Sunday, October 30, 2005

In the last year:

What do I want to do with my life? I don't know! Freak out! American media is kinda fucked up. My husband's going to die and I am sad. Wow, my friends are having kids. Boston is nice. I like comic books. I don't like school but I think I have to go back. Fine, I'll go back. Some people's breakups are funny. These blogs are cool. My husband didn't die but our marriage is having problems. We should move. Man, I feel lousy. Holy crap I'm pregnant! Freak out! It's pretty fucking hot this summer. I still feel lousy. Freak out! I feel much better. I like this porch. Our country doesn't appreciate mothers.

Also, I'm not going back to school, not now anyway, I'm going to stay home with my son, and maybe go back to work when he's a little older if I want to or we need me to. My husband is healthier than he's been in years.

I want to thank some of you for reading, responding, having cool blogs, and the like:

Midnight Arrow
Sam (duh)
That Other America

And anyone else that I may have forgotten. If I did, I am sorry.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Things I could be doing now:

1. finishing the thank you notes from the wonderful baby shower my husband threw me on Saturday
2. finishing the dishes
3. learning how to use the new crockpot my mom got me
4. ironing
5. napping
6. taking out the recycling/trash
7. making those reference check calls that I have to do for the store
8. getting my Rhode Island driving history so I can get car insurance here
(yes, I am driving around without insurance, please don't hit me).
9. elaborating on the analysis of my nightmare situation, which will hopefully banish it
10. working on the short story that's been knocking around my brain for a while

Instead I am on the couch in my sweats, feeling tired but not sleepy, in that frustrating and restless way.

I really really really don't want to turn the TV on, for fear that I 'll go into a mini coma and waste a day.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Seems fitting.

Not that I can do All Hallow's Month anywhere near the justice my favorite horror/SF/fantasy men are doing.

Remember the nightmare question? See previous post if not.

Is this about horror or it is about psychology? I don’t know.

Let’s say you have a recurring nightmare. You know why you have it. You know what it symbolizes, but that does not make it any easier for you to have it. It’s the worst dream ever,and it happens at least once a week. You’ve never told anyone about it, because they would tell you to go to therapy and there is nothing that a therapist could tell you about the nightmare that you don’t already know. You are also powerless to prevent a similar situation from happening to you in real life. If it were as simple as “don’t worry about things you have no control over” this would be a much easier life we are all in, but the point is that it is not something that you worry about when you are awake. Only when you sleep.

They’re becoming more frequent.

Typically writing about difficult emotions is cathartic. But this doesn’t really qualify, does it? It’s a nightmare, not a feeling. But terror is the major player, which is.

If you write about it and fictionalize it, will that do anything, or will you just have to suffer through the typing of it for no cure? If you write about it as personal experience, isn’t that going to be more difficult?

Of course, this issue could make a very pretty little horror story, about someone who relives the same nightmare over and over, while maintaining a normal, rather happy life in waking hours. Perhaps it has already been done.

Thursday, October 13, 2005


If I blog about it, will it stop?

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Motherhood's Worth

In France mothers get at least six months of maternity leave.

Canadian mothers get a whole year. Fifty of the fifty-two weeks are paid.

Australian mothers get twelve months off, three months paid.

Japanese mothers get fourteen weeks.

In the United States, maternity leaves, on average are twelve weeks.

Canada: twelve months. United States: twelve weeks.

Yes, I know Canadians pay a lot more taxes than we do. A significant amount.

However...a considerable amount more in taxes and an entire year off, with job security versus twelve weeks with my son and lower taxes.

Oh, and French fathers get two weeks and many working parents are allowed Wednesdays off (as French children get Wednesdays off from school...though with that option they can get a small salary reduction.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

On the couch this Sunday...

I got 14 hours of sleep last night.

My husband is gone this weekend. He’s hanging out with some friends in the Berkshires, and I have a lousy cold, so I’m home. He wasn’t going to go, but I reminded him of when he was desperately ill and I went to see these same people. I had great food, good times, and got to relax. I needed that and so does he. Plus, it’s a cold.

My husband is having a really good time. He called around five. He told me he had decided to stay a second night, if that was okay. I was really glad, actually. Not like I don’t want him around, I have a happy mental image of him sitting on Colin and Emma’s couch staying up late, and the three of them laughing until their sides hurt.

I was also glad as it gave me a chance to get some cleaning up done around the house. I am feeling better than I have in a few days (14 hours of sleep can do that to you). I started thinking.

I started thinking about how nice it would be for Husband to come home to fresh laundry and a sink no longer full of dirty dishes. I always try to do this when I’m home and he has a long day of work. When he gets home, I like the house to be clean and for myself to be dressed in non-grungy clothes and smelling nice.

Not very feminist is it?

Kind of June Cleaverish, huh?

That got me thinking about lots of things. I work to look nice for my husband. Not hard...I mean, I rarely wear make up, I don’t spend a ton of time exercising, and never in a million years would I consider getting cosmetic surgery.

I do, however, like to look nice for my husband.

It’s not that I am insecure. I know there are women who feel that they have to look good for their men or they will find someone more physically attractive. No, it’s nothing like that. I actually have more self-esteem than most women I know. I am not hot, but I am aware that I am cute. I don’t cause heads to turn or anything, but I do get interested smiles from guys at coffee shops (not so much now that I am obviously pregnant).

I think of it as being the same as when he wears that blue shirt I like. Damn, he looks hot in that shirt.

I see many women who are married, have kids, and obviously don’t make any attempt to look nice. I mean, no one expects a working mom (and all moms are working moms, job outside the home or not) to look like a supermodel or anything, but these are women who have nice bone structure, figures that look like they have given birth a few times, but so what? Lots of women have crows feet, stretch marks, wide hips, and sagging breasts but they’re still women and they’re still beautiful. If they tried, they could really look it.

I also notice that these women looks kind of sad when I see them at the store, as opposed to the other women who are dressed cute. Women who come in with their diaper bags and screaming kids, but look like they’ve had a nice haircut recently and go for a power walk every now and then.

I remember when I was in high school and my parents became new parents again. My mom had a career, and a tremendously active baby, but she still looked nice. She dressed up for certain occasions, played golf. She didn’t throw her womanhood out of the window just because she was really busy and had kids. She didn’t take her nice looks, and her marriage to an attractive guy for granted. Neither did my Dad. He often told her how great she looked, brought flowers home for no other reason than he wanted to make her feel appreciated.

My husband does that. That’s one of the reasons I like him coming home to a clean house, and a wife wearing a tight tank top and a pair of his boxers (that’s a look he’s a fan of).

Maybe these dowdy beyond their years women don’t have husbands like mine (or like my Dad). Maybe they don’t feel attractive, so they don’t bother to play up their beauty. That sucks.

He's planning a baby shower for me. He’s making the invitations, organizing a caterer, and is planning to spend the day shuttling my friends back and forth from their cars, because the café doesn’t have very good parking.

Any wonder I want him to feel appreciated?