migraine grumpleness is an odd sort, to have me so easily irritated, so bristly, so constantly annoyed - and then below that ready to weep, but without the drawn-out feel-like-I'll-explode-unless-this-breaks struggle of real anger/injury. and then you know, the headache and the queasiness and the not being able to see straight. the trying to watch television, but not being able to find anything on, and closing my eyes as I change channels because it's painful to watch pictures move that quickly. so I've come now to close my eyes between windows and gather up the courage to put an album in the disc drive. and to once again set myself against the task of writing an actual entry. your only clue on how many times I've not managed that goal is how long it's been since I posted something other than a meme, survey, or momentary pondering. things usually break down just as I'm shifting into the second paragraph. that would be now.
so, points of interest. or rather, points. dull points are less likely to prick one anyway. right. damaged head, make allowances, et cetera. friday I went out with my dad. that was an interesting feat. I called him Thursday night when my mom was breaking her back trying to figure out how to get around the fact that she needed to be in two places at once. (she misplaced her time-turner.) she needed to attend a job interview, and she needed to escort my unlicensed self to a therapy appointment. so, after I'd endured more than I wanted to of watching her strain, and realized that none of her plans were going to turn into anything remotely "neutral" or "comfortable" for me, I had a stroke of brilliance. (I'm recovering fairly well from it.) my dad. it was a very odd thing, as we'd been puzzling out the how-to-get-to-the-doctor issue for about 24 hours at that point, and I only then came up with it. I heard his voice in my head (spookified to match the little bubble with his face inside) saying, "Call me anytime, Mary, anytime" - and I was like, Yo! Now's anytime! my mom was slightly sheepish; she kept saying, "you know, I didn't even think of your dad. I didn't even think of that." Inside, I was saying, "yes, Mother, I know. we're both slightly traumatized to realize that we forgot I have a father who's not a deadbeat. now please stop reminding me that you forgot about him long enough for me to make this call."
so I called my dad and wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, he was working the next day just before and just after I needed him. squee. so, seeing as I don't see my dad much, and I don't like to ask favors - I asked if he wanted to go out before it (I don't make post-therapy plans, until I know what day I'm going to be leaving the office and whether or not I'll be all-skippy-like or a human hurricane), which thrilled him... so Friday I ended up out with my dad, for lunch (which was actually a relief to me; I haven't eaten out in awhile, and I was sort of worrying that I wasn't able to anymore - but it was no big thang, really) and then we paced around the mall. I end up pacing this mall far too often. fortunately, since the intensely crappy job my mom has at the moment is semi-located at the mall (there's this "there but not there" illusion going on) she's building up some strong animosity to support a vow of never going in again, once she's found other work. squee. or rather, we went to one music store and then sat down. it was the next day, with my mom, and then my mom and brother, that I really paced the mall.
some supporting notes: the actual interaction with my dad was basically good; I was glad to see him, and, you know, we love. there was some shit around food and his relationship with Mom that I could have done without, but I'm getting sort of accustomed to that. not immune, but accustomed. I have had the hardest time reading Their Eyes Were Watching God (trivia: what dorky importance does Zora Neale Hurston hold in PBS history?) because the main character's called Janie. and no one, honestly no one calls my mom Janie with the exception of my dad. she's always Jane. but when I read that name, I can see them together. although her feelings varied, he was never angry when he used that name. he had yet to explode at that point. so I remember loving "Janie"s and I remember how every week for ages, we'd have a particularly lavish Sunday breakfast, cooked mainly by my mom, and if my dad approved (which he always did) we called it a "three-Janie-meal." because he'd say, with vast appreciation, "Janie, Janie, Janie..." the way most people say, "Mmmmmm."
so, hard.
he bought me a cd in the music store. amusingly enough, someone I haven't heard of, whom he thought I would like, and bought for me (with some odd "but if you don't like it, I'll take it off your hands" comments that confused me about what he actually wanted out of the scenario) despite the fact that it had a parental advisory sticker on the front. I laughed pretty hysterically at that. not as hard as I laughed when I saw the review on a sticker comparing her to "polar opposites Doris Day and Eminem" (if I'm lyin', I'm flyin') but pretty damn hard. I've only listened to it once (if the fucking cd would play I'd be listening to it for the second time right now; my computer doesn't feel like multi-tasking. I did like what I heard in the first listen, though. she has a jazzy side that reminds me of Erin McKeown (the same side that draws the Doris Day comparison, no doubt) with lyrics that slice at so much of that culture/ mindset, and then bam! she's doing some hip-hop spoken-word/rap deal that makes one think she has (talented) multiple personalities. but it is a very interesting cd. I read the lyrics to her song "I Wanna Get Married" ("I wanna get married/ that's why I was born") and expected some seriously sarcastic tones to back up the lyric, but was (ultimately pleasantly) surprised to hear it done exactly like the stars of the forties and fifties my dad adores. (he's not completely oblivious to her views, but I doubt he's as fond of them as I am.) the whole thing is kind of randomly healing for me, as I was thinking in the doctor's waiting room the other day that one of the great evils of poorly-sung/played "standards" is that they're *all* about love and heartbreak... and when you sing a song about loving someone until the end of time, without any emotion whatsoever, that's such a huge contribution to the culture that consistently says what it doesn't feel. we don't question the fact that we don't feel anything; we just say I love you. and why should we question it; lyrics that should have shape and form and color - lyrics that should burn or splash or force you to feel something, don't do so. and neither does the music. so there's this strange contribution to the "it's all about finding that one person" ideal that has so fucked up society while not entirely acting like it's the best thing there is. well, it is the best thing. but, you know, don't get too excited about it.
