you feel most comfortable not loving because you know that no matter what, they'll still love you and want to try to make you happy.

I feel like I have continuously taken the person in my life for grantide. Through thick and thin, he has been there for me, by my side, supporting me -- loving me -- trying to help me through. He is like a crutch in my life and I don't acknowledge the importance of his support. I don't realize that the great and happy parts of who I am are a result of the security and love I feel at home. Just like a happy child with a loving family life, I am a happy adult with the same. Mike doesn't question what I'm doing, where I'm going or who I'm with. It's his goal to make me happy, even if it means that I participate in actions that make him feel sad or hurt. These are the things I continue to realize at 10:40 Thursday morning. That the biblical definition of love is one that my husband follows.

So I say here publicaly, because I know he reads this, that I am sorry for not being the kind of wife you deserve. And that even as I'm writing this I know that it will all happen again. I'm sorry that I treat my friends better than I treat you. I'm sorry that in marrying me, I created distance from you. I'm sorry that I expect you to be someone you're not. I am sorry Mike -- you deserve so much better than me, and I know it.

This blog really is my struggle with life. I am an odd-ball. I'm a nut. I'm not a normal woman, a normal mother or a normal person. I am unstable with tendencies towards extreme dreaming, and reality never fits in with how I want things to be. This is incredibly unfair to my husband first and foremost, who cannot become what he's not based on my momentary requirements.

I've worked hard to protect a certain amount of innocence and to keep things silly in life, but as I mature I realize that life really, really is hard. That all of this really is torture, no matter how you look at it. When I was alone and successful (financially and with career) I wanted nothing more than to be a housewife and a married woman, savoring the moments of cuddling up to midnight movies on Friday nights. Now that I'm a housewife and married to a wonderful man with an amazing child, I want nothing more than to be single and creative with no responsibilities. There is nothing outside of myself that can make me happy.

I prayed for the first time yesterday in such a long time and I honestly believe that that prayer has changed some things in me. And it makes me think that my husband, Michael Garson, models himself after Jesus. Quiet and accepting while I'm far away but always willing to take me back with unjudgmental love and a gentle, warm embrace.

For the first time during this pregnancy

I feel a profound love for my baby. I haven't felt it yet, and today, sitting here with my swollen ankles on top of piled pillows, I feel deep love for someone I don't know.

And, for the first time during my pregnancy, I feel in love with Mike. I have not felt in love with him for so, so long. But as I'm writing this, I am starting to get very teary eyed -- teary eyed at how much he loves me despite the terrible person I am. I don't know why or how he can still buy me flowers every week, even though at every pass, I'm ready to blame. I don't know why he's wiling to stay up two nights in a row, with very little sleep, to work on a festival book for a Greek church because he knows that it means something to me. How is he able to take all the blame I put upon him for everything. He never argues with me. He always agrees to try to work on things, even if they aren't his fault.

(I have to go. I am afraid I won't finish this later. I want to post this because these may be feelings that lead to a turning point).

Just follow the day and reach for the sun.

It's amazing how music has the ability to heal me and to put me into a totally different mood. I'm wondering if part of my recent depression has been lack of music. Is this possible? Can music have this much of an effect? I haven't listened to music through this pregnancy, but usually, music is a major part of my day. Emmett and i dance to it. I turn it up really loud. I sing in my car. Is it possible that a fix is this easy?

I so happy right now, listening to a CD I made for my friend (JR--yours). Emmett and Zach are happily playing. I'm skipping to only the happy ones.

This is a longstanding favorite song of mine -- mainly because of the words. It exhillerates me. If you never heard it, I really encourage you to download it and listen to it.


Light and day
is more than you'll say
Because all
My feelings are more
Than i can let by
Or not
More than you've got
Just follow the day

Follow the day
and reach for the sun

You don't see me flyin to the red
One more you're done
Just follow the seasons and find the time
Reach for the bright side
You don't see me flyin to the red
One more you're nuts
Just follow the day
Follow the day and reach for the sun

Just follow the day
Follow the day and reach for the sun


Also, to JB, CB, FH & HH (and Mike and Emmett)...I had so much fun last night. xo

A dream and a confessional.

Sexual Content Warning. Serious Confessional Content Warning.


















