•August 13, 2010 • 1 Comment

Oh how time flies! I swear to you I’ve wanted to post so many times and just haven’t. OK so a summation.

Life is carrying along at a pleasant pace at the moment. I’m etching plates, I’m paying bills, I’m watching movies, I’m going to the pool in the later evenings to get some physical activity.

I’m 35. I FEEL 35 and I LIKE 35. I like the unspoken acceptance of my age and my season. I feel so much more free to be the me that I’ve always secretly wanted to be. I’m making an effort unlike I’ve ever made for saving my money, getting my bills managed and considering my future.

I have some crap going on of course, life wouldn’t be life without it. My grandmother is old. She’s dying and the day will come sooner than later. My mother toled me to begin preparing. That means 2 trips back home. My best friend’s daughter is struggling and is in hospital for suicidal and drinking issues. I cry at the thought. Probably because at 16 I WAS that girl. Its more painful and emotional now for me than it was when I was younger. I had no grasp of what my actions would cause.

And I am optimistic. I am hopeful. I am thoughtful. I am real. I am OK.

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9, 10 never sleep again…

•July 22, 2010 • Leave a Comment

It’s 1:30 am on Tuesday morning.  I groggily rise from the comfort and safety of Chuck and my couch and declare I’m heading to bed.  He kisses, hugs, reassures me once more and off I go to the bedroom.  The room in which all things horrible and dark and bad have occurred in the past 3 days.

TWN Tuesday morning’s dream:

I am in a house.  It’s dark.  I feel it is a single level home, reminiscent of Kas’ teen years home.  The one she moved into around 7th grade.  The one that was perpetually in a state of remodel, addition, renovation, or excavation.   I am aware that Kas, her Dad, Chuck, and myself are in the house.  It’s night, it’s dark, everyone is sleeping.  I’m aware Kas’ Dad is in the room to the left behind me, there is another room to the right behind me.  They’re both bedrooms, the doors are closed on both.  Somewhere behind me is also a bathroom.  Between the bedrooms?  Down a hall I can’t be sure is or isn’t there?  I just know there is a bathroom.  In the living or main room between the back wall and the couch is open-ish space.  It’s cluttered.  There aren’t any window coverings and the brightly shining moon is the only source of light. I see black silhouettes backdropped in the blueish silver of the moonlight.  Silhouettes of cushions and blankets and clothes and stuff, lots and lots of stuff leaned and stacked against the entire perimeter.  On the floor, between the couch and the back is some stuff, I can’t make out what.  The floor I am sure is press board (plywood?), this is what gives me confidence enough to know I am at Kas’ Dad’s house as it was when I was a teen.  And yet, Chuck is there.  And I am aware there are other’s there.  People I don’t know.  Kas is in the front of the room, in front of the couch, sleeping.  There’s an older TV on an older wheeled TV stand I can make out the shape, Kas is in the mess of blankets near the TV, sleeping.  Someone is sleeping on the couch.  No, wait no one is on the couch.  Chuck and I are in the right back bedroom, also cluttered to the hilt.  No we’re in the living room, no the back bedroom.  The phone doesn’t ring audibly though I answer it.  It’s for Chuck.  It’s a woman.  She knows him.  She’s in the house. We’re in the living room, she’s in the back right bedroom.

I’m walking in an alley, closer to the end of the alley behind me than in front of me I am confident of my destination.  It’s not Winter, it’s not Summer, it’s not Autumn, it’s not Spring.  It’s past Spring.  Before it gets hot.  It’s a gravel alley, reminding me of the alley of Sammy’s the Italian Restaurant in my childhood home town.  Only the gravel lot for Sammy’s isn’t there, instead it’s unobtrusive houses, landscape.  I’m walking.  The road declines and inclines.  On my left there is a fenced yard with activity, it’s dusk lighting out yet not dusk, overcast?  It’s after 3pm for sure.  Almost 5?  What time is it?  All those people at that house, the activity.  That’s the house.  The motorcycle club meeting place.  It’s someone’s home though they all gather there.  There is a cursory bike near the fence gate, tall grass edges the fence, a garage I come upon first, gravel, nothing weird.

