I can't believe I'm saying this, but Fall is finally here...
...and I just feel depressed.
Dunno what it is, but I just can't shake this gloom. I think it started Sunday, which was a real doozy. I don't want to be all negative and complain-ey, but whatever, I'm just being honest (in the words of Simon Cowell).
Maybe I crave cold weather and sweaters and soup, but I actually can't handle days & days w/o vitamin D or E or whatever the heck is in the sun.
Today my radio was set on XM channel 52 The Coffee House. It's all acousticy & live versions of songs. Like the kind you might *snap* after. You know what? I want to wear dark jeans & tees & go to a REAL coffee house in the city where they serve coffee in oversized mugs and have live, whiny bands.
Unfortunately I've spent my 20s learning how to be married and having babies.
Can you still go to deep, dark, & depressed coffee shops when you're 40? I hope so. Because I don't think I fully exorcised that urge before it became un-possible.
This would be an excellent time to go take a hot shower, cozy up with Twilight, and listen to some Debussy. Unfortunately a) there is nowhere to go in my parents' house to be alone, unless I want to be alone with Sam, which doesn't really count, and b) I think I packed my Debussy cd in our storage unit. Pathetic! (As Eeyore would say.)
I can't even wallow in my sadness--like, I am actually unable to fully experience it. It's like unrequited melancholy.
Please go read one of those "happy!!!!" blogs now.
Showing posts with label Just thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Just thoughts. Show all posts
Monday, October 12, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
I have, like, a test in the morning
I totally pulled an all-nighter last night. My inconsiderate roommate was up for freaking ever chatting it up, watching TV, and um, whimpering?
Yeah. Unfortunately my annoying roommate is my son. :p~ For some reason Wright was just, up, resulting in what I think might be my first all-nighter since college. I mean, sleep deprivation, I am good friends with. But this whole less-than-one-hour thing is an unwelcome flashback.
It was very interesting, going through today with literally almost no sleep under my belt. Here is what I observed:
-I feel rather disassociated from my body, like I am drunk or high, but without the happy giddiness. My driving responses are delayed, and I have tunnel vision. It's like that scene towards the end of Insomnia where Al Pacino's character drives to Robin William's crazy novelist's cabin, and the road looks like it is coming up to meet him and he can't stay awake, but somehow he does, and he goes to the psycho cabin, and you're like, don't go in there! I just asked Sam if he remembered this movie, and he said that yes, he does, but that he didn't enjoy it. Huh. I found it to be an exceptionally visceral movie and it sticks with me to this day. Checking IMDB, and ah, yes, it's a Christopher Nolan movie (a la Batman Begins?). Totally explains that. But not Sam's lack of enchantment. Sniff.
-My loud and boisterous children bother me much more than usual. I cannot concentrate when they are shouting and laughing. It's like I have hyper hangover hearing or something. Maybe the post-alcohol and non-sleep chemicals in my brain are related? I feel stressed out and want to yell at them to be quiet. I find myself snapping and ranting far more than usual. My Dad's presence alone is cause for immediate under-the-breath swear-filled sentences about smells and being in the way and stinky mulish annoyingness. My patience is sooo MIA. :)
-My stomach tells me it is hungry, but I am not in the mood to eat anything because I am too tired. Huh. The exception to this was a lovely tortilla soup I had for lunch, which I think was my main fortification today. It was like chicken soup for when you're sick. And being this tired is kind of like being sick, so it fits. My head is pounding, and I want to lay down, but my heart is racing. (Thanks, Coffee who is my best friend but also kind of my enemy. No time to sleep anyway what with kids running around and Baby Wright non-nappish, so it's cool.)
-I keep writing in present tense lately and, coincidentally, Sam recently told me that he hates to read stuff in present tense. Asking him now to clarify his opinion. He doesn't remember. Looking over to our Ikea "coffee table", I see a Blue Moon. And it IS 10:30pm. Poor man's brain has shut down. S'kay. I think he said he thought it was lazy. Well, I think he is wrong, because I keep making tense mistakes when I write in present, so therefore it must be hard. Or at least harder than past tense. This paragraph is getting all English-y and bo-ring...
