Everybody Else Is Doing It

I haven't posted in so long. I think I may have forgotten how to write.

Well, ladies and gentlemen. I did it. I got a Myspace account. *gasp* I know. The horror. But so far, it hasn't been all bad. For my birthday, I received messages from many a well-wisher that I've not spoken to in years. That was nice. On the other hand (as there always seems to be an "other hand"), I did get a friend request from a young man called "Ash" in Thailand. Being new to the Myspace scene, I found it slightly intriguing that I might be able to develop a friendship with someone on the other side of the planet. So, before I accepted his friend invite, I thought I'd check out his page. I found a wall littered with half-naked, and sometimes fully-naked, women. Ah, not my cup of tea, thank you. As with anything else, Myspace has its pros and cons. I have literally been able to reconnect with friends whom I've not seen in years as well as strike up a couple of very interesting new friendships. Unfortunately, the number of web-cam girls and dirty old men lookin' to "chat" has been none too pleasing. Still, I'd say the opportunity to send and receive comments from my closest friends is worth the irritation of hitting the "deny" button on some of my quite-odd friend requests.

...In other news...

September 17th came, and went. It marked three months since Lauren's death. How completely unbelieveable it is to put that in writing. To my knowledge, there is still no word of autopsy results. Last night, I had dreams about Sheila and their family that bothered me. I called the house tonight, but she was already in bed. Jon said they were all fine but exhausted from their move. That's good. Maybe my dream was more about stuff in my head than anything that is really going on with them.

Jamie and Randy just broke up. Now, for Jamie's senior year of college, she is learning to live without the two people she held most dear. I know that it is a step in the right direction, but she is hurting. And for whatever reason, a nasty breakup is never so far from memory that the pain and hurt felt so long ago cannot be recalled instantaneously. Because of my own run-ins with boyfriend disaster, I was able to tell her what I'd done to recover from the once-devastating demise of a former relationship...a relationship that I now thank God is over. I gave an analogy or two, she said they helped, and then I changed the subject to how many people have thought me to actually be 34--or even older.

I've never been one to worry how old I look since I've never had anyone guess my real age. At 22, I was being mistaken for a sophomore in high school. At 24, I was getting carded for cigarettes. At 28, I was still being carded for alcohol. But somehow my age now seems to have gotten the better of me. Total strangers are guessing I'm anywhere from 34-40. What the...?! I don't even know what has happened. On five different occasions in the past three weeks, it has been clearly stated that I look my age--if not older. Needless to say, this has been somewhat of a blow to my already-agitated ego. Especially considering the birthday-induced depression I went into just weeks ago. Again, what the...?!

I've had some good days. A lot of bad days. I just started a Monday morning Bible study and I decided to ask the group to pray about this grief that has been eating at me. When it was my turn, I couldn't even tell them what was wrong. Through tears I asked them to come back to me at the end. The end came...as did tears..."I have a prayer of the heart"...more tears..."Grief related"...and after a moment or two, I excused myself to the restroom and took care of the mascara that had found its way all over my face.

I've wanted to write, but I've had very little to say that was positive. Good things are happening, slowly, steadily. But my walk without Lauren has proven very tough these past several weeks, ever since I went to Durant. I am rarely able to think of her without crying...even now.

I promise to write more soon. This page is far too important to me. I will not let it seem forgotten. Right now, it's just hard.

When I Grow Up

The last few days? Not quite as excited. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’ve “crashed” either, though. So, put to rest those fears about manic-depression and whether or not I missed a dose of my psychoactives. My psych-eval went just fine, thank you. I read over my previous post and I know I sounded like a complete loon…I kinda felt like one, too. I told Sheila that my alternate title for that post would have been “Nurse, She’s Out of Her Room.”

As I said before, good feeling’s gone. Now? Restless. Restless, fidgety, agitated…ready to move on. So many seemingly-achievable goals I had just three months ago have gone by the wayside due to scheduling conflicts, illness, or just the inability to get it all done. I have been relegated to laundry detail and kitchen duty with the occasional bus-stop pick up or grocery outing thrown in for spice…blech, just writing about it makes me throw up a little in my mouth. The recent plans I made will likely never see fruition. On the other hand, there are plenty of great things happening I didn’t plan, but still I cling to whatever vestiges of control I delude myself into believing I have.