also, anything that's classified as "baroque pop" is worth giving a listen. especially an album called "Get Away From Me." oh, and she's funny, too. even funnier than experiencing my father refer to her as "Nellie" despite the fact that Nelly - even on my father's lips - generally refers to a (not so) different (as you might think) artist. I don't think I'm handing it over, so let's hope that wasn't my dad's wish. (I recommend "Change the World" for a taste.)
the woman who rung up the sale was notably splendid. I have run across some of the most remarkable strangers lately. even the fact that we didn't really feel compelled to reserve copies of The Passion of the Christ or The Crappy Star Wars Movies (confession: I haven't actually seen them - but c'mon, that attempt at qualification left no reader confused) didn't stop her from being genuinely bright and personable and such. imagine, a people-person who works with people. I didn't know that was legal. (another of the kind people was actually my mom's delight - mine vicariously. it was a wrong number given to her by one Domino's as the number of another Domino's - and the woman was all, "You lookin' for the pizza place, honey?" such that I wanted to take the number, call her, and talk for awhile. ("I believe if you call the wrong number/ you should talk for awhile/ you might like them more/ than who you meant to dial." -Alix Olson) the other splendidly wonderful person comes later in the story and deserves his own paragraph, if not his own entry. novel. altar. ok, that might be a little too far. but seriously, most impressive "kindness of strangers" experience I've had in a long while. so stay tuned; we'll have that story after the break.
sorry. I believe I'm finished channeling Ryan Seacrest now.
where the hell was I, and why do I feel like that's the sentence I type most often? ok, second-most-often. "I want to go home" definitely wins the most consistent whine category. anyway. oh, one semi-bizarre moment with my dad, also related to whining: I was pouting about not yet having blue hair, and he asked me if that was going to be a statement of something. it caught me off guard, so I didn't even think to respond with something like, "Yes. I feel very strongly about the color blue and want to show my support for it." I just said no, and wondered if he was actually asking me if I was gay (because those sort of associations make sense in the 1950s village - I swear to Spike, it's actually a 'village' - in which he resides.) could have mentioned that, too. "no... but in terms of stating things - in case you care, I like girls." didn't feel like it. I feel weird telling any family members (other than my mom, obviously, who I haven't confirmed it with, but who knows I have rainbows spinning through my brain) before I'm going through the process of telling all of them. this is something my dad will need to talk out a little, I think. and since I haven't told my brothers or sister - or grandma - (though I doubt he'll chose to talk his confusion out with someone equally confused; love bless my second cousin Shelly for teaching this family to have some sort of acceptance-ish feeling for gay and lesbian peoples) I didn't tell him. plus, I was already battling a migraine, about to go have a session, and so yeah. left the can of novelty springing-snakes closed. for now. surprise. (ironically.)
ah, irony. that brings me to one of the most important points of this most recent week. the 90s are officially retro, and few things have made me happier. honestly. "I Love the 90s" on VH1? I cannot turn the television off; I escape only when an episode has ended. it's ridiculous. and to play off the hype, a local radio station just did an *all 90s weekend*... I turned to my mom at one point and said, "you know, they play most of these songs anyway. but nevertheless, the fact that they're going to play nothing *but* this makes me inexplicably happy." I also sent an e-mail to my sister bragging that my time has finally come, or rather - passed - and therefore become cool. soon, trolls will return to toy store shelves. life will have meaning again. (ok, a little too far there, once more.) my transition was irony, and even though there's already some present in this paragraph, I want to mention what prompted me to switch to this topic: the I Love the 90s comics were discussing Alanis Morissette (who, as Dogma so rightly suggested, is God) and Jagged Little Pill, and after commenting on "You Oughta Know" they began discussing Ironic, and honestly, there are few moments that fulfilling.