-I think I must talk about Sam, pretty much, all the time. Sorry about that. I am like the tedious high schooler who gets a boyfriend, then builds her life around him and starts every sentence with, "well, my boyfriend says/does/thinks..." Blegh. Except that, after almost 9 years together, we are a little like halves of each others' psyches. They're hard to separate. This year (that never ends) at my parents' house has been like 5 years in one, too, because we're building this intense us-against-them experience that's like bonding on crack. I wonder if when we move, and we have all this living space between us I will be like, "hey, you over there...I miss you?" Like maybe McMansions are physical synonyms for how we all self-depend so much, whereas tiny houses and living rooms used to force families to get in each others' faces and learn to deal with each other and be together. Or maybe not. Maybe it's just nice to have space sometimes. :)
-Okay, ramblicious sleep-deprived thoughts, much? Why is it that, at 10:47pm on the day after the night in which I did not sleep at all, I am finally, finally wide awake? What is wrong with my internal clock? I mean, hello, that's just messed up. I should go to bed now, except that I can't, because I would totally insomnia it. Grr. Well, c'est la vie, I believe I will wake Sam up off the couch and convince him to watch The Soup with me. And then if I'm not tired after that I'll crack open my Twilight re-readathon and at least get some o' that in.
Off to go LMAO and drool over my favorite Married Dad of 2 Kids Who is on Community and Hosts An Hilarious Half Hour of Cable TV Commentary.
Yeah. Unfortunately my annoying roommate is my son. :p~ For some reason Wright was just, up, resulting in what I think might be my first all-nighter since college. I mean, sleep deprivation, I am good friends with. But this whole less-than-one-hour thing is an unwelcome flashback.
It was very interesting, going through today with literally almost no sleep under my belt. Here is what I observed:
-I feel rather disassociated from my body, like I am drunk or high, but without the happy giddiness. My driving responses are delayed, and I have tunnel vision. It's like that scene towards the end of Insomnia where Al Pacino's character drives to Robin William's crazy novelist's cabin, and the road looks like it is coming up to meet him and he can't stay awake, but somehow he does, and he goes to the psycho cabin, and you're like, don't go in there! I just asked Sam if he remembered this movie, and he said that yes, he does, but that he didn't enjoy it. Huh. I found it to be an exceptionally visceral movie and it sticks with me to this day. Checking IMDB, and ah, yes, it's a Christopher Nolan movie (a la Batman Begins?). Totally explains that. But not Sam's lack of enchantment. Sniff.
-My loud and boisterous children bother me much more than usual. I cannot concentrate when they are shouting and laughing. It's like I have hyper hangover hearing or something. Maybe the post-alcohol and non-sleep chemicals in my brain are related? I feel stressed out and want to yell at them to be quiet. I find myself snapping and ranting far more than usual. My Dad's presence alone is cause for immediate under-the-breath swear-filled sentences about smells and being in the way and stinky mulish annoyingness. My patience is sooo MIA. :)
-My stomach tells me it is hungry, but I am not in the mood to eat anything because I am too tired. Huh. The exception to this was a lovely tortilla soup I had for lunch, which I think was my main fortification today. It was like chicken soup for when you're sick. And being this tired is kind of like being sick, so it fits. My head is pounding, and I want to lay down, but my heart is racing. (Thanks, Coffee who is my best friend but also kind of my enemy. No time to sleep anyway what with kids running around and Baby Wright non-nappish, so it's cool.)
-I keep writing in present tense lately and, coincidentally, Sam recently told me that he hates to read stuff in present tense. Asking him now to clarify his opinion. He doesn't remember. Looking over to our Ikea "coffee table", I see a Blue Moon. And it IS 10:30pm. Poor man's brain has shut down. S'kay. I think he said he thought it was lazy. Well, I think he is wrong, because I keep making tense mistakes when I write in present, so therefore it must be hard. Or at least harder than past tense. This paragraph is getting all English-y and bo-ring...