I looked at my hands last night. I see age on them. Little scars, less resiliency, my skin seems more transparent. I look at Lydia’s hands and they are plump with youth. Birthdays always seem to have this affect on me. Since the time I was 24, I’ve felt like each and every birthday comes to remind me of all the ways I fell short that year, lest I forget the goals I didn’t accomplish, the time I should have spent better, and the milestones I should have reached that are now nowhere in sight. Then I feel disrespectful and ungrateful for complaining. I do not lament because of self-pity or need for sympathy. I am thankful for my life and I know I am truly blessed. I value the time I’ve been given and strive to spend it well. But, I struggle feeling dissatisfied, confused, and frustrated with the path I am on. Thanks to my uber-critical disposition, I don’t even know if I have it in me to be content with my life on any given day, to just be happy with where I am and what I have now. That is what I want…contentment, peace…that is my goal, and I try in earnest to focus on finding peace for my everyday life. ...Who knows …maybe I did miss a dose or two.

It’s raining and gray and chilly, distant thunder. I turn 34 on Wednesday. This past year was wholly unexpected. I wonder what the future holds. Peace is looking for me...

…I can feel it.

I Know Something I Don't Know

I have no idea what is going on, but I am completely excited about it. Seriously, I don't have any idea why I'm this excited, but I am. I literally feel like it is Christmas morning. What is going on? I went to bed last night excited, too. I even set my alarm for 6:20am instead of 7:00am because I just knew I would want to be up early today. Now, when 6:20 hit this morning, I wasn't as alert, but I was still up by 6:45 -- a full 15 minutes before necessary. What is all this about? Is somebody I care about going to win the lottery? I realize this would be highly unlikely, as no one in my family plays the lottery...But, hey, wouldn't it be just that much more exciting if they did?! Is David going to be "discovered" this weekend? I dunno. This is crazy.

Maybe it's because I haven't had any caffeine in almost two weeks and I had a Coke with dinner last night. That doesn't really seem likely, especially since caffeine generally makes me crabby. What is it that my spirit knows that I don't? I almost called Sheila at 7:30 this morning to see if everything was okay down there...but I decided not to. I didn't want to alarm her before she went to work. Besides that, it's just not cool to call people before 10am...period...ever.

Maybe mom and Allan are going to seal some great and wonderful deal that will turn into millions. AAAAHHHHH!! I wish I knew.

I'm a little concerned that all of this excitement will turn into "excitability" -- you know, when all of that energy just turns into me being high-strung. Yeah, but how often am I high-strung? (No comments needed, thank you. -- Shush!)

There are so many things approaching that really aren't, from what I can gather, reasons to be joyous. Maybe I've been focusing and dreading those impending events for so long, my spirit has decided to lift "just because". I suppose that could be it, too. There may not be a reason other than somewhere within myself I have just "chosen" to be really excited, because it feels good, it's fun. I guess I'll just have to ride this one out and see.

Mamy, did you get that job at Choctaw Nation? Jamie, did Randy put a ring on that pretty little finger of yours? Stefanie, did you find a new place to work in Sherman? Chris goes back to Alaska today, but that's never been grounds for me to be this happy. And my 34th birthday is in 6 days -- yeah, I think I just knocked a little wind out of my sail with that one...no wait, a lot of wind. ...huh

I've already got a draft of my next post started. I planned on finishing that today. I probably still will, just have to wait and see. I just had to write about this incredible feeling I am experiencing. David encouraged me to just go with it, take it for what it is, be happy with it. He also said I could be excited about getting Lydia dressed after she finishes breakfast. Wa-hoo!

I felt like this before David went to Europe. I just knew it was going to be a great experience for him. I've felt like this on a couple of Christmas mornings, but that was always tempered with some other undesireable feeling I would try to keep at bay. I felt like this before I went to Durant to help Jamie. Well, this is exhausting. I'm finished writing about it. What's even weirder is I'm not even in all that great of a mood. I'm not in a particularly bad mood, but I'm certainly not in a "It's a Happy, HAPPY DAY!!" (insert cheesy background music and animated blue birds) mood either.

Like I said, we'll just have to wait and see. If you have a fantastic-o reason to be excited today, please let me know. I would really enjoy hearing about it.


Well, have a great one!

Inexplicably,

katy

Superheroes, anyone?

Captain Reactionary and Mr. Interjection have struck again. “Who?” you ask. Why, the well-meaning superheroes who leave only chaos and havoc in their wake. (The roles of both Captain Reactionary and Mr. Interjection will be played by my roommate, Chris. Talented? Yes. Capable? Definitely. Worthless? Oh, yeah.) Let it be known that he is also quite skilled in portraying The Linguist, who appears when the words you choose just aren’t exact enough. Observe, if you will, as I now provide this demonstration. The following is a typical scene in which The Linguist graciously comes to the rescue.