A Disturbing Dream

It's 4:25 am and I just woke up from a dream I was having...a disturbing dream with many parts, but a dream I was having about one of my close "ex" friends from high school. In this dream, I was walking down the street and sort of hitch hiking, but requiring that a golden car pick me up. It was a time parallel to now, only it was normal to ask for the color car to pick you up that matched your outfit. (*sorry if this is barely readable. I'm so tired).

Janine picked me up and I got in. She was driving the same car she'd driven in high school; a tattered old Nissan (?) in dingy bronze with black accents. Her car was actually NOT the right color, but I got in anyway because it was her. It had one of those seatbelts attached to the door (that attack you) and was dirty. It was like she was someone from the dead arising when she stopped. I was a little scared of her the way I'd be scared of a ghost.

I got into the car and she told me about how she's been living in Florida near the Caribbean and how much she loved it. She went into all these details and I felt like I was riding with a corpse (literally, afraid of her). She dropped me off into a picture and I was a teenage girl wearing Jordashe jeans and standing with three balloons. i was actually coloring in my own balloons (one of which had three smaller balloons in it) and I was drawn to the side, in an almost like alley area and I kept saying "See mom and dad. This is why I'm so messed up. You never noticed I was wearing Jordashe jeans". All of the sudden, this lesbian came over and started stroking my hair and asking me if I had a poem to tell, and I started crying and told her to get off (not because she was a lesbian even) and it was like I had all this super thick, curly hair when she was doing that.

Right after that, I was suddenly transferred to a cancer treatment center in what felt like a fine hotel. The lesbian was in a hotel pool that told me that she could recognize cancer in my neck and that I needed to be checked out. So I got Mike and went to the doctor (a female) who told us to wait in the lobby. While I was waiting, I was standing in front of the pool. The lesbian told me I had to get into the pool in order to be checked out for cancer. I didn't want to, but she kept saying it was the only way they could tell. This made me very worried and I told Mike, but he seemed to think we should ask the doctor. Then he mentioned that the lesbian was the "style I liked". A male doctor came out and told us that I would have to get into the pool in order for them to check me for cancer...that they wouldn't be able to see it any other way. The lesbian kind of looked up in a told you so kind of way.


Things that are making me unable to sleep

I woke up at that point, seriously disturbed by a million things a few of which are listed below:

* I am scared around women.
Between the ages of 18 and 25, I was rejected by so many women who were close to me, I actually reformed my behavior to be a lot less controversial, to make sure I ask questions, and to allow no confrontation or fighting. The girl janine, was one of the people that rejected me the hardest with little explanation. (This thought just in. I've also felt rejected by men, but for some reason, it's not as bad, so for 10 or so years, I've relied on men to make me feel fun, pretty, acceptable, okay etc.) With women that I'm close to that I think may get angry at me or reject me, I find myself walking on eggshells sometimes and creating distance unintentionally. One of my friends has felt this (JB--this is you) and I am having a hard time explaining this or reconciling this. Somehow, I think my past history with women has left me with something wrong. In fact, I always have this little imagination that the rejection I felt in the past, the damage it did, and the changes I made to make myself more acceptable left me like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest. Like the raw and honest part of my personality has been lopped off. If there's any danger, I'll do anything to avoid being dumped.

* I am worried about my baby.
I'm very worried that there's something wrong with this baby. Specifically, I'm worried that the baby is retarded. And even if it's born okay, I'm worried that it will be autistic. But I usually don't even get that far. I'm so worried there's something wrong with him now. I am worried that my baby is retarded because I'm being punished for being a bad wife to Mike, with straying thoughts (marriage wise) and that this will force me to be in this family more and will bring us closer together and that God will use this tragedy to bring me closer to him. I can't tell you how worried I am about this. I'm worried because in almost 2 years, I've barely prayed. I've had such little connection with God. I haven't been "trying" to be a better person. I am afraid of God also. I know very often, things happen for a reason and it would make sense for there to be something wrong with my baby in order to finally ring me into this role. I am at a higher risk for a baby with downs syndrome.

* I feel rejected by my friend C.B. (not Colin)
He's a guy and Mike thinks it's because he's immature and I'm pregnant and there's a natural divide that happens for a single guy with that. That the guy doesn't really know how to handle it and I'm not the light, fun, carefree person I was. This could be true, but it's hurtful to me. I'm worried that one of the reasons is because he was doing Living Wage stuff for me and stopped abruptly. I'm wondering if he thought I should pay him to do it (which I would have done). I just thought he wanted to volunteer.

