Spazzmanda

I’ve had a “sad” day. It happens. It sucks. It sucks donkey balls. The only thing I had to look forward to today was an aerobics class (I know, even I’m embarrassed to admit that one) until I spoke to Jenny and have been recruited to help her with her “Baby Bobbi Bear Butt” at the Starbucks tonight with Arnold (it’s a knitterz thing.) So I have two things to look forward to. It’s just a non stop party for me.

I’ve been moping something fierce today. I want my life back. But there is no “back” so I’m stuck with what is. Quite frankly, what “is” is enough to make me want to slice open my wrists with something dull and rusty. Today anyways. But probably not tomorrow. I think I have a vague inkling what serious depression actually feels like now, no desire to be productive, no desire to move, feeling like a zombie. I’m not at that level, I’m just saying I have the ability to relate to that level of sinking and see why people seek meds. I want meds. Good thing my Doctor can’t give me any, ‘cuz I’d take them by the fistful on days like today.

I didn’t really get to take a full lunch break today due to more work stuff that even if I did talk about it here, I just don’t want to (it goes back to that dull and rusty scenario so let’s not.) I decided to go to the Dollar General (where things generally cost dollars) and stock up on some stuff for the beach, the beach, the beach beckons and is only 9 days away. So I wandered. I bought deodorant in a double pack, some motrin, some benadryl and dove soap. Needed some laundry detergent. Neat. All has a perfume free version. Bought that too. While pondering the purchase of a “Dora the Explorer” kite that looked sort of rinky-dink for the wind gusts in St. George (particularly during hurricane season) and there I saw it. And it stopped me in my tracks.

Yes. That IS Alanis Morissette’s “Jagged Little Pill.” But it’s special, its acoustic, it was 5 bucks. It whispered to me, buy me. I’ll make you feel better. Everyone can remember the song that was positively an anthem for wronged women everywhere, but this time it is softer with a hint of Indian sitar just for flavor. Could it be that Alanis (and I) have matured somewhat? I remember the original counterpart of this slice of rock n’ roll history the summer before my freshman year. I had just busted my then boyfriend smooching his “room mate” - but honestly, I was probably going to break up with him anyways since he was a. too old for me and 2. I was about to go to COLLEGE and c. who wants a boyfriend at home when they are in COLLEGE when there are man feasts aplenty? - Holy cow. I had totally forgotten about that. See, I have been cheated on before! I remember now. His name was Mike Manly- and no I’m not joking- and her name was Jennifer something or other. She actually wasn’t a skank though, she was pretty nice except for the liplock with my man and all. Weird how music triggers dead and buried memories.

Alanis’ lyrical stylings made my heart sing with “Yeah! Men are all dogs and they do all suck!” Little did I know that six months later I would be wanting to gouge my eardrums out because every.single.girl.in.my.freakin’.dorm played this album on a loop.

The lyrics are still enclosed with the CD. Oh, Alanis, as if we could ever forget.

I still have my concert T-shirt. I know what I’m wearing to bed tonight.

Woah-oh, living on a prayer.  Not a bad song to have stuck in your head at all. Especially because we’ve made some serious strides in finishing up operation apartment do-over.

That is half of a finished apartment. Windows painted, patches where painters tape pulled off the paint fixed, furniture moved back (and vacuumed), new curtains courtesy of Momma (thank you again P.S. and by the way) and art work hung.  We stayed up late. I had a smidge too much wine, but it was all well worth it. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful living room that can actually be lived in. (This might actually get me out of bed.)

Now. As far as the other half of the apartment…. not so much… yet… but there really isn’t very much painting left. I’m feeling pretty good about all of this. We watched “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” last night (yes, again) because musicals and whores, what is better than that? They do look so happy being whores, singing, dancing, hanging out with Dolly Parton. I asked my mother if she actually wanted to ask a local singing, whoring individual who shall remain nameless if she enjoyed her work half as much… I think I might still have her number here somewhere from the last time she called me and got all white trash on my voice mail (I might have touched a nerve with the old blog here…)

Oh, in other news, two of my college roommates delivered baby girls yesterday! Beth had her second- Sara Kate and Nicole had her fourth- Vivian Lauren. Way to go with the birthin’ ladies, the last two weeks have been all about the new humans coming into the world, I couldn’t be happier for all of you guys!

Have a great holiday weekend- I’m retreating to the mountains again, it should be fun… ish. We’ll see.

Nope, still not painting and the house is a disaster, but I don’t care. (Well I do but there is only so many hours in each day so I’m just not going to care and continue living in the bedroom until further notice.) I do seem to be making progress on my stormwater shawl.

The colors in these photos are crap because it is raining and I needed a surface to spread out, which was the bed so the lighting doesn’t really show how pretty the silk really is. The good news is I only have a twee little bit yarn left! The bad news is that it is two balls so that amount is really doubled.

(There’s the trusty quarter…) I think I can complete this in 17 days. Crap, I have to block it too, but I’m thinking a pin and spritz will do nicely maybe rather than a full on submerge. Any thoughts fellow knitterz?

