Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Internet Dump Zone, Move On People, Nothing To See Here

Things I am currently, specifically worried about:

The decline of my cognitive abilities, more specifically is the decline related to my depression/autoimmune issues or perimenopause, more specifically when will I have my old brain back? I get glimpses: a day last week when my brain felt razor sharp and alert, and I wrote out three wonderful article ideas, worked on my novel and an essay and came up with what I think of as a creative cluster. That was one day amongst many when my brain feels like pudding, slow and stubbornly fixated on the endlessly boring (ME) and not on the endlessly interesting (LIFE). It makes me feel sick with fear at times. 

The decline of my overall health in the last year. Despite everything I'm doing– targeted supplements, exercise, yoga, cut sugar almost out, mostly gluten-free, lots of healthy fats, proteins and veggies, sunshine, testing that says cheerful things like ' yay you! you're C-Reactive Protein is SUPER LOW! ' (my interpretation of bloodwork) an awesome sex life, supportive as hell husband, and a healthy dose of Zoloft and thyroid, I'm just not OK. Yet. Perimenopause, again. I don't mind the constant fatigue, pain and swellings that come and go as much as I do the dullness of mind. I have been very positive the last year that I could change this, but I'm starting to feel a slump coming on. I'm not sure what I'm missing that my body needs. I've started biodentical progesterone. Hail Mary.

My children, each coming with their own individual worries that keep me awake at night, that settle into my stomach and bones and the constant, endless evaluation of my parenting skills. Am I doing enough? The right thing? Too much of the right thing? What could I be doing that is hurting them? What do they need that I'm not seeing?

The fact that I was in an accident that is going to cost money.

My lack of steady income. Freelancing keeps brimming with possibilities, but in the last few months I've been completely unable physically and mentally to keep up with the pitching I could be doing, (although I've been fine once actually assigned a piece, it's just the fishing that requires a different type of thought and planning) therefore not only am I not making enough money, I feel like shit about it. If I had an out of the home job, I honestly don't know if I'd still HAVE it at this point, with how the last six months have been.


Writing at Romper gave me an unhealthy desire to use GIF's on my blog. I am so sorry.


My ass's refusal to get to Beyonce level heights, and the fact that I am 41 and think about such things. I am vain. I am a vain white woman with a pretty hot ass, but will my brain be happy with that? We know the answer. How can one person think about both her ass shape in comparison to some cultural demigod in the same day she worries about the psychological effects of solitary confinement on the brains of human beings and spends an hour reading through a study of ancient Egyptian burial techniques?

My husband's stress levels. Too high. Hot damn. Police and the fireman. He's been working 60 hour weeks, too.

My upcoming MRI or colonoscopy to see what this thing is that is probably/hopefully/maybe endometriosis related. Fear.


If you are still reading, I am sorry. Not TOO sorry, because you know, free will, man, free will.*

* (bonus points if you name the movie that quote comes from)

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Beautiful Ugly People

Mr. Curry and I had such a ribald night last weekend. We got smashed on Jack Daniels, rolled around on a sheepskin rug naked in front of the fireplace, watched a bad movie, fell into one of those trance-like states of lust/love that is still possible, when the dead leaves and frost cover fall away from the days,when Grandma takes the kids, when we are alone for long enough to be still and silent together. It's not politically correct to say that when I'm with Mr. Curry is the only time I feel completely, totally at ease, but it's true. He's it for me. We have a shared experience, or a shared consciousness of the world, that I've never known with any other person. It's incredible. It's also made balance more difficult, but now rounding the bend of our 13th year of marriage, we are getting better at it. We see things coming down the road, we don't have to wait for the headlights to blind us before we're hit. There is acceptance, there is resilience, there is a maturity that allows for emotional discipline, part of which has been fashioned under the gaze of four sets of eyes, our children. The man has seen my intestines, piled glisteningly on my abdomen, when the doctor signaled for him to look too soon during my C-Section. He's wiped my ass, after my last two surgeries. He's cradled me as I bled our 13 week baby out. While I try to maintain some mystery, for fun, at the heart and soul of our relationship there are two aging bodies and souls that completely accept each other's failures, sags and moans, while celebrating all the beautiful. I was so smart to marry my best friend, and so lucky that passion came with it, that romantic love was a seed that grew into this. Our lives together have been hard. Financially, mentally, physically, hard. We've had incredible breaks, and some great luck, but by and large it's been he and I, waking each morning and deciding 'Today, here I am, and here I'll stay', working and working and working to be better than we were the day before, more true to ourselves and our values, more generous, forgiving, hopeful and tender. Out of that shared devotion to our family life has come a tremendous mutual respect that continues to grow. It is one of the best gifts of my marriage. Along with amazing, mind-blowing sex. That, too. Oh, and our kids. Those guys.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Writer Path Retreat