they started off with the simple commentary I always make. "rain on your wedding day isn't ironic; it just sucks." me: that's what I always say! if she'd just change the title and lyric to "things that suck" the song would actually make sense! but then they - having an enthralled audience, unlike my normally jaded ones - continue. one man says, "now, if you live in Seattle and specifically decide to get married in Santa Fe, and on the day of your wedding it rains in Santa Fe but not in Seattle - that's ironic." I find this reason to approach hysteria. and then the best part. Michael Ian Black (I believe) says something like, "Nothing in that song is ironic. And yet, it's a huge, huge hit. And the thing is - that's ironic. You have to watch - they're clever in Canada." I love it. my brilliant, therapy-infused, politically-lefty, intelligent Alanis redeemed for her intellectual error. even if it was ridiculously shit-based.
somewhat-random, speaking-of-music sidenote: this weekend, I experienced the best dj intro to a song I've ever heard. I swear to Pete, a male voice said ever-so calmly, "Nickelback's Chad Kroeger has a question" - and less than a beat later we heard, "HOW THE HELL'D WE WIND UP LIKE THIS?" ...sheer. brilliance. or maybe I was just desperate for amusement. and asking a similar question myself.
in other erroneous news, I think I'm going to follow 28 Days' Cornell-as-played-by-Steve-Buscemi's advice and get myself a plant, and then in a year get myself a pet, and if all three of us are alive in two years, consider a relationship. I'd like to get a sage plant for my third birthday, I think. the whole thing came up because the doctor told me I had a pet, at my foot (he was seeing eyes and a snout etched in the couch next to me. and I'm the patient. life is good) and I realized how much I wanted one. actually, a visit from Lara and her youngest kiddle, Dmitri, helped spark the emotion. I spent most of their visit playing with Dmitri, who is himself going on three, supposedly so that his mom and my mom could have some time, but truly because if I adore kids. inept as I feel around them, I love them. and this particular little man was helping me draw pictures, refusing to tell me what to draw, but explicitly directing *where* on the page I drew. the "shoe" went over very well. the shoe he found hysterical. and when an image of Bert and Ernie came up on my mom's screensaver (a bunch of photos I saved to her computer) he squealed and lit up. even better, when the picture changed, he squealed and lit up again. who was the cause of his delight this time? the newest addition to Sesame Street: Bjork. oh, yes.
so, yes. I want something alive to love and love me, but I know - even if I can convince myself I'm capable of taking care of an animal - I can't convince my mom she wants one in her house. other than a fish or something. and I want a fuzzy, cuddle-with animal. I was imagining a kitty (or, in a moment here and there - because I know I'm allergic to cats - a bunny) named Sage... which eventually led me to think of the actual sage plant. the blow of losing the potential cat was softened when I realized I could plan to get one in a year, having no idea where I'll be then, and I can name the dear Easter, solidifying the already fairly firm fact that I'm a total Tori Amos dork.
the doctor started seeing pets in the furniture Monday (a week ago tomorrow.) we had a pretty random, funny session that day. I was exhausted and so we just kept it fairly light. he mentioned seeing two eyes and a snout, and not knowing exactly what animal it was, and I just sort of nodded, and then later when things were tapering off from a too serious point, I asked if the animal was still there. he stood and pointed and told me it was, and before I knew what had happened, I was in his chair, and he was showing me the outline (which I saw once, for about two seconds, and then lost entirely) and he was sitting in my place on the couch. we talked about what it was like on the other side of the Ottoman, and how oddly, it wasn't as strange as expected, but still a little weird. so then he started staring at our shoes, and I started actually looking at him (for some reason I could sitting there, and it wasn't because he wasn't looking at me) and I asked him why I wasn't getting the insight and optimism that were supposed to come with sitting in the chair, and he explained that I had to make contact with the pillow and keep my right arm against the armrest, so I ended up imitating his posture entirely - and he mine. I said something about how now I had to ask the questions, and that wasn't going to work, and he said I asked questions from the couch as well. I said, "Yeah, but... I ask questions like, 'how much longer will this suck?' - you ask questions that steer conversation." he told me he thinks it will suck until I have people. or actually he said until I have a partner. he said the alone in the world thing is the suckiest. I sat in the chair again Friday because I liked being able to look at him. I want to make him sit first, on the couch, and then I want to sit on the other end of the couch, and see how that feels... but I didn't do it Friday because things felt too...erm... shaky. serious. I didn't want to make things *more* informal when they felt shaky. I wanted foundation.
when he looked at my shoes, he told me my feet looked happier. I <3 my dorky therapist.
