You've Got to Be Fucking Kidding Me

An unplanned extra drink tonight. I thought today was going well until it wasn't.

Toy Story 3 was good, not too sad unless you were going through empty nest syndrome right now. We both enjoyed the popcorn and some cuddling - that's always good.

The afternoon consisted of getting I.'s stuff in the washing machine, taking one cat to get a shot and then coming home and watching I.'s baby videos on the television. Everything was good until we got upstairs and that reoccuring (lately) problem of backtalking and attitude. raised its ugly head. I've got to find an instant "go-to" response to that, one that works that is.

I. has been up twice hungry (9:30 and 10:15pm) and I've given her food twice. Now I have to stay up to wait til she falls asleep and I can close her door to keep the cats out. Meanwhile, all hell has broken loose...

My friend Terry sent a text message at 5:30 saying, can you go for coffee tomorrow? I was planning on the gym but since Mark's death hit me like a ton of bricks in the shower tonight, I was scared that maybe I would break down at the gym. So I decided that coffee with Terry would be much preferable. Then I thought we would take flowers to Mark's grave in the afternoon seeing that tomorrow is his anniversary. Sounds good, huh?

I got a phonecall/voicemail from Jodi at 7:30 saying the party was cancelled and to keep her and Hunter in her thoughts. Okay, but then at 10pm, Brian (Mark's friend) texts me that he's banned from Hunter and Jodi's life. After a brief text exchange, I find out that I AM ALSO BANISHED because anyone who has anything to do with Mark's party on Saturday is banished from their lives. Tomorrow I hope to talk to Brian and find out exactly what happened.

Not only that, I then go on to FB and see that I've been REMOVED from her friends' list. I still want to take flowers to Mark's grave and I think I still will. I haven't had any convo with Jodi and this is the first anniversary. I want to put flowers on his grave. If she's there, let her bring up the unpleasantry, I'm not going to. I'm there for Mark, not her and her petty, vulgar bullshit. Why, why does this kind of drama and stress have to surround this sad, grieving time?

FUCK HER!

Toy Story 3

Since yesterday was one of those "get things done" kind of day, we're going to head to see Toy Story 3 this morning before an afternoon of getting things done. That's just the name of the game when you're leaving for a week. I thought it would be a good idea to go see a kids movie to keep the grief at bay being that Mark's anniversary is tomorrow. Knowing how kids' movies are nowadays, I'll probably end up crying my eyes out at some point. Why do they make kids' movies so sad? I know it's not a new phenomenon; I mean look at Old Yeller for crying out loud. But when I was a kid, movies for the most part were funny and yeah, silly 'cause that's what kids like. But nowadays, they have to add some reminiscent parts that hit all the adults in the theater in the gut. We pay to take the kids and then they sucker punch us. Boy, like how that works. Well, here's to hoping I'm not regretting going to this movie in about 2 hours.

Where Did She Go?

Warning - I've been reading and greatly enjoying Anthony Bourdain's book (of the "No Reservations" show) "Medium Raw" and he uses in the most literary of ways, the word "fuck". This has inspired my sick mind immensely.

Yesterday I was reading Bourdain's book and it caused a question to stick in my proverbial craw this morning. In his book, Tony touches on his past self-destructive behavior, his bad boy image, and how that has all changed. His words (as a result of having a 2 year old daughter): "I most definitely give a fuck now. I give a huge fuck now. The hugest. Everything else -- everything else--pales." (Bourdain, A. "Medium Raw", p. 119, blah blah blah)

That got me thinking today. I am stressing out big-time about traveling in (2) 4.5 hour increments with my own daughter and navigating the time change. I've gotten a few Xanax to help get myself through this while also dealing with the first anniversary of my best friend's death. Okay, that's acknowledged.

But what the hell happened to that woman 10 years ago who decided she was going to go on a week long vacation in Mexico by herself without speaking the language? The one who was scared crapless to go para-gliding, watched it for 10 minutes, went to the condo for a shot of vodka and then bonsai-ed her way up in the air? Where is that fearless, fuck-it-all girl?

It's such a dichotomy (yes, that is the title of my blog) because part of me, a fragmented part of me, is still that person. The person who said "Bite me" to one of her clients (a cop) in front a room full of cops because he was purposely giving her a hard time to see if she could take it. The person who literally sent shit to the top three hypocritical, lazy assholes who smiled in her face as they twisted the knife in her back. The person who broke concrete slabs with her left hand while her right hand was in a cast, injured by breaking concrete slabs a few days before. Where the hell is that person?