-I think I must talk about Sam, pretty much, all the time. Sorry about that. I am like the tedious high schooler who gets a boyfriend, then builds her life around him and starts every sentence with, "well, my boyfriend says/does/thinks..." Blegh. Except that, after almost 9 years together, we are a little like halves of each others' psyches. They're hard to separate. This year (that never ends) at my parents' house has been like 5 years in one, too, because we're building this intense us-against-them experience that's like bonding on crack. I wonder if when we move, and we have all this living space between us I will be like, "hey, you over there...I miss you?" Like maybe McMansions are physical synonyms for how we all self-depend so much, whereas tiny houses and living rooms used to force families to get in each others' faces and learn to deal with each other and be together. Or maybe not. Maybe it's just nice to have space sometimes. :)
-Okay, ramblicious sleep-deprived thoughts, much? Why is it that, at 10:47pm on the day after the night in which I did not sleep at all, I am finally, finally wide awake? What is wrong with my internal clock? I mean, hello, that's just messed up. I should go to bed now, except that I can't, because I would totally insomnia it. Grr. Well, c'est la vie, I believe I will wake Sam up off the couch and convince him to watch The Soup with me. And then if I'm not tired after that I'll crack open my Twilight re-readathon and at least get some o' that in.
Off to go LMAO and drool over my favorite Married Dad of 2 Kids Who is on Community and Hosts An Hilarious Half Hour of Cable TV Commentary.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
He'll change
PSA: Last night Sam showed up for TV time with some sort of Fanta & vanilla ice cream concoction that I'm calling a Creamsicle Float. He presented it in two matching mugs, each with its own bendy straw & spoon, the better for optimum individual Creamsicle Float devouring. OMG, yum! Am I the only woman who goes all melty--me, not the drink--when her man brings her delicious treats out of the blue? We sipped & ate them merrily while reading skanky Harry Potter fanfic (me) and watching Psyche (him). Happiness.
Speaking of men, back to my intended topic: man-myths. Ish.
I was thinking about them last night when I came into our crowded bedroom to sleep in my crowded bed which currently features a) Sam, b) sleepybeautifulevil Wright, c) 12 inches of space for me. Did I mention that Violet now sleeps on on her toddler mattress on our floor? Yes, well, we are all struggling here at the 'rents. I finally gave up and decided that we would get through these last months in whatever way possible, and if that means that we all seek comfort from each other through shared sleep, so be it. If I were her, I wouldn't want to sleep in the office/bedroom that we call "Violet's room" either. Anyway, our current setup has something so comfy and time-honored about it. It's like we are giving echoey props to our homesteading forebears, for whom living in one room was a given, not a hardship. In our case, however, we will hopefully have a spacious dwelling of cookie-cutter stucco waiting on the other side of our synchronized snores.
But was talking about myths?
Right. Um, a well-documented man-myth, one that is the basis for many--dare I say most?--romantic stories is this: a worthy woman takes a bad man and, with her superior feminine wiles, turns him into a good one. Here's a similar one: a woman takes man who is bad on the outside and, maybe not outwardly turns him around, but at least turns him enough so that he is different and sweet when they are alone together. The "I see behind the veil, and I'm the luckiest woman ever" myth. We might scoff at these ideas as sorta silly, but nevertheless they are time-honored, powerful themes. Pay attention, and you will notice them in many, many of the stories that we see today in movies/TV/books, heck, even life. I admit that I am a HUGE sucker for them, considering that my absolute favorite type of hero is the bad-boy type. To take it even further, I might even say that I married a bad boy of sorts. :) (The other ones just made me yawn.)