So, I had dinner with grandmother last night. She says such colorful things. Like she wants some brunswick stew but not the “fake” kind that mother and I made her last time.  She said “Use the recipe that was my husband’s, your grandfather’s, you know what’s his name….. Jim.” Funny stuff.

I played “hookey” today. (Actually, I told the powers that be that I would be taking a mental health day and that was just fine for everyone concerned.) I started rather early this morning with a cup of excellent coffee and a vigorous walk with my Mom. We then had massages and facials at this really awesome little spa in Roswell. After that we had lunch at Nieman Marcus and splurged on some new make-up followed by getting our hairs did. Here is my new “do”.

Ok, so not devastatingly different, but still a happy change. We ran some apartment-improvement errands for my currently war-torn abode (I still prefer to live mostly in the bedroom.) Then I hung some art work for her because, let’s face it, that is something I am quite good at. I suppose when she birthed her little half-Mexican baby over 31 years ago, she was entitled to a little “Manuel Labor,” so I shimmied up ladders and put my foot down on aesthetics so that her newly-painted living room looked just right.

I’m home, exhausted, and preparing for my radio interview in the morning. It is a little local radio station and I’ll be talking work stuff (which I don’t discuss here) but I’m still fully stoked to get to do this.

UPDATE: Due to technical difficulties at the radio station, interview postponed until Friday, September 5th. I’ll write more on this later.

In the hub-ub that was last week, I forgot to post this picture.

The lovely Claudia bestowed upon me some really beautiful lace weight yarn. Over 1400 yards of some very “Amanda” colors and I just love it. It is nice and smooshy. But now I suppose I shall have to make something lacy with it. Hmmmmmmmm. Maybe something this fall will inspire. Thanks for the yarny goodness girl!

Do you like my flat-leafed parsley? It is the only thing other than the “vegetable” that seems to be thriving in this heat. What do you do with so much abundant parsley? I finally had to make a jumbo batch of pesto last week and freeze it so the basil crop wouldn’t go to waste. All my hopes for summer cooking have long since been obliterated what with no one to cook for and no desire to eat. Feh. Maybe fall will be better.

I escaped to the mountains this weekend and spent two glorious days at my parent’s cabin in Blue Ridge. This was the view from my coffee cup this morning:

I spent most of the time playing gin with my mother. It was overcast yesterday, but today it was hotter than hell. I swear, I was sweating like a whore in church. (I laughed heartily at that twist of phrase since I happen to have a good idea of exactly what that would look like having recently become acquainted with an allegedly “church going” but confirmed cantankerous slut… Have I touched a nerve? Nah, my words must still be too big…) I digress again, that is what happens sometimes when left unattended with just my thoughts, I’ll try to watch that- being all gleeful as I insult, it is a tad tacky… but funny… but ultimately tacky. I know.

Anyways, I had a very good visit with the folks. We took a boat ride, swam in the lake and sang (badly). We got a little pickled on Saturday and I’m convinced that is the only reason I won that round of gin. The last time we played my mother was in the hospital, she kept dropping off when it was her turn and coming to again and was still able to beat the pants off of me. We found many funny metaphors for life while playing cards this weekend, I have to say these were some of the most relaxing and worry-free days I’ve had in quite some time, so thank you Momma!

I’m beat. I’m actually not dreading work this week, I feel refreshed. One last look at the cabin (view from the boat on Saturday.)

Oh, and there was some good Steevie love this weekend too (he likes to get “away from it all”as well.)

I love my mother. Having an awesome mom rocks. I had a BIG night at work tonight, a triumph if you will, and my loverly mother also came up to help me…. paint. No, actually, to help me drink. But we looked at the paint in the can and said, yup, that’s a can of paint.

She brought me almonds.

And an article about why almonds are the awesomest food in the world.

(Look at her reading about the health benefits of almonds as she peels some teensy weensy cheese rounds.)

She also brought two bottles of wine, and a verrrrrry nice little sleeping pill -for use in an emergency “pity party” only, and not as a chaser for the wine. The photo is bad and dark but I care not, much like how I will feel when this little miracle of modern chemistry is imbibed.

(See my standard quarter for scale? That’s how I roll.) Along with our meal of teensy cheese, we had almonds. Of course we wouldn’t want to have an unbalanced diet, now would we? As we talked and laughed, we stealthily played one of our all-time favorite games. We sliced the cheese rounds, thinner and thinner. With each slice of the knife, we were taunting one another, daring each other to put it out of its misery. I whisper with my glance “just eat it, you know you want to.” But she who eats the last of the cheese is the loser and neither of us wants that. So we shared the last little bit of the coveted white squooshy cheese (I don’t remember what kind I bought, but it was elaborately packaged and super-fancy).

Don’t her nails look purty? I’d like to have nice nails someday, but I have “little girl hands” and apparently always will-what with all the painting, crafting, needle work and other artistic endeavors, why bother with super sexy nails? but I covet them secretly…

In other news. I’m escaping this weekend on an adventure and I just can’t wait. More to follow. Have a wicked cool weekend!