Children, I urge you, do not try this at home. Caution to the faint of heart. Those with weak constitutions may need to look away as this is an actual conversation:

Me: So, you worked there for almost a year.
Chris: No, it wasn’t a year.
Me: I know. I said you were there almost a year.
The Linguist, enters, stern: It wasn’t a year. It was more like nine months…but it wasn’t a year.
Me, bemused: Ok. But, nine months is close to a year, right?
The Linguist exits, Chris, re-enters, reluctant: Yeah, I guess.

(Scene)


Tune in next time for more adventures with Captain Reactionary, Mr. Interjection, and The Linguist!!

(And you know what he comes back with? Yeah, get this, now I'm "Queen Sarcasm". "Queen Sarcasm"?! ...Huh, I so deserve better.)

*****

Of course, all of this is done tongue-in-cheek. Chris was actually looking over my shoulder as I wrote the entire script part of this post. He thought he should remind me that sarcasm is the lowest form of humor. I looked at him blankly and said, "But, I'm not laughing."

Better still, as he was watching me type it out, he says indignantly, "I did not say that!"

"What did you not say?!" I challenged back.

And he replies (get ready for this one), "The last part. The last line. I didn't say that!"

I stopped and stared at him with as much you've-got-to-be-kidding-me as I could muster. "You didn't say, 'Yeah, I guess.'? Was it, 'I guess so, yeah.' that you said?"

"No." he said. "I don't know. But I know I didn't say that."

...Then the reality settles over me. The Linguist is still in my midst.

In his defense, Chris is an excellent roommate...for anyone but me. He and my husband do not bicker. He gets along splendidly with my children and cares for them very much. He and I just...well, let's just say, we have our moments. My family would not be able to live in the manner in which we do if it were not for his generosity and willingness to live as a single, 28 year old male co-habitating with a family of four. We are in his debt. ...but that doesn't mean I have to get along with him.

It may seem odd that I chose to put this particular exchange between the two of us on my Lauren page. But it was Lauren's long-suffering attempts to help me survive my current living arrangement that truly saved my mental health -- and probably Chris' life, too. Not only was she there for me when I needed to vent, but she even spent one entire evening of spring break mediating a heated discussion between Chris and me, trying desperately to help us find some much-needed middle ground. To elaborate on the details of why the Chris-Katy relationship suffers periodic breakdowns would require continuous writing on my part from now until Isaiah graduates from college...so I will refrain. But rest assured, I am working -- we are working toward establishing a pleasing and peaceful living arrangement for all in this household. And the majority of the time, everything is just fine, largely due to Lauren's intervention.

To this day, I still thank her. I always will...I'm sure of it.

An Aside ("DBJR was here")

So, I have several blogs I check on from time to time: Absinthe and Apple Pie in the Lounge, Imperfect Mommy, Dooce, and The Sartorialist are among my favorites. I know none of these people, they do not know me, nor do they know I visit their blogs. I happened upon these blogs by accident and feel fortunate that they found their way to my screen. That being said, I have one blog I adore: "Better Than Everyone", written by Dane Barbados, Jr. His blog is the equivalent of intellectual smut. He spins tales of an over-privileged childhood, of the archetypal wealthy, demanding, and stoic father, of a mysterious and unidentified foreign origin, and chapter upon chapter detailing his raucous times at “University” in Maryland. His work also includes acerbic commentaries on unflattering and disgraceful aspects of American culture including (but not limited to): the confounding phenomenon that is Paris Hilton; the sadly skewed and unattainable view of beauty in American models and actresses; the wanton and despicable way in which American news media report, perpetuate and glorify racism and inequality; the birth announcement of the anti-christ, aka Suri Cruise, Tom and Katie’s baby (one of my personal faves); and movie reviews…lots of movie reviews…yeah, I dunno – but those are good, too. His blog is complete with an exotic pseudonym (“Dane Barbados, Jr.” – pretty glam, eh?) and an obvious lack of personal pictures. Even his profile picture is a pop-art, Warhol/Lichtenstein-esque likeness and his profile material is vague, at best. However, he masterfully incorporates words not likely heard since your high school VD class (that is, Vocabulary Development). Personally, I find this aspect particularly refreshing, as I spend most days inundated with alphabet songs and counting to 100. And anyone who knows me knows I do love a great “college word” whenever possible and when used appropriately. Although his writing is caustic, arrogant, pompous, self-absorbed, hyper-critical, callused, …did I mention “arrogant?” …unrealistic, explicit, and abrasive, there is rarely a time that I finish one of his posts without a broad smile on my face. (...What exactly does that say about me? Should I be concerned? …Some other time.) In short, I found the perfect fantasy blog in “Better Than Everyone”.