Coming to bed last night with my precious Wright laying there taking up an unreasonable amount of space and looking like an angel, I was struck with the thought that Baby Wright and I are a classic man-myth. Because, let's face it, this kid is a complete terror during most of his waking hours. He is full swing into what I like to call The Witching Year, that horrific period between 18 - 30 months old when my children are just plain frustrating and un-fun to be around. He is adamantly scream-y and stubborn about every single little detail in his life. He has an unapologetic, rafter-shaking cry/scream that he whips out at the drop of the hat. I mean, no doubt he communicates efficiently, but in the most annoying way possible. I can't take him anywhere without becoming completely embarrassed, stressed out, and in general only nominally able to complete my errand. I walk out of any room he is in and it is like I died, based on his reaction. Also, I'm pretty sure my dad might not admit it, but he hates him (a clue: when he stomps around with shooting-range earmuffs...ya think?). Even my mom has expressed ample frustration at his constant running, screaming, throwing, and general disobedience.
But...I get this private, intimate little side of Baby Wright that no one else does...and I am IN LOVE. I mean, like, I have a huge crush on my child and want to gaze at him lovingly for hours. He is so perfectly formed, so beautiful. I adore his guileless gaze and golden curls. His puffy cheeks and block-y feet. Oh, I could go on and on. *sigh* When I hold him in my arms to nurse him and he is still and I can admire him, when I come upon him groggy and cuddly post-nap, I not only forgive him his awful behavior, I actually forget. I am just in awe of this...this being that I helped bring into the world and am charged with. I only focus on that. And, when reality comes crashing down, as it inevitably does, I hope. And I think...he'll change. :)
Speaking of men, back to my intended topic: man-myths. Ish.
I was thinking about them last night when I came into our crowded bedroom to sleep in my crowded bed which currently features a) Sam, b) sleepybeautifulevil Wright, c) 12 inches of space for me. Did I mention that Violet now sleeps on on her toddler mattress on our floor? Yes, well, we are all struggling here at the 'rents. I finally gave up and decided that we would get through these last months in whatever way possible, and if that means that we all seek comfort from each other through shared sleep, so be it. If I were her, I wouldn't want to sleep in the office/bedroom that we call "Violet's room" either. Anyway, our current setup has something so comfy and time-honored about it. It's like we are giving echoey props to our homesteading forebears, for whom living in one room was a given, not a hardship. In our case, however, we will hopefully have a spacious dwelling of cookie-cutter stucco waiting on the other side of our synchronized snores.
But was talking about myths?
Right. Um, a well-documented man-myth, one that is the basis for many--dare I say most?--romantic stories is this: a worthy woman takes a bad man and, with her superior feminine wiles, turns him into a good one. Here's a similar one: a woman takes man who is bad on the outside and, maybe not outwardly turns him around, but at least turns him enough so that he is different and sweet when they are alone together. The "I see behind the veil, and I'm the luckiest woman ever" myth. We might scoff at these ideas as sorta silly, but nevertheless they are time-honored, powerful themes. Pay attention, and you will notice them in many, many of the stories that we see today in movies/TV/books, heck, even life. I admit that I am a HUGE sucker for them, considering that my absolute favorite type of hero is the bad-boy type. To take it even further, I might even say that I married a bad boy of sorts. :) (The other ones just made me yawn.)
Coming to bed last night with my precious Wright laying there taking up an unreasonable amount of space and looking like an angel, I was struck with the thought that Baby Wright and I are a classic man-myth. Because, let's face it, this kid is a complete terror during most of his waking hours. He is full swing into what I like to call The Witching Year, that horrific period between 18 - 30 months old when my children are just plain frustrating and un-fun to be around. He is adamantly scream-y and stubborn about every single little detail in his life. He has an unapologetic, rafter-shaking cry/scream that he whips out at the drop of the hat. I mean, no doubt he communicates efficiently, but in the most annoying way possible. I can't take him anywhere without becoming completely embarrassed, stressed out, and in general only nominally able to complete my errand. I walk out of any room he is in and it is like I died, based on his reaction. Also, I'm pretty sure my dad might not admit it, but he hates him (a clue: when he stomps around with shooting-range earmuffs...ya think?). Even my mom has expressed ample frustration at his constant running, screaming, throwing, and general disobedience.