I think part of the disappearing act is that before V. to a certain extent but especially since I., a new level of self-preservation has kicked in. Since that morning when I held her for the first time, I knew I needed to be there for her - to protect her, love her, raise her, comfort her, teach her. I couldn't have that same reckless, fuck-it attitude and corresponding behavior because I needed to make it back to her. Before, there wasn't anyone to make it back to, at least not anyone who I hadn't convinced myself would successfully move on and maybe even be better off without my presence. I can't convince myself of that with I. especially with how V.'s work life has been. This knowledge weighs on me. In some ways, the weight is not a bad thing considering my past behavior. This weight holds me down firmly to the foundation that my presence is of utmost importance, keeping me from any dumb ideas I may have. On the flip side however, this weight leads to the fear that something may happen to me while V. is gone and I. will be defenseless. It's the thing that nightmares are made of.

This past year (or three) has been filled with anticipation, fear, sadness, death, grief and anxiety. This is not how I want to live my life. More importantly, this is not who I am or who I've been at least for the last 15 years. Mark's death shook me to the core - I'm not afraid of dying so much as I am just so cognizant that it could truly happen at any time. Most of the anxiety is due to that enormous sense of responsibility to protect I. I would without hesitation lay down my life in order for her to continue living. With the prospect of her and I travelling by ourselves to Puerto Rico, my anxiety does go up. I am anxious for the actual travelling, but I am also anxious for being the person responsible for protecting both her and I on our trip to and from. I. attracts a lot of attention due to her big blue eyes and her long, flowing curls. Yes, it's flattering but from a security standpoint, sometimes I wish she didn't stand out so much.

I'm really am going to try to change my mindset this next week from one concentrating on the unknowns and fears to "this is an adventure!" mindset. Not only will that help me, it's also communicating the type of attitude I want I. to have. I don't want her to be fearful, I want her to be adventurous. Yes, part of being a momma is to protect your young but I want to do that with fierceness rather than fear.

Monday Reentry

Back to the Monday morning reentry to single momma life. I. is extra whiny and high maintenance. She just finished a huge bowl of high fiber cereal with a ton of strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries plus half a banana yet is whining continually now that she is hungry NOW NOW NOW. I swear to God, I feel like I should take this kid to the doctor 'cause how can that be? It's not just every so often folks that this happens, basically it's after every meal. It's SO frustrating because I give her a lot of food; good, nutritious, high fiber food to keep her healthy and to fill her up. This whining for food right after the meal is not helping my anxiety about how the hell I am going to be on a plane for almost 5 hours and have enough food to keep her from whining and melting down. Because I seriously doubt she's going to like any significant amount of food that the airline may have for purchase.

I'm already bringing cashews, string cheese, and protein/snack bars (as low sugar as I could find to prevent bouncing off the walls) and plan to buy as much food as I can carry and find in the little stores past the security checkpoint. If only they would let you bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches through security. Those things are the only things that buy me about 45 minutes with I.'s appetite.

Anyways, enough about that. I wasn't planning on writing about that but then all I was hearing was "Mommy, I'm pungry!" over and over again and it hijacked the post. Not much to write about, just a normal day of getting things done with some fun thrown in there. A little Monday morning blahs thrown in - a sign that it was a good weekend for our little family and for V. and I. We shared quite a few laughs and private jokes and it was nice to just hang out by ourselves. Now he's off again...sigh.

And this week of Mark memories looms in my mind. I'm trying to keep concentrated on our trip to Puerto Rico next week, but until we get there and I. is sleeping, the thought of the trip has a lot of anxiety attached to it. If we were all travelling together, it would be different because I would have help, distractions for I. But we're not and so it falls on me. You would think I would have grown accustomed to this fact but instead it just builds up, becomes unruly and overwhelming. I just need to picture myself on that patio, overlooking that beautiful ocean, reading a book and sipping (or gulping) a rum drink. Ahhhh....

Contemplation

All three of today's goals were met thankfully and it was a nice time though I didn't get to glance at the magazine I brought. That was just wishful thinking. Instead I stood in the frigid water while I. ran and jumped over waves and held her hand as she tried to balance on the boogie board. I couldn't have asked for better weather at the beach though and we had fun.

