State of Grace

Might be the bravest, most hopeful thing I've ever written.

So, this blog has been pretty lame lately.   Sporadic posts with cliffhangers - hey! I got my kid a fancy bag! Now, I'm off to therapy! THE ABYSS! Maybe I'll be back soon and maybe not.

Then, an ominous silence.  And, perhaps some curiosity - The hell did she go? Was the headshrinking session that awful?  Did she fall into the toilet before she went out the door? 

Well, it's the former - headshrinking = awful - rather than the latter, though falling into the bowl is the sort of freak accident that would happen to me.

What's the big deal about therapy?  Hasn't this blogger been through her share of psychotherapists, psychiatrists, group therapy sessions, inner child workshops, warrior woman weekends, and a stay in the psych ward already? 

Yes, I have.  Thousands and hundreds of dollars have been invested in my mental health.  This EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprogramming) work, however, is different.

The gory stuff after the jump.  Thus, a warning to sister and brother abuse survivors:  Graphic descriptions of abuse lurk in the next section.  Please, my dearest of all my dollins, don't venture forward if you're feeling vulnerable and could be "triggered" by such tough information. 

Moll's New Bling-y Bag

Moll's New Bling-y Bag
Originally uploaded by GraceD

OH WELL, blew the NaBloPoMo. I suppose I could have been a ninja about it and gone to the library to use one of the computers to get online and post, but OH WELL.

And, that's the story these days - I'm giving myself a break. I don't do that well and I don't do that often enough. The only time I get a break is when my body gets into cahoots with my psyche and forces me to stop using ingenious methods like an asthma attack or anxiety so vicious that I can't leave the house. "Stop!" says the bod, "you move too fast/got to make the morning last."

(Boomers - sorry to get the '59th Street Bridge Song' stuck in your heads. The antitdote to rid yourself of 'Feeling Groovy' is a bracing round of another New York song, 'Miss You' by the Rolling Stones.

I've been walking Central Park
Singing after dark
People think I'm crazy
I've been stumbling on my feet
Shuffling through the street
People ask me, "What's the matter with you boy?"

Yeah, that's more like it, "stumbling...shuffling..." To hell with feeling groovy on the Queensboro Bridge, which is a nasty bit of road anyway, known best for punishing runners on the NYC Marathon course.)

Anyway, I did cut myself some slack without resorting to illness or panic. Instead, I ran, walked, played, planted heirloom tomato seeds and chased the hubs around the house. I also bought Molly a purse that is not a Marc Jacob's knock-off from a street vendor, but rather a shiny, lustrous Kathy Van Zeeland bag from our local mall. Please observe Molly taking stock of her prize near the Capitola Mall's food court. She loves it, will use it everywhere and with every outfit. I particularly look forward to seeing her wear this fancy, shiny thing along with her gloomy skater guy look - giant black skateboard sweatshirt with hood up in that dark monk manner, jeans with flared hems that drag on the ground, tattered Vans. And the shiny bag. Oh, to be 16 again with the license to mix up the fashion rules (as long as your peers like it, your high school circle will damn a look faster - and meaner - than Anna Wintour can reject couture lines from the pages of Vogue)

Must close here. Therapy appointment at 9:30 this morn. An hour and a half! No wussy 50 minute shrink session for this stumbling, shuffling crazy girl.

In the meantime, isn't my girl beautiful? I, of course, think so. I also wonder on a daily if not hourly basis how a Popular High School Chick sprang from my uterus 16 years ago.

Crazy-long bangs. Good for flirting.

Crazy-long bangs. Good for flirting.
Originally uploaded by GraceD

Still without the laptop but iPhone-flickr blogging will keep me going for now. Must stay with the NaBloPoMo program! Here I'm being ever so slightly coquetteish at Hubs. I got a peck on the cheek for the effort.
Ahhh, Spring...

We Pause for a Malcolm Moment and for Technical Difficulties

Audrey Hepburn-esque Neck
Originally uploaded by GraceD

There's some odd glitchy stuff going on with my 'peruter, as Moll used to call this thing we pound on all day. I'm circumventing this pesky geek problem and coming at you through the back door via flickr and the miracle that is the iPhone. Cool! However, the keyboard on the touch screen is too weeny to do real power typing and I'm unable to get my fingertips on the right keys because I'm a total klutz. It's taken me three hours to get to this sentence of this post! For now, please gaze upon my furchild, Malcolm. who is doing his best imitation of a giraffe, though he would prefer that you think of Audrey Hepburn in regarding his long, elegant neck.

Why life is great...

Springtime Becomes George
Originally uploaded by GraceD

...despite all my fears and chronic dread:

1. It's spring in Santa Cruz
2. The air is fragrant with blossoms.
3. My husband loves me. Just look at that smiling man.



Therapy was great, which means I opened up a bit which means I cried like I thought my heart was going to break. Yup, it's an AFOG (another fucking opportunity for growth).

Will discuss. For now, it's off to bed after a beautiful, active day.