After having said all of that, I continue with the actual story. As I said previously, I look in on his posts regularly. I even went so far as to obliterate my comfort zone and leave a comment on his blog. (*gasp* -- I know…) With the nature of his posts, he makes it painfully clear that his feelings do not extend past the length of his arm…and that is on a generous day. So, I felt rather secure in making my comments. He is, after all, largely fantasy... and he is, after all, the DBJR. Therefore, I would have no reason to suspect or believe that I might one day find myself visited by this well-developed figment of an over-active imagination.

…But it happened…

Today, when I looked over my blog…there it was…a comment from Dane Barbados, Jr. I startled. “What the…?! Am I in the right blog? What is this?!” At first, I was stunned and taken aback. Then, for an instant, flattered. However, the flattery quickly gave way to feeling completely weirded out. “Why is Dane Barbados, Jr. reading my blog?! This is my life…my for-real life and feelings. My for-real pictures of me and my for-real friends.” I felt strangely violated and vulnerable. “I do not write for him to read, nor do I invite his loathsome comments or opinions into my personal space.” Ah, but that is, indeed, a falacy. Not to mention, his comment was polite...and even complimentary. And so, being the reasonable and thinking woman that I am, I immediately identified the ridiculous naïveté of it all, and reprimanded myself for my casual idiocy. I am, after all, the one who decided to log my inner-most thoughts and feelings in a completely public forum. ...It was all just so -- unexpected. Much like going to the grocery store and seeing your Ob/Gyn there buying produce. As if my favorite cartoon character crossed the bounds of animation and decided to join me for lunch, unannounced. Just…weird.

No matter. All of this has provided me a much-needed mental reprieve. I was able to preoccupy myself with writing this post, calling Adrianne and telling her about the apparition that visited my blog, and banter between my husband and my roommate about the implications of this portal having been opened. (Like, “Well, should we invite him to dinner? He likes pancakes. Does he work? Do you suppose he’s really an unfortunate-looking soul in desperate need of an outlet? Is any of this really worth the time we’ve already wasted talking about it?")

What I know of DBJR makes me think he is really my brother’s best friend, and my surrogate little brother, Matt, whom I care for dearly and get along with smashingly. Both are 26, both are Taurus, both enjoy reading (esp. Machiavelli), writing, and asserting opinions…and both are dreadfully full of themselves. To that end, I would say, “Matt, you assh***. I thought you were still in Austin. Why the hell are you in Maryland? And why the hell didn’t you tell me you moved?”

I know most of my girlfriends do not have the kind of humor required to endure – I mean, enjoy, DBJR, except for one – Adrianne…and that’s a maybe. Conversely, I know the majority of my guy friends would gleefully resound in one accord, “Hell yeah! Now tha’swut I’m talkin’ bout!”. Except for one – David, my husband, who finds Dane’s verbose writing style tiresome and antiquated. But David spends his days amongst the liberal arts grad students of UMKC. No shortage of mental stimulation there, I’d imagine.

All in all, I'm glad he let me know he was here. (And relieved that he did not come to this place wielding his usual biting vernacular. To this, I breathe a sincere sigh of relief.) This week I have worked continuously to ward off anger and grief, without any real measure of success. A spontaneous visit from my favorite fictional character was just what I needed. Thanks, Dane.

It’s been fun…

katy

P.S. Matt, if this is you, get off your butt and get me a damn birthday card, you wretch. And lemme know how you like Maryland. Miss you!

Blue

Today has just been weird...the last several days, really. I've slept most of the day, but when I am awake I just feel drained and weepy. I read Jamie's myspace blog and her week has been total crap, too. Is it just the start of the new year that has everything so chaotic?

David was in the studio today. He recorded for some guy who had a project of some sort...I dunno. I'm still real sketchy on the details, but he said it went well. Last night, he had a wedding gig and Thursday night he had his first-ever gig at the Blue Room -- and that's kind of a big deal. The Blue Room is a legendary institution in the Kansas City jazz scene. You achieve some real status as a "professional" player when you play there. And to think, he hasn't even been in the scene up here for a whole year yet. He's doing really well and playing in multiple groups. Last week, he had either a rehearsal or a gig every night of the week except one. This coming week is pretty much the same. He's gone during the day for classes and he's looking to add a job to all of this, too. All of this exposure is great for him, for us, and he loves it...but I wind up being at home with no purpose outside of the house more and more. I know he's on the right path...I can feel it. It's just hard to be patient, especially when you can't see the finish line.

Well, David and the kids are back from the store now. Everyone is hungry and ready to eat right now. We're having breakfast for supper, like we did over spring break. I know there must be something wrong with my hormones, sugar-levels or something, because just thinking about having pancakes makes me cry. The last few days I have really wanted to talk to Lauren...but then, that's another post.

I may write more later tonight, I just don't know yet.

Have a safe and happy Labor Day weekend.

Stay classy...

katy