My friend Lee turned me on to this one. A Waffle House Wedding (I shit you not.) This is the funniest thing I’ve seen in quite some time- thanks Lee for brightening my day! I didn’t know you had a blog too! I look forward to reading all about you over my next nightcap. You’ve got to love blogs, such a great way to get support and keep up with people, it has been a life saver for me as of late.

I’ve been pondering, this whole having your life destroyed process is actually that, it is a process. I’ve had highs and lows and been a dutiful blogger through it all. Maybe my pain will eventually help someone else that has had to confront this issue. I’m also pretty pleased that (except for a few deleted posts at the very beginning) I’ve even managed, for the most part, to take the moral high ground (yes Shari, the air is thin up here but at least I haven’t done or said anything that isn’t either 1. completely true or 2. totally justified in my current emotional state.) I haven’t called anyone out by name, including Mr. X, who probably deserves a little public humiliation and flogging (and lord knows I have the photos to do it.) Nor have I identified by name (but maybe occupation, oops) the skank he fooled around with. I’m not a heartless monster. I hate her and believe her to be a hypocritical, calculating, manipulative, vindictive slut, but I’m not going to drag her name (nor his) through the mud- they’ve both got to work, live and buy groceries in this town too. (Has this town gotten smaller, or is it just me?) I have admittedly (and proudly!) taken an attack stance where she is concerned, but honestly, who in my position wouldn’t? Let’s call a spade a spade, I’m allowed, right now, for her to be the face, the vehicle and the catalyst of my pain. She has neither been a victim nor has she been victimized and quite frankly, girlfriend probably has better things to do (like sharpening her stinger for the next target) than read my blog. We weren’t that interested in each other before, why should that change now?

This is my place. MINE. The haters out there (that really should find a hobby, and you can guess what I would suggest) you can’t have it. It is mostly about crafting, cooking and knitting for pity’s sake so my limited audience includes friends, fellow fiber fanatics and my mother. You don’t like me or what I have to say? Do I depress the ever loving shit out of you? Well, go read someone else’s blog. If not, come in, sit down, we’ll eat pie.

Dismal. Bleak. Sad. I’m so tired of my own gloomy nature. My blog is so freaking depressing, if I were a reader I’d probably contemplate a hose, an exhaust pipe and a garage door right about now.

I apologize. I don’t know how to dig myself out of this, I’m still so low and sad, sad, sad all the time. Exercise has hit a plateau for bringing me up, it can only lift me so high for so long before I tumble back (and I may be entertaining a little compulsive behavior that I don’t have the stamina for in the long run.) Nights are still the worst. I am afraid to see my next cell phone bill, I may need to increase my minutes… mental note to do that today.

No personal progress. Work is hard, I’ve hit a wall here and don’t know what to do with myself. Art jobs are hard to come by and I’ve got a pretty good one (on paper) and don’t know of other prospects.

Repainting- stalled. Not so much fun by myself. Nothing is fun by myself and I’m so lonely. Knitting, started a bit, now stalled a tad. The joy of the activity may be irrevocably lost, I just don’t know yet.

I think I’m wallowing now. But I don’t have time to wallow. I have a show to do. I can’t keep up the appearance of having myself all “together” forever, maybe this is where I crash and burn.

I sure hope not. I’m of the feeling that no man is worth totally losing it, no matter how much I want to give in a little and be an unwashed mumbling to myself mess. I’ve already lost so much- my self esteem, my faith, trust, hope and love- I’m simply refuse to lose my professionalism and respect. He just can’t have it.

Ok. Keeping it together (ish.) Positive thoughts the rest of the day, okay?

It is amazing what a difference three weeks can make. Do I wish I never found out about the cheating? Nope. Not really. Do I hurt every day with him gone from my life? Yes. Of course I do.

It is the little things- for example- I can’t seem to put towels away without creating a jumbled mess and I can’t stand to eat peanut butter anymore.  It sucks that the person that causes all my pain and the one I wish could comfort me are the one and the same. It sucks that I loathe to cook for one and already have all the stuff to make his favorite meals- Kielbasa and sauerkraut (blech) and chick n’ dumplings, dirrrrty rice- all of which are “man food” and none of which are currently on the misery diet. I’ll be donating to the food bank soon.

He keeps gently prodding, asking to see me (I haven’t relented and haven’t seen him since the morning I left for work, the morning when the bottom dropped out of my life.) He leaves me very sweet cards, picks me wild flowers, leaves things for the kitties all to make sure I don’t forget about him.

You know what I want? I wish I could have one day without pain, one day without anger. I think that all this anger is going to give me cancer if I don’t figure out where to put it.

At this particular moment I simply can not trust a man whose words and actions have been in such opposition. I recall each lie with terrible accuracy. I recall how close I was on so many occasions to discovering that something was going on and how he made me feel like a paranoid shrew.

It will be his actions that speak to me, if anything can reach me. Dear lord, only three more days until I can see my therapist. I’m still just too angry for words. He says that he hopes that something good will come of this, excuse me if I can’t see the good quite yet in whoring about with some trashy ignorant bitch. He says he prefers lemonade to lemons.

I say, whores aren’t lemons.