When we got home around 3:15, it was 92 degrees and felt like it. Then it started getting dark and it actually started raining big fat raindrops - pretty wild. Now it's four hours later and when I went outside to see if it was cool enough to turn off the A/C, I could smell rain and it was a lot cooler. I love the smell of rain, so I decided to enjoy the smell and the coolness on my skin, and bring the computer outside to post.

Sitting out here posting of course, takes me back to exactly a year ago when I was out here, howling at the moon in despair, grief, and anger over Mark's demise and death. It takes me right back. I'm grateful though that things are much better with V. and I now than they were one year ago. Although he still is away working M-F, we cherish the little things and our time together on the weekends. We are tighter as a couple and I think due to everything that has happened in the past year, our relationship is stronger. I don't feel like we are two separate individuals living separate lives in separate places which is how I felt exactly a year ago. That's a major improvement.

About a month ago, I was really sad thinking about us because I felt like we were broken though in repair. We always have gotten along so well that we would argue about once a year during our first six years of marriage. We didn't sweat the small stuff and trusted each other to have each other's backs thus resulting in a peaceful coexistence. This past year was different and it was hell. A shitty year all around. Just these last couple of weeks I've realized that maybe I shouldn't be sad, maybe I should just be proud of us. Proud that we stuck it through, stayed loyal and we are closer and stronger for that now. I think most people who have been married a long time have had those bad times, those times when you wonder "who is this person?" and wonder if this is how it's going to be for the rest of your life. I know my parents have had several bad times in their marriage, a couple of which I was witness to but they've been married over 40 years and they have a great marriage. Good marriages have these times and they are still together having fun, sharing laughs, and remaining loyal to each other.

Maybe it's that perfection aspect of my personality that got my thinking all screwed up. We're no longer broken any more but we are healing. I kind of think of it as a burn victim - part of that healing process is taking off the old dead skin to reveal the pink, fresh skin underneath. For us, those layers of dead skin were the ones that grew while V. was working in Saudi Arabia for the past couple of years. They may have helped us continue living without going into a depression but they built up to the point where we no longer could deeply feel. Because if we deeply felt something, it would hurt too damn much. Now those layers are being peeled off, sometimes many layers ripped off at one time, sometimes just one layer at a time. But I feel confident that we are getting to those sensitive fresh layers that allow us to feel deeply, passionately, and strongly about one another again.

Beach Day

Boy oh boy is it going to be hot the next few days! Not that it wasn't hot yesterday 'cause it was. I always worry that the A/C is going to break right in the middle of this heat probably because we did have a blackout last summer where everything turned off in the middle of 95 degree weather and I was a little panicked. You know that's one of the best things about going out to a Palm Desert condo - I can leave that A/C cranking and not worrying about the bill. Because SDGE is definitely going to be bending us over the next three days. Such vulgarity and rudeness early in the day, I know but it's an accurate summation of what will be occurring.

We're heading to the beach today to try and escape the heat. Yeah, us and thousands of other people with the same idea. I think I've narrowed the goals of this trip down to three:

1. Obviously, that I. and I both have fun.
2. I will somehow McGyver everything that needs to be carried onto my person and schlep it down to the sand in one trip.
3. That there will be no crying jags or tantrums during or at the conclusion of this trip by either of us.

Simple enough, right? In theory perhaps, but when you have an intense, determined 4 year old around, things can go awry quickly and before you know it, you hear the proverbial flushing sound and things started swirling clockwise.

Thank You SO Much

Yes, you know who you are. You are the one who buys loud, annoying gifts and leaves them in my house to put up with. Take for instance right now, I. has the Tickle Me Elmo hands. They involve high pitch singing and loud music and cause I. to spaz around the living room usually ending up with the hands vibrating on my back. But these people say, "But they're SO cute and look how much I. likes them!" Yeah, she likes them until they put me, her mommy, in an irritable mood because I just want that annoying Elmo laughter and singing to stop as in RIGHT NOW.

Then we really see how much fun I. has with those things. If she didn't have such a gosh darn good memory, these type of toys would disappear under the cover of darkness like an underling in the mob. I may be a mean mommy but I'm also a mommy who wouldn't be able to deal with the guilt I would feel when I. asked, "Where did go?" If I really don't know where something is, I can answer "I don't know" with a clear conscience. But if I KNOW that it's sitting on a shelf in some Goodwill store waiting for a child, with a much nicer and less irritable mother, to pick it up and beg for its purchase, I'll be racked with guilt.

Guess that explains why there are so many annoying and obnoxious gifts in the house.