* I'm worried that my subconscious thinks I'm a lesbian
I re-read my dream including the idea of me jumping into a "pool" and wondering, do I somewhere secretly think I'm gay? Why am I having what some people would consider a "coming out of the closet" dream. I don't feel gay. I don't even feel comfortable around women a lot of the time and imagining intimacy actually makes me shudder (anything "too soft" sexually makes me shudder). but do I somewhere secretly put all this rejection together and conclude that I am gay? I really wish I didn't have a dream where I was jumping into the lesbian pool.

* I'm worried about the festival magazine
It's not nearly as big as it was last year and I think it's because Mike and I haven't been going to church (St. George). I'm worried about the crunch at the last minute, but am also thinking about suggesting to Pete that we have someone try to call people to get more ads. Also, I'm worried about the Priest and if it is weird for him if we go to church next week and he sees us. I'm also worried because we need to baptise the baby and I want to do it in the Orthodox church, but we haven't been going to church.


I'm worried that I've been too mean to Emmett
He was crying so much today. He's been sick for over a week and I'm becoming impatient with him. He's been loving the attention -- I am sure of that, but today I needed to get things done. I was snappy with him, trying to hurry him to school. Promising to do a project with him and then letting him do the project himself. He wanted me to listen to a book with him (the kind with a CD) and I didn't. I am a shitty mom right now. I need to be better. I have the best kid in the world. Emmett has been noticing the fighting between Mike and I and keeps bringing it up saying things like "Mommy, you are my favorite and daddy is my second favorite" or "Mommy, daddy doesn't love you, but I do" or "Mommy, I don't like this house. I don't like this table. I don't like you" Today I said, "Emmett, are you saying that to get my attention"? And he said "Mommy. I want your attention. I want you to help me color this." And even though he said that, I set the timer for 10 minutes and told him I would help him for that long. He says things like "Mommy, why are you always mad at daddy" and I try to explain that it's not a big deal and that when a mommy has a baby inside of her, everything feels different and so she gets upset and that daddy isn't wrong etc. Guys, you can't imagine how much of a failure I feel like right now...to both my children. The fact that Emmett is noticing this, possibly being damaged. The fact that I haven't played with him in MONTHS... The fact that with this baby, for 8 months I've been feeling like I wish I wasn't pregnant and worried that this baby is retarded and that I smoked on and off throughout the pregnancy (not now, but before). I am so messed up. I DO NOT DESERVE MY SON. I DO NOT DESERVE MY HUSBAND. I try to escape sometimes. I go into a "single world" and I haven't wanted to give this up. I am so wrong. God please forgive me everything. I'm a mess.

And I wish Groove is In The Heart would get out of my head. It seems drastically inappropriate for how I feel right now. I'm going to get Emmett and bring him into bed with me.

You want to know what's really happening with me?

I'm miserable. I have drafts that aren't published with statements like "I hate my fucking life". The moments I write in my blog are "the best" of my day. I'm writing this because people are misunderstanding what I'm writing -- like my last post. The last post is about me. It's about me no longer being light about my problems. It's about friends that don't know how to deal with me being heavy right now. The result is that I'm going into isolation about my feelings like a person with cancer not wanting to bother anyone.

I am a semi-private person. I don't like to be completely vulnernable, but I also tell a lot of what's going on. I've always held onto a life jacket when I'm dealing with my problems and that makes life bearable. Sometimes, I let more out than other times. I "heal" through talking and when I talk or write, I'm sometimes counseling myself. This is a method that works for me, but it varies by situation. So for one situation you'll see me crying, saying everything. The next, I'll tell you with a stone cold face that I am turning the hurt I feel into anger because I can't deal with being vulnerable. I'm inconsistent based on how I can deal with things.

Please don't judge me and forgive me for anything that offends you. I don't mean it. I love and value all of my friendships and anyone that reads this blog. It means a lot that you care. My intentions are never to hurt anyone. I'm never sending secret messages with the things I feel.

I'm drawn to damaged things.

The underdog.

The runt of the litter.

The imperfect Christmas tree.

The face with a scar.