I’m running with a goal, running after something, after someone.  I’m chasing someone.  Her.  I’m chasing her.  She has long black hair, longer than mine in reality though right now my hair is longer.  Mine is down to my butt as it was when I was an early teen.  I’m running down the street, on the sidewalk, no longer on the sidewalk.  I keep just missing her as she ducks around the corner or just out of sight.  I see her hair.  Loosely curly, billowing like a flag almost.  Black.  She’s running not scared though not relaxed or lightly.  She doesn’t fear me.  In her mind, she is determined I cannot catch up, must not catch up.

I’m on a street facing what feels like towards a decline in the road although the road itself isn’t declined, the horizon is.  To my left is a shack yet it’s a newspaper stand but not.  I get the feeling it’s the other side of the block from the biker gang house, the front side of the alley I’d walked down.

Chuck is there, he and another guy, a big guy.  Really big guy, he’s fat, not really fat though.  He’s massive, has some dark hair, wearing a biker vest and biker boots.  A t-shirt, jeans, wallet with a chain to the belt loop.  He has a bandanna on.  I can’t clearly see any facial characteristics.   They don’t focus in for my eyes. I am in front of the stand, the guy on my left, his back to the huge horizon decline.  Chuck on my right.  They’re chatting easily.  I know this is the guy from Kas’ house.  This is the guy that was on the couch, but it wasn’t him on the couch, it was a much smaller version of him.

I feel that this guy and the girl with black curly hair are siblings.  This is her brother.  Chuck and him are friends, not exceptionally close but real friends.  I remember the girl, Chuck’s ex.  Where is she?  I am curious, I am looking for her, seeking her out, I’ve been chasing after her.  She won’t stop.  I don’t want to fight.  Chuck belongs to this biker gang.  He’s part of this group, has been for quite sometime now.  It’s not new or unusual.  I begin to get a bit impatient.  I want to talk to this girl.  The girl with the black curly hair.  She keeps running off, she won’t even let me get near her.  I don’t want to fight her!  God!  What am I, stupid?  Fighting is childish ridiculous.  No.  I just want to talk to her.  I just want to grill her.  She called late.  She called my phone.  Who is this girl?  I don’t know this girl.  What is her name?

Chuck climbs into bed.

I audibly say “I’m not jealous”.

Chuck says “uh oh.  Baby, what are you dreaming about?”

I repeat “I’m not jealous.  I don’t want to hurt her.  I don’t want to fight her.”

Then it dawns on me this is Chuck.  I swing at him less severely than on Saturday night but with gusto and an obvious anger.

I think but don’t say aloud “Your EX.  I was chasing your Ex girlfriend.  I think it was your ex.  She had black curly hair.  She wouldn’t stop.  I’m not jealous.  I don’t want to hurt her.”

Chuck wraps his arms around me.  Tells me to shhh, it’s OK, calm down.  He’s there.  It’s a dream.  It’s OK.

Sleep finally makes camp.  A dreamless peaceful sleep.

And that ends “The Weekend of the Nightmares”.  Tuesday night I went knitting, talked with Chuck, made a stir fry dinner, watched some TV.  Fell asleep around 11pm, didn’t wake up until after 5am.  Did not recall or knowingly participate in any dreaming.  Did not pee, did not collect $200.

Da-Dooo-DO… Da-Dooo-DO… Da-Doooo-DO

•July 21, 2010 • Leave a Comment

(if you need assistance reading this blog title, please refer to the freakishly eerie music heard in any and every scary movie in existence especially Freddy movies, OR just call my sister, she’ll be happy to sing it for you.)

Part 3 of TWN’s really takes place on Monday night.  Sunday night I slept alone, although not what I’d consider a great or even good night’s sleep it was a full night’s sleep.

Monday.  Oh Monday.  Monday was the day of the faucet eerily turning on by itself.  Monday I’d had a rough work day (I cried, not all that notable as it happens more often than I’d like), I’d had a rough after work day- “Friend’s” on channel 7 was the one where Ross’s son is born.  As I watched I bawled fully aware my birthday was soon, I am unmarried, I am childless, I live in apartment (rather than a house), I have little (read essentially none) savings or retirement, I have NOTHING to show for my life and here’s Ross having a KID w/his ex-wife and her lesbian life partner.  W. T. F. ?  I am pitiful, my life is a waste, Oh woe is me.