Freaked

This brief entry in list form serves to explain why the last post was so stupid:

1.  I'm very nervous because I have to go to my third therapy session this morning.
2.  Therapy is hard and anxiety inducing.
3.  I will begin a technique called EMDR soon and right now I'm prepping for it.  You know, history taking, getting to know my therapist, she getting to know me, etc.
4.  Even the prep/etc.  is anxiety inducing.

So, forgive me, Dollin Reader, this is a bitch and singing "da da da" riffs to myself is the best I can do at this point.

I will be brave and try to write about the process when I come back. 

Love,
GraceD

Day 2 of NaBloPoMo - Test! And, I'd be a gun packing mama if I had to be.

test

******************

Yeah, I got your "test", like a test of my patience, a test from the gods, a test in the form of technical difficulties. My laptop said no, no, no, no Internet for me.  No rehab either.  (I think I have just maxed out on the Amy Winehouse triple no on this blog.   No, no, no more.)

Anyway, I left the "test" above as a way to save my place on NaBloPoMo.  It may not fly, it may not count as a post, and Eden may smack me silly then force me into this pose for such a weak-ass attempt to stay in the game.  But, I will not break down! I shall carry on! Hence, tonight we have not one but two posts of lists, glorious lists.

This is for gwendomama, who loves me like a rock and will lavish me with freshly baked goods just for doing the following classic blog meme, Five Random Things About My Sexy Self. 

1.  I've gone 50 years without knowing that my left leg is shorter than my right.  My doc observed my asymmetrical gams a couple of years ago, just prior to sticking a needle as long as a curtain rod into my right knee.   I was jonesing for that cortisone injection, I had knee bursitis that hurt like a mofo.  The bursitis - and a myriad of other knee and ankle issues - all due to the sad fact that I am lopsided.  This also explains why I trip on my longer leg now and again.  That alone killed my career as a runway model.

2.  I'm all for "the right of the people to keep and bear arms."  Unlike many of my progressive friends, I vigorously object to losing any shred of our Second Amendment rights.   Evil exists and though we'd like to confront Evil with the peace and clarity of the Dalai Lama, I believe that Evil would want to cut His Holiness.  I don't have the open, expansive spirit of the Dalai Lama, and thus would prefer to confront Evil with my own legally owned weapon.  If I were a gay man, I'd have a gun.  If we lived deeper in the local mountains, I'd have a gun.  If any one hurt any of my family, I'd go after them with a gun.  Indeed, I began to feel strongly about citizen's defense when I became a mother.

3.  Also, since becoming a mother, I'm also for the death penalty.  This evil doer was instrumental in making me a believer.

4.  I'm not comfortable swimming in a medium to big body of water.   I do know how to swim and I'm fairly good at it, but I'm not one to throw myself into a sizeable pool, a swimming hole or the ocean.  I don't do laps.  I don't body surf.  Many years ago, I tried to overcome my wariness by getting SCUBA certified.  Though I documented quite a few dives into my dive log , I still felt sketchy.  Please note:  My uneasiness with swimming should not prevent you from inviting me to your pool party.  I'll bring an entree, some wine and I'll be perfectly happy bobbing around in the shallow end on an inflatable ducky ring.

5.  I have not been without a pedicure for a year now.  And, I always wear earrings.  That's about as girly as I get.

No, I will not tag anyone for this meme.  If you have a blog, no doubt you've done it anyway.  But, just for kicks, you could let me know just one odd random thing about yourself in the comments.  Go on, tell me about how you're double jointed or that there's a colorful hummingbird tattoo on your left buttock.

Day 1 of the NaBloPoMo and already I'm stealing blog fodder.

I must confess:  Though I insisted that you say the words WHITE RABBIT as your first act of speech for the first day of the month, I blew it.  My first words? I GOTTA PEE.  To which the hubs said, WHA'?  Lame, lame, lame. Does not bode well for the month.

Dang, I had a funky day today.  The weather was beautiful, the house was clean, everything in its right place, all the ducks in a row, everyone accounted for.  One could be carefree! Instead, I was tired, dead tired.  Fatigue - the killer menopausal symptom that kicking me around.  Give me hot flashing and sweaty pits any day, this level of tired is not unlike the exhaustion that smacks you down and down hard in early pregnancy. 

(Little memory of being pregnant with Molly, more for my documentation really, but I'll let you in on it - Remembering that I had pillows in my office when pregnant with Molly.  After lunch, I would lay the pillows on the floor, flop down and take a 20 minute snoozer. Wake up still tired.)

So, funky day = drop in synapse activity.  Creativity is limited to stick figure drawing.  Best that I find a nice little list I can copy and paste.  Ah, here you go:

From the McSweeney's hipsterati, a list from their section, Lists:

FAQ for Dogs  by Neahmiah Scudder

1. Who's a good boy?

2. Who's got a fluffy tail?

3. What's in your tail?

4. What do you have?

5. What's in your mouth?

6. Where did you get that?

7. Where is the rest of that?

8. Where's your mom?