Martha Alderson and Jordan Rosenfeld, co-founders of WriterPath Retreats and co-authors of Writing Deep Scenes: Plotting Your Story through Action, Emotion and Theme, are thrilled to invite you to their bi-annual retreats. 

Spring writing and yoga retreats allow you to deepen the plot and scene writing of your stories in 3 days. Every Fall, renew and transform your relationship with your writing and yourself in our stunning settings on the central coast of California.

or their Facebook page 

Sunday, January 31, 2016

The Focal Point

The terrible thing about depression is the stagnation. It's not pain. It's emptiness. It's not a cancer. It's a void. An ever expanding void, like our universe. One of the worst existential crisis I ever had was brought on by a physics book, which discussed primarily the topic of what is 'real' and what is not 'real', ultimately coming to the conclusion (one that I felt as a child) that almost nothing– including our entire earth and existence– is real, because what is real never changes despite the perspective it is viewed from.

Many things are mirages, we know this. The light that is gone when you turn your head to see it, the shimmering in the air that defies your grasping fingers, the water that slips through your hands, the certainties you had (if you had any) that one by one were proven uncertain, after all. 

There is a light and it never goes out... those lyrics, so beautiful and haunting, so untrue. All lights go out. All days end. All things alive, die. 

What comes to me is that depression is a long drawn in breath, held. A pause without tapping feet or nervous fumbling. Depression can be a teacher. It can also kill you, maim you, I know. I know. And, it can also teach. It can also allow for accumulation without expansion of energy. It can allow for subconscious creation. Underneath the frozen surface. Depression is pain, then, after all, but not pain as we think of it, a different kind of pain. The pain of disconnection, the worst kind of pain, the pain of lack: lack of love, lack of compassion, lack of emotion, lack of new thought, lack of response, lack of engagement, lack of connectivity. It is the pain of disconnection from what makes us human. It is the pain that lies behind pain, past when you stop screaming, into the heart of the moment when you go into shock, when what is horrible is suffuse and emboldened and unstoppable, and therefore no longer piercing or alive with shrieking, but silent and awesome and cruelly devoid– the way the idea of God can feel, when you are depressed. This kind of pain, depression, holds the end to spirit, but also, it can teach, if you are lucky enough, if you come out of it, if there is someone or something waiting for you on the side of the living important enough for you to train your eye there. A focus spot, they call it when you are in labor. I remember pushing Dakota out, screaming, begging for the pain of transition to be over, and my mother and her friend asking for me to focus, focus on something besides the pain. To have other people reminding you of your humanity when you cannot know it, to have something reminding you that you are not dead when you are burying yourself, these things are blessings. I have been blessed. I offer this blessing.