But...I get this private, intimate little side of Baby Wright that no one else does...and I am IN LOVE. I mean, like, I have a huge crush on my child and want to gaze at him lovingly for hours. He is so perfectly formed, so beautiful. I adore his guileless gaze and golden curls. His puffy cheeks and block-y feet. Oh, I could go on and on. *sigh* When I hold him in my arms to nurse him and he is still and I can admire him, when I come upon him groggy and cuddly post-nap, I not only forgive him his awful behavior, I actually forget. I am just in awe of this...this being that I helped bring into the world and am charged with. I only focus on that. And, when reality comes crashing down, as it inevitably does, I hope. And I think...he'll change. :)
Monday, September 14, 2009
Randomliciously long post
Geez, where to start with my swirling thoughts today? I had a whole post written in my head during church yesterday, but I only have foggy threads of it left now. I know, I know, not what I should be doing during church (and wait 'til you read WHAT I was thinking about!), but I can't help it, my brain is spazzy like that. If I am listening to a speaker, I am hard pressed to absorb the whole thing unless he is really riveting. I go to what Sam likes to call, That Place. See, I've been listening to speakers at least 3x a week since I was born. Add in the mandatory 5x a week chapels throughout Bible college, and you pretty much have speaker overload. Gah! Due to my systematic overexposure, I have to hear something very new and refreshing for it to push out all the other thoughts crowding my head, which, let's face it, are often far more interesting to me.
What was I thinking about during church?
Um, people. Couples. How mens' shirts go together. (What? I am staring at their backs for, like, an hour. My brain always goes there!)
Back to people/couples.
Sam and I have discussed this axiom at some length: men often have the advantage of ageing gracefully, becoming distinguished and mature with added years, while women bear the brunt of
*interrupted blogging*
My Dad has sunk into his smelly chair crunching on corn chips. As he has very few molars, this is an incredibly loud task done with front teeth. Soooo. Crunchy. I cannot take. Must leave room for solace of messy "living room" in garage. One day I will have my own house, my own house, my own house...
*interruption ovah*
...er, women bear the full brunt of the physical demands of family life. We have children. We stress. We worry. We are emotional. This all takes a toll. A little middle age flab on a guy? No prob. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth? Sexy maturity. On women, however, flab and wrinkles just make us look, well, old. I seriously envy older women who have not had children, because they have a tremendous advantage in that they have not undergone the monumental changes that childbirth brings on a woman's body. And guys NEVER have to worry about this! Lucky bastards.
Hollywood has also played a huge hand in skewing our perceptions. They routinely put older guys with much, much younger women. This is to the point that when I see a 40-something man with his 40-something wife, it can look...wrong. So effed up! Case in point: Matthew Fox on Lost. On the show, his romantic interest, Kate, is played by Evangeline Lilly, who is a nubile 30. Fox is 43. Check out this photo of them, then contrast it with him & his RL wife:
See what I mean? 'Nuf said.
Anyway, I totally noticed this kind of phenomenon when we went to the zoo this past Friday. Everywhere we went, it was all perfectly aged, attractive guys toting around their poor wives who had not handled the whole kids/time/family burden thing nearly as well, physically. And this is why guys drop their wives after 20 years of marriage for some hot young thing, after the one with the GOOD STUFF has given him the best years of her life. Damn them! Guys suck. Don't know who exactly I'm mad at here, just ranting at life's injustices on the behalf of all females.
But, back to church. Besides the usual attractive man/life-worn woman couples, there were a few sitting around me yesterday that did NOT fit this mold. These couples, whom I sure will never read this blog, are just overall...smoking. I am so glad they are in the world for the rest of us to appreciate. I mean, hot guys, ridiculously hot wives. I want to cast them in romance novels. I want to take pics and make cheesy fanfic trailers. One couple in particular was sitting far too close to me on Sunday, and, just...they are too, too pretty. Too, too loving and cute. Please don't tell me that all couples have problems, because I only want to see them in this rosy glow. To be completely honest, I have to look away from the husband because it gives me lust problems. Like, smoldering, smiling eyes, full lips---LOOK AWAY, LEAH, LOOK AWAY!! Okay, I'm dropping that tangent!!