Kas helped.  A lot.  A girlfriend called next, crying.  She’d had a crap day at work as well.  Great.  Turns out all of my friends had a crap day on this Monday.

Nonetheless after the phone call I actually felt pretty good, cleaned up my joint, chilled on the couch, had a grilled cheese (Borden’s chipotle cheese.  Mmm.), talked to Chuck.  Had a great evening.

Went to bed at 10:30.  At 11pm I woke like a shot.  After what felt like hours, yet was seconds, I got out of bed and uncharacteristically grabbed my cell phone, I got to the doorway of my bedroom (note every door in my home is open unless it holds something I don’t want the cats getting into), and my cell phone rang.  In my hand.  At 11pm.  On a Monday.

I freakin hit the ceiling!  I looked and once my eyes focused (yeah I’d turned the bedroom light on) on the number I  recognized it as Cliff’s family in another state.  I didn’t get a name so I wasn’t for sure and anyway I wasn’t talking.  I hit “end” to send to voicemail and pitifully attempted to catch my breath.

At this point I do believe I called Chuck.  I know I went to the front door to confirm it was locked.  It was.  I got a drink of water.  I paced.  I got back in the bed.  I know that by now I definitely was on the phone with Chuck.  We were having thunder storms at this time.  We were on the phone I was explaining the dream, I was easily a 1/2 a deck short at this point.  I said something like “I know it’s crazy and ridiculous but seriously I’m freaked out!  … Are you even listening to m*RING*.  HOLY MOTHER OF SHIT GOD AND EVERYTHING OH MY GOD *SCREAM* HOLY *hyperventilating*


And it was Chuck.  The call dropped, he called back.  I didn’t even know it dropped.  If I thought I was spooked earlier I was mother fucking super spooked now.

And crying.

And scared.

And crying.

And terrified to the point of immobility.

I got up and turned on the over the stove light.  Checked the door.  Got a drink of water.  Got back in bed.  Cried.  This whole time on the phone with Chuck, near hysterical.  Chuck made major cheer-up effort.  We end the call.

I am terrified.  Completely and wholly terrified.

I call him back.  Sobbing again, still.   He calms me down.  We end the call.

15min later I call again.  Crying.  Chuck immediately says “I’m putting my flip flops on now baby I’ll be there as soon as I can”.  He stays on the phone with me until he gets to the car and out of his lot.  He calls to tell me the gate is open and he’s not going to call for access.  He calls again telling me he’s here, walking up and it’s going to be OK.

He comes in, takes his shoes off, shirt off, grabs pillows off my bed, a blanket from the ottoman, an ashtray and plugs in his phone.  He sits down on the couch, tucks the pillow up, and pats it.  Saying “OK c’mon baby lay down you’ve got to work in the morning.”  And he proceeds to brush my hair back with his hand until I finally fall asleep. (side note Joe Dirt was on, stupidly funny movie I owe my sanity to.)

The Nightmare from Monday:

Same state of sleep – thinking I’m awake, I am not though.  I can’t move.  I can’t control it.

In the dream I have an unsettling dream.  I wake up, I hear voices (kids? teens?) I get up and go to the front door to check the locks.  They aren’t locked.  As I go to lock them the door opens and at least 3 possibly 6 or 8 hands and arms shoot in through the gap between the door frame and the door.  They’re moving quickly swinging and grasping the air.  They touch me, grab for me.  I am totally freaked, try to shut the door, can’t push hard enough.  Can’t shut it.  OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.  I scream.

I startle awake.  Was that a dream?  Was it real?  Oh my God, I have to check the door.  I can’t move.  What if someone is here.  Is someone in here?  God what if someone is IN HERE?

I finally am able to get up, I uncharacteristically grab my cell phone…head to the doorway of the bedroom.  The phone rings….

stiff as a board…

•July 21, 2010 • Leave a Comment

(Part 2 of TWN)

Sunday Chuck and I woke up late.  Totally blew by the 9am start of Sunday Morning, totally blew by 10 am.  Around 10:30am we slowly casually meandered out to the couch.  Chuck cooked.  Made me a full breakfast and it was yummy.  We set up camp on the couch and while I’d love to say we had engaging intelligent conversation, truth is we watched TV and I fell asleep with my head on his lap.