Yesterday, I began thinking about this -- quite randomly -- while we were eating breakfast on the Ocean City boardwalk. I began to think about the people I know, why I know them, how they're alike, how I'm like them, and what makes friendships work. Mike and I talked about it for 45 minutes and in the end, I came up with something I now firmly believe:


My Philosophy About Damaged People & Friendships

I believe people with the same amount of damage that process that damage in the same way, are drawn to one another.

In other words, the friends I have are damaged to the "same level" as I am and they deal with problems in the "same way" as I do. For me, the damage that I've experienced has created a crust of cynicism around me. It's created defenses to letting people too far in. It's created a toughness. It's created an alternative view of the world. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, the way that I'm comfortable dealing with my own damage *Right Now* is by skirting over things and enjoying life in a silly kind of way. By being very busy. By laughing a lot and doing funny projects. By gettting overly into analyzing something of insignificence. In a way, at this stage of my life (age 34 with a kid), I am dealing with the things that have hurt me by not dealing with them and keeping everything light.


What All My Close Friends Have In Common

I sat there with Mike and examined every friendship I have and realized that every close friend** I have has been rejected by a parent. I also realized that every close friend I have is affected by this to the "same level" as I am.


My Amount of Damage on a Scale of 1-10

On a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being drug addict on street, 1 being almost dumb, happy person), my damage level is about a 6. I'm not terribly damaged, but I'm definitely cynical. I can function. I can lead a normal life. I can cope. BUT, I always feel different. I actually *feel* more than other people. My view of living is one of survival and I don't trust people in terms of getting too close. These things do add a creative depth to me, so I've learned to embrace these things. But behind it all, there's pain I'm sure.

Over the years, I've gone through "serious" periods of dealing with that pain and "accepting" periods of just accepting my past and keeping things light. For a few years now, I've been in a period of acceptance -- distracting myself with busy, silly things that make me laugh. Surrounding me have been other people able to do this.


Problems That Happen in Friendships Are Because of Damage
Problems in friendships occur when:

1. One person is MORE damaged than the other.
2. One person is LESS damaged than the other.
3. Although equally damaged, one person is processing their damage in a way that makes the other person feel uncomfortable at that stage of their life.

During pregnancy, there's a lot of introspection, sadness, and realization of life changes. Over these past 8 months, some of my "damage" is coming out in a deeper, less silly way. Armed with these thoughts and uncomfortable with THIS way of processing damage, the only trace of it most people will see and that I feel is here in this blog. Outside of that, there's a detached awareness of a depression that's surfacing and all these doors leading to dark corridors. Sadly, I don't like dealing with all this crap this way. I want these hormones to stop. i want to go back to the way everything was 8 months ago when the idea of a rock star marionette could make me laugh endlessly.


** There are a few exclusions to this and I addressed them with Mike. But what we realized is that these people, the people on the "cusp", have older siblings that experienced this type of damage and indirectly adopted the defenses and bitter crust due to influences by their older sibling.

It seems like all the shows I really liked

lasted between one and three years. (The New) You Asked For It went from 1981-1983. It was a great concept and a great show. The idea was to answer or investigate bizzare questions and ideas -- as requested by the audience. As an 8 year old girl, I wrote to the show and asked if they could find the original Annie from the first broadway play and if they could find out she was and what she was doing. I spent the whole day carefully handwriting the letter and walked it up to the mailbox, put it in, closed the lid and opened it again to see if it was actually gone. It was a big deal for me.

The night I sent the letter, I cried in my bed for over an hour realizing that if they ever answered my question on the show, I would never be able to see it because we didn't have a TV.

Now it seems so cool that my parents raised us for awhile without a TV, but has anyone noticed how much I bring it up? All these people with the "Kill Your Television" myspace response -- I can't help but to feel slightly irritated.

The incident above was the second time i was in my bed crying for hours feeling like I would miss something on TV. The first time, it was a show I was ON. The News came to our class and filmed us. I never saw it.

Can you imagine how it felt as a 7 year old in elementary school, when everyone cames into school with Burger King 3-D glasses? Can you imagine going to a friend's house, and you really don't want to play...you just want to watch TV? AND you feel like you're sneaking? It was like we were Amish, Audrey and I -- but especially me because I was older. Between that and us NOT BEING ALLOWED to sing Halloween songs* in music class, I am keenly aware of why I felt like a freak even as a little girl.