Friday's session had more to do with reality. we talked a little about being with my dad, and the weirdness regarding said dad's comments about my mom, and he said something about how strange it was to be in someone's life for over 25 years, and then suddenly - and I almost started crying. it's sometimes hard for me to navigate my own emotions, since I can't know if he's going to critique my parents or sympathize with them. I've been more upset about the divorce thing again lately. comes and goes, like everything. the pain rotates.
I told him about the weird-migraine-dream I had that morning, in which I was at a place similar to Rogers, but not Rogers. as if I'd had to go back into residential but had gone somewhere else. and how everyone was mad at me because I was breaking all the rules, but I was only doing things like walking away in the hope that someone would come after me. when the head-guy told me I was on my last chance, I got crazy about making it clear that nothing that happened was an intentional screw-up on my part because I wanted so badly to stay. most of the people around were really pissy with me, but there was one (seriously hot [*blush*]) woman, who - in rocking dream fashion - was also the kindest. we came back to the dream at the end of the session because I broke down a little and told him I didn't want to leave. I said, "I hate it there. It's so lonely there," - meaning here, the apartment - and he told me he wished we had more time, too (because he's a sweetheart) and he told me that lonesome sucks... aye on that count. I tried to roll my eyes at the intensity of emotion and said, "Even after three years." he said, "Even after a lifetime." he told me again that it's never going to be as bad as it was, and I told him how when I wake up from those shitty nightmares, they start right up again when I fall back asleep (which I have a hard time not doing.) and I usually want to fall back asleep because I want to get to the point where that one good character will...
"Come in and save the day?" he suggested, and I nodded.
"I don't want to wake up from my nightmares," I said, shaking my head at how ludicrous it is. "Because of the people in them." ...Sad little Mary. Somewhere, there are people in the waking world as well.
he asked me where I walked away hoping someone would come after me, and I said pretty much everywhere. I did it in school, and I did it at Rogers - but at Rogers, I eventually learned that I could walk *up* to someone and they'd be present for me - while in N*land, I just kept trying to be an obvious enough basketcase that someone would fix me. he mentioned the outpatient program, how it happened there, too. and I was like, "that sucks." it does.
and of course we talked about "relationships." we talked about orientation versus sexuality, how sexuality is a more overall concept of which orientation is a part, and how I can usually handle orientation except that it gets too close to sexuality. he mentioned a bunch of with-someone things - and the first few - spending time together, holding hands, that sort of thing was fine - but when he got far enough that it was nearing that exclusive relationship - grocery shopping, going to the pool together (those were the actual ones that freaked me out) I couldn't handle it too well. things have gotten much easier around that discussion (if not the entirety of dealing with it) since I clarified how completely distorted my idea of sex is, and how I'm terrified of that far more than of the girl-girl-ness.
he told me another thing I never knew about a brother. although, actually, after a few hours, I started to think maybe I did hear something about this one before. he told me about a group of high schoolers who tried to kill (run over) my oldest brother, and that - 'true' or not - the legend is that they did it because he was too different. and I've grown up knowing that, even if it wasn't mental knowledge, etc. and part of me was like, "what the fuck? how many more things do you know? and why are you telling me this?" while another part went, "that's why. that's why when that guy threatened Sarah in college I flipped out so completely right away." partially. that's why I had those irrational responses to this and that and this other thing. because of all the things I could feel going on. it does weird things to me to think about that shit. I took so many blows because my parents treated us all as peers from the time I was a kid, and as much as the respect rocked - I was a kid, I didn't know how to be an adult. I was hurt from hearing things I wasn't ready to know, and now I'm mad at them for what they didn't help me understand, didn't help me know. I wonder if there's an existent method for telling/ not telling that stuff to a kid. I haven't a clue. hence, the plant.
there is - believe it or not - still a little left. from the session, mainly, my achievements at the pool today, and the story that my temporary possession by Ryan Seacrest postponed. the fact that I talked with Linds this week for the first time in ages. et cetera.
but now, I must sleep. I leave you (ever so temporarily) with a scrap of something I wrote in one of the non-fully-formed entries... after hearing that Mary-Kate Olsen extended her stay in residential because it's going well, and it's good to stay as long as you can; it's good to stay a few months. somehow that got me all choked up...
I don't exactly believe in 'God' ... but whatever I believe in, let it bless her. I know tons of us have done this, found this courage, deserve the same respect, the same awe, the same gratitude - and I give it to everyone, truly. but people haven't seen us do it, the way so many eyes see her. and just bless her, bless her, bless her... because she didn't let the media keep her from getting help. because she's doing what I wish everyone would do...
isn't hard to do - to choke me up, I mean - at the moment. more eventually. but I'm going to try and post this now before I sleep-delete it. may you have no nightmares, and if you must, may you prefer real life.
~me