In this sleep, note there were multiple sleeps throughout the day – each essentially with the same outcome, I had another dream.  These I can’t remember so much.  I’m hazy about the details.  Chuck I reckon may be able to recount the events, fortunately he’s not here and I’m not asking.

Suffice to say I was dreaming about  “something”.  Again I flailed about.  Again I socked him pretty good.  Again the dream wasn’t scary per say it was more binding.  I couldn’t move freely, I struggled.

And so went out Sunday.  OH We were watching “Knocked Up” during the dreams.  We ended up watching “When in Rome” and “Youth in Revolt”.  I must say though Youth totally went over my head and I was mildly annoyed throughout the entire film I’m recognizing it as a somewhat complex deep interesting film that was clever and funny.  Regardless, it’s a freakin movie not a damn dissertation or Nobel peace prize nomination.  Leave clever eccentricities out, thank you. (I get it I’m shallow.  Over it)

Totally feel gypped don’t ya? (can anyone unequivocally proclaim this is a derogatory word?  I couldn’t be sure when I googled it)

light as a feather….

•July 21, 2010 • Leave a Comment

Pulling out of the excessive over thinking vault I have two pretty good doozies.  Well really I guess technically the second one falls under ridiculous over reacting more appropriately than the over thinking but I digress.

We’ll take the second first (maybe you’ll overlook it that way.) There is a hands-free faucet in the bathroom at work.  There are 2 faucets, the other is a normal faucet.   Why we have one hands-free I have no freakin idea.  It’s a little stupid (the soap and towel dispenser also hands free, the door is an open in when attempting to get out – pull.  This just makes me think the hands-free is useless, anyway…) The hands-free faucet in my work bathroom turned on by itself.  As in I was a good 10 feet away from it turned on by itself.  It gave me the willies.  This happened the day (or 2 days) after “The Weekend of the Nightmares” (TWN).   TWN was actually wonderful weekend as a whole.  Though it started out a bit wobbly, got worse, then got tremendously worse, then it evened out and continued to improve.  For the sake of my own pride (let’s just say it was all my fault) I’m going to fast forward to the evening out part.  Chuck and I went to dinner to a top 10 favorite restaurants of mine (Outback, ya can take the girl out of the trailer park….), and then went to see “Grownups” (hiLARious btw, go see, now).  Though we didn’t want to go home we didn’t want to go to a bar.  Home won.  We stayed up chatting and watching TV till after 2am.

Sometime after going to bed I had what seems to becoming a common theme: I begin having a dream, though I’m not in a deep enough sleep to commit to the dream and forget it.  I am in the almost asleep, maybe I am awake I think I’m awake, surely I’m awake HOLY SHIT I am sooo not awake but sure has hell I’m awake now stage of sleep (I think it’s the early REM stage).  Where you can see and hear and realize everything in your dream, it feels real, it’s not real, you don’t have 100% control, you totally think you should, Oh Yeah.  And YOU CAN’T MOVE.  Yep, can’t move.

The dream late Saturday, early Sunday: Chuck was on his belly sleeping, I kiss the back of his thigh (blankets were all pulled off, it’s summer!), he closes his leg at the knee, trapping my head.  At first it wasn’t horrible, then when I tried to pull back and break free his resistance increased.  I was trapped.  I tried to get him to release, he wouldn’t.  I flailed.  Swung my arms, kicked my legs, screamed albeit a muffled scream.  And then it consciously registered that I couldn’t physically move.  And I began to vainly attempt to move in real-life.  And I couldn’t, and the dream is still playing in my mind as if it was a movie at a theater and I can’t stop the movie and I am starting to panic.  Really panic.  *POP* Suddenly I’m awake.  I let out a non-word gasp grunt scream exclamation.  I sit up, breathing heavily totally out of sorts.  And Chuck says “What is it baby?” and  WHACK, I swing/swat/smack him right dead in the belly.  Now he’s wide awake.  Thoughtful, hey?  And that is the first installment of “The Weekend of the Nightmares”.