Just as a disclaimer: I am totally on the wives' side here, in case you couldn't tell. Also, I am not talking about anyone I can think of that I personally know; these are just observations of strangers around me. The march of time has not fully hit me yet (outside of childbirth), but I am aware that it is coming, and I'm...well, I'm just kind of pissed. :p~
What was I thinking about during church?
Um, people. Couples. How mens' shirts go together. (What? I am staring at their backs for, like, an hour. My brain always goes there!)
Back to people/couples.
Sam and I have discussed this axiom at some length: men often have the advantage of ageing gracefully, becoming distinguished and mature with added years, while women bear the brunt of
*interrupted blogging*
My Dad has sunk into his smelly chair crunching on corn chips. As he has very few molars, this is an incredibly loud task done with front teeth. Soooo. Crunchy. I cannot take. Must leave room for solace of messy "living room" in garage. One day I will have my own house, my own house, my own house...
*interruption ovah*
...er, women bear the full brunt of the physical demands of family life. We have children. We stress. We worry. We are emotional. This all takes a toll. A little middle age flab on a guy? No prob. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth? Sexy maturity. On women, however, flab and wrinkles just make us look, well, old. I seriously envy older women who have not had children, because they have a tremendous advantage in that they have not undergone the monumental changes that childbirth brings on a woman's body. And guys NEVER have to worry about this! Lucky bastards.
Hollywood has also played a huge hand in skewing our perceptions. They routinely put older guys with much, much younger women. This is to the point that when I see a 40-something man with his 40-something wife, it can look...wrong. So effed up! Case in point: Matthew Fox on Lost. On the show, his romantic interest, Kate, is played by Evangeline Lilly, who is a nubile 30. Fox is 43. Check out this photo of them, then contrast it with him & his RL wife:
See what I mean? 'Nuf said.
Anyway, I totally noticed this kind of phenomenon when we went to the zoo this past Friday. Everywhere we went, it was all perfectly aged, attractive guys toting around their poor wives who had not handled the whole kids/time/family burden thing nearly as well, physically. And this is why guys drop their wives after 20 years of marriage for some hot young thing, after the one with the GOOD STUFF has given him the best years of her life. Damn them! Guys suck. Don't know who exactly I'm mad at here, just ranting at life's injustices on the behalf of all females.
But, back to church. Besides the usual attractive man/life-worn woman couples, there were a few sitting around me yesterday that did NOT fit this mold. These couples, whom I sure will never read this blog, are just overall...smoking. I am so glad they are in the world for the rest of us to appreciate. I mean, hot guys, ridiculously hot wives. I want to cast them in romance novels. I want to take pics and make cheesy fanfic trailers. One couple in particular was sitting far too close to me on Sunday, and, just...they are too, too pretty. Too, too loving and cute. Please don't tell me that all couples have problems, because I only want to see them in this rosy glow. To be completely honest, I have to look away from the husband because it gives me lust problems. Like, smoldering, smiling eyes, full lips---LOOK AWAY, LEAH, LOOK AWAY!! Okay, I'm dropping that tangent!!
Just as a disclaimer: I am totally on the wives' side here, in case you couldn't tell. Also, I am not talking about anyone I can think of that I personally know; these are just observations of strangers around me. The march of time has not fully hit me yet (outside of childbirth), but I am aware that it is coming, and I'm...well, I'm just kind of pissed. :p~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
Can we talk about Sunday morning? Ugh. First of all, it contains that word, morning . Most mornings, I creak out of bed, every atom of my ...
-
Oh, my beloved Trader Joe's, located in the retail center of a phony "Traditionally Designed Neighborhood", where Bouganvilla ... -
PSA: Last night Sam showed up for TV time with some sort of Fanta & vanilla ice cream concoction that I'm calling a Creamsicle Floa...