My parents did a good job of raising us and and we were far and away the most creative kids on our block. It had SOMETHING to do with not having a TV, but it wasn't without a price. When my grandmother finally gave my family a new TV (literally imposed it upon us), my parents made a rule of 2 shows (1 hour) a night. I think that makes a lot more sense.

*Imagine sitting in a circle with all the kids singing 3 little jack-o-lanterns sitting on a tree and YOU are the ONLY KID not singing because you aren't allowed

My energy is

gone this week. Nothing satisfies me and I don't want to do anything. I miss smoking terribly and wish there were no ramifications to that addiction. I don't feel like going anywhere or doing anything -- except, maybe going to the shore. That's really all I want to do is be near the water and the sand. I am unmotivated and generally sluggish.

TV is actually boring for me -- even my favorite crime shows. When I work on a crossword puzzle I feel so disgusted with myself at the amount of time I'm wasting. I still can't sleep. I eat for no reason. I sleep all the time. This is depression, I'm sure. I'll probably get over it in a few days, but the energy part of this is what's driving me into misery.

Sleeping quarters of

truck cabs are something that I get obsessed with during long highway trips. I talk about them endlesly...the sizes, the colors and the set up.

It's something that happened when Mike and I took our first cross country trip and it continues whenever we're on the road for more than 2 hours. I can't visually reconcile the spacing of the sleeping quarters in those cabs. I compare them...I examine them...I think about how a bigger cab could be a "perk" to working for a certain company. I obsess about what happens inside of them. I pay attention to truck stops where there are a ton of parked trucks with people sleeping.

There's something about those cabs that feels a little like playing fort to me or camping out in my grandmother's backyard when we were little. I can just imagine hearing the rain on the metal, or having a little black and white TV and eating oatmeal. I've talked to Mike about it for hours.

I think it's an extension of my obsession with Winnebegos, but it's a little more fascinating because it's less based in luxury and more on survival. It's that lonely kind of life, with periodic interactions at truck stops and miniature versions of comfort.

Suddenly you realize

when you're 7 months pregnant, that your single friends don't want to actually hang out with you. They still love you, but talking on the phone works best. After all, it's strange to look at you, you can't drink, and plus -- you can't really do anything fun. And who wants to go out with a pregnant woman. Anyway, she SHOULD be taking it easy. She SHOULDN'T be going out. And there's nothing cool about being seen with someone that's pregnant. And can I blame anyone? Not really. There's really nothing to bring up with anyone, because I remember it and understand it. I remember before I had Emmett, I knew this girl that was HUGLY pregnant with her second child. When I went out with her, I felt like the only role I could fit into was "helping". I didn't feel like she was an actual person. I just felt like she was pregnant and I was an assistant and we were having a "nice", "wholesome" time. My good times happened with non-pregnant, flexible, energetic people. And when I would leave her, it would be back to normal life.

Remembering this creates this forceful rebellion in me and I work hard to not show my physical limitations. When someone asks me how I feel, I downplay it as much as possible. When it's by a non-parent friend, I offer no information, pretending that there's nothing different. "Oh, I'm fine!" I feel almost defensive. I feel a desire to remind them that this is not who I really am. With parent friends, I feel normal and I tell them what's happening.

Unlike my pregnancy with Emmett, I feel very conspicous looking to non-parent friends and abnormal and strange in a sci-fi sort of way. I feel every ounce of my coolness is drained into maternity fashion. I feel keenly aware of the fact that my energy and appearance contribute greatly to being popular with friends that don't have children. I did an experiment when I was in college with this and realized that for me, the likable side of my personality is directly connected with my appearance.

By and large, I feel like a person with a terminal illness. At this point, I feel most comfortable with other parents because I know they get it. I know they know I can't help it. And I know they understand that there's no way to be supercool with 40 extra pounds and a gigantic belly.

Comments are disabled on this one because anything anyone writes I won't believe anyway. I think everyone knows what I mean. I'm just voicing all this. And this isn't directed at anyone in particular. It's very general and connected to feelings that I had before I had Emmett.

PLEASE DON'T THINK I'M TALKING ABOUT ANYONE IN PARTICULAR OR OVERLY ASK ME TO HANG OUT... THIS IS JUST AN OBSERVATION. I"M OVER THE SADNESS TODAY (Tues)