•July 20, 2010 • Leave a Comment

I had an epiphany a while back that was monumental (is that redundant?)

(*Not this post was started  months ago…shut it)
This blog has been rolling around on my tongue for a good while now.  The problem is I can’t find the words. I still can’t seem to find them, though if I don’t get this down I’m afraid it’ll slip away and be lost.  And I need to somehow have an ear-mark of this.  Even if to just give me a reminder that I felt it, never able to relive it.
For as long as I could remember I have had a very solid grasp of my inner child.  I have rarely felt like any type of adult, more as if I’m playing an adult.  Dressing up in adult clothes, pretending to have an adult job and responsibilities, all the while giggling on the inside as if I’m sucessfully pulling off the best joke in history.  Me, an adult.  Ha!
Kas said to me recently that she didn’t know what I needed to feel like a grown-up.  I was a grown-up.  What milestone did I need to achieve?  What was I waiting for?  I couldn’t answer her.  I didn’t know.
Then for no reason at all while I was shutting everything down the other night I was sitting on my couch with the tv off, the lights on and I looked around as if I’d never seen the room in front of me before.  I actually spoke out loud.  I said “I don’t know what you’re waiting for, you’re there.  This is it.”
And the gears clicked into place.
I’m sure you’re familar with the saying “life is not a dress rehearsal”.  That statement has never really been understood by me.  OK, so OK.  Until now, that is.  And this is where the words are gone.
See, I’ve always had a certain underlying “when I get to…” or “once I …” The “someday” mentality.  Someday when I’m a millionaire, when I’ve settled down, when I’ve met my special someone, when I’m married, when I have children.  And the other day it ocurred to me.
There is no someday.  This isn’t a rehearsal.  There isn’t a round 2.  I’m not participating in a dry run here.  This is the run.
All my life I’ve felt this “when I get to ____ I’ll be an adult” (and my life will begin).  I have been essentially complying with the required tasks with an expectation that I will come to a conclusion, literally a stopping point, at which I will conciously recognize as my “moment” where I become an adult.  Relevant.  Taken seriously.  No longer dismissed as a wide-eyed child with ridiculous expectations and pipe dreams.
The other day it sank in that the next “finish line” I cross is death.  THIS IS IT.  This isn’t the race to complete this milestone, this is a marathon.  A long path with many checkpoints, the last of which concluding with the last breath I
My life isn’t a rest stop, it is the journey.  I’m living it.  I’m not going to “win”, I’m not going to “lose”.  I have the option of living or dying.  I am still of the mind that I do not have to be “doing” to be “living”.  That when I can no longer fully function independently I’d truly prefer to cross that finish line.
So tonight, 2 months from my 35th birthday I am recording this.  For my sake, so that years from now I will have a reference as to calm I feel.  Of how so much weight has been lifted and removed.  Of how the chains of compliance are no longer shackled to me.

Yeah.  Life isn’t a dress rehearsal.  And then……  I took a big fuckin deep breath, relaxed, and had the realization that ya know, it ain’t such a big deal.  Life that is.  I’ve accomplished a pretty good bit in my life, I have achieved much, I am healthy, outgoing, well-rounded, funny, interesting, traveled, educated, I could go on and on.  So, take a step back and chew on that for a second.

That leads me to the gristle.  The fatty shit on your steak that you cut off and inevitably have at one point in your life attempted to chew, realized it just doesn’t break down, probably gagged, and very possibly yakked.  Yep.  That.  Life gristle is exactly the same.  Except with the life gristle it sucks you dry.  It exhausts you.  It consumes you.  This is the drama of he said/she said, the added work in being accommodating, enabling, apologetic, overly concerned, self destructive, embarrassed, and pleasing.  I realized that I LOVE to craft.  Sew, glue, cut, paint, draw, all of it.  LOVE it.  I enjoy being a techie geek for which a great deal of humanity is clueless as to why I’m rolling my eyes as well as on the floor laughing at the IM stating “Oh yeah that’s how I rock out with my code block out”.  (Seriously, happened today).  I embrace my shortcomings, failures, insufficiencies.  I am not athletically inclined.  Period.  I’m fine with that.  I have almost zero ability to retain music and/or sports trivia though I have an almost inhuman ability to retain chain of events, project specs, application process and flow, and details.  Loads of freakin details about a lot.  I have also discovered that depending on who the speaker is I can retain an inordinate amount of information in both sports and music.  It’s the way it’s presented.  Regurgitating that trivia takes work, think having the key to a special code language (Morse before there was well Morse).  My friends have the key…they can interpret MJoy.  I’m cool with that.  I’m cool with all of that.


•July 19, 2010 • Leave a Comment

I’m not certain of the extent I’ve discussed it on here (or in past blogs) but I have my moonlighting gig helping out Cliff’s mama sling her food product.  Anyway, basically what I do is I go to festivals, markets, craft fairs, etc and I sell her product.

Without getting into too much detail on the product* it’s food.  Let’s refer to it as honey, that will work as a comparable substitute.

OK so honey it is.  I’ve been helping her for years.  Mostly going to the festivals with her and assisting in the set-up, sale, tear down.  It’s simple and I quite enjoy it.  When she had her bout with “the cancer” (rectal, fully recovered/in remission/gone??) a couple years ago she’d only just started really getting into the biz.  She was going to the local flea market and selling more than honey, actually she was selling cheese balls, pound cakes, fudge, that type of thing.  Holiday food items.  She was doing quite well, then the cancer struck and for a while there it was a bit iffy she’d even pull out of it.  Now that she has and she’s 100% again she’s been hitting the circuit like a mad woman.  Add to that her youngest son, Chop has come back from studying abroad (graduate w/some extensively excessive degrees, he’s qualified to be a lawyer) and he’s proclaimed he will not be staying in the States.

OK, the man doesn’t have a  job.  So he’s taken it upon himself to get fully involved in the family biz (if you will).  Propelling Kat in the direction of making this biz a legit sustainable company.  Hence I have been doing a shit load of work for that.  We’re expanding, I have my own tent, I have my own shows to attend by myself, I have been hunting for an assistant for both myself and Kat, I have been pricing everything under the sun, inventing and creating recipes and uses for the honey.  I have been designing business cards, labels, pamphlets, you get the point.  I am booked almost every weekend in September, October, and November.  I love doing this.  It would be a dream come true to make this my full time job.  Kat and I truly are kindred.  She and I are also very close friends regardless of her son being who he is (my guy-bff and co-worker).  There is just a shit load of work!

My girl-bff’s wedding gift broke. (I can’t remember if I mentioned this.)  After countless hours.   Broke.  I have to redo it.  Her champagne glasses, etched by me (with Amour Etch, if you’re not familiar, seriously become.  EASY), broke on her wedding night.  She’s requested a replacement set.  hmpfh.  Fine.  I’ll just whip those out in my infinite free time.  It’s on the list.  Shit luck of it is I can’t seem to locate the templates.   The templates literally took me ohhh, ~8hours.  At the very freakin LEAST.  I’m still in denial about the etchings, started the replacement primary wedding gift last week.

I’ve decided that because idle hands are the devil’s playground and God knows the last damn thing I need is to be idle,  I have taken up knitting.  OK well for the sake of full disclosure, I am receiving lessons in knitting from Sarah.  I do believe it’s week 5, we meet weekly, missed 1 or 2 weeks in the middle, and I am officially finally comfortable with the beginner stitch.  Ummm, called the oh fuck it I can’t remember (garter!).  And I’ve settled on a project thus a goal for this endeavor.  I’m making coasters.  Yes, fuck you.  Coasters.  I’m making a coaster per stitch type.  That means each stitch will be organized mentally and literally so I can concentrate on each appropriately.  Blah blah blah I’m a control freak, I like this compartmentalized, organized, broken down into small chew-able parts.  It makes me process and retain at a much more successful level.  And this past week was the first time I didn’t feel like a damn idiot.  I want recognition for the following: A I’m a lefty.  B Sarah is not. C I’m learning classic knitting, NOT international knitting style.  So nah!  And yeah I’m a little sensitive this is taking so long for me to master.

*If you’re interested in the actual product,  privately contact me, the last thing I want (ever!) is to somehow negatively impact the success by way of this blog.