I'm starting to emerge from this amputated state, and the unbearable part of this is the awareness of the suffering in the world around me. The awareness of pain, so fine, so acute, so sensitized, that the clumsy banging of an over-sized grasshopper into the concrete walls of a shopping center brings tears to my eyes. This grasshopper, he only lives once. One life, one consciousness, mostly completely unknown and unregarded, her life, and all she desires is the plants, the green of grass and the naked heat of dirt expanding and rising underneath the undulating of worms. And she finds concrete walls. It's incredible, the cages we build when trying to build ladders.

It's raining today. I am safe, and loved, and lucky as hell in many respects. I think about my children as I breathe. I love them as I exist, unconsciously and consciously, with every cell of my body in unison toward this end. Love is an end to itself. I think about my family, my husband. I think about what I can do to help everyone and everything that crosses my path. I think about things until I fold, sag, relent, and then I can think no more. Hibernation. January. Focus. Love.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Lola and I Vlog Together


Lola and I have started a new Vlog series where we talk freely as mother and teen.

Watch it here.

Friday, January 15, 2016


This is Katie, Dakota's 10 week old King Charles spaniel, with Everkins. We babysat the dog for a whole day and Ever was in heaven– they are adorable together. Ever's only known our large dogs, so she's finding the little one more like a playmate and less like a protector. 

Depression has joined the fork in the river of anxiety, and now I am in the stagnant eddy of both. I'm going to begin progesterone, biodentical cream and see if that helps before I let my psych. add anything else to the Zoloft I already take. Since I have Stage 4 endometriosis, there is a large chance this could help me in general, and since I am 41, it might help me specifically with mood as well.

I am finding the show Transparent to be transforming. I think it is exquisite, like a Philip Roth novel. The opening alone moves me to brimming tears. 

Monday, January 11, 2016

Goodnight, David Bowie, Goodnight, Car

Unable to sleep, watching Transparent with a heating pad on my back and two cats on my stomach, rising at midnight for GMO free chips and a Trader Joe's dip, diet ginger ale; trying to force the fatigue, I turned off Transparent to take a quick look at Facebook before reading and saw that David Bowie died. I have a hard time of letting go of anything that has hung around for long enough, clutter, boyfriends, workmates I don't even really like. When a musician or an actor or a poet or a novelist or an artist dies that has been in and out of my life for most of my life, then part of the story of my life has died. We die a million deaths before we die, just as we live a million moments. David Bowie wasn't my favorite artist, or even one of my favorites, but he was always there, and always a joy to watch and hear, so talented, fierce, unique. 

My mom just bought a new used car for us. I'm 41 and my mom bought me a new used car. It is what it is. We are very lucky to have that kind of support, and we aren't the kind of people who feel demeaned in accepting it. My mom will receive the same as she ages, as my children will as Ed and I age. We only have (had) one car: a black small jeep-ish car where the air conditioner no longer works, the CD player only works if you insert the CD eight times, and there are five holes in various parts of the engine so that the mechanic- an old friend of mine whom I trust- said it would cost three times as much as the car is worth to repair. So we've driven this small black car around town for the last year or more, while it steadily steams and hisses and jolts and leaks oil, and Ed has ridden his bike to work. We have had a very good attitude about this, being faced with much worse in the past, and currently. However, it has sucked. In order to go anywhere on the freeway, we'd have to borrow a car from someone, which did feel demeaning. We turned down many invitations because of our car situation. Instead, we now have a new used 2010 Chevy Equinox in a beautiful darkish blue sitting in our garage, and Ed parked our old beat up car down the street, off our cul-de-sac, as if it were a disobedient child who we have finally grown tired of and put into a long time-out. 

But I miss that car.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

My Life In 12 Words

I was going to tell you something but now I'm too tired.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Life Is Stranger Than Fiction

so i finished my novel about a woman having a nervous breakdown and had a nervous breakdown.

more later on that.

for now,
it's simplified.
it is:
no this, no that: caffeine, sugar, self sabotage and self harm in the form of pleasure that is really, yes you guessed it, self sabotage and self harm. 
my children
less Facebook 
working a little
writing even less
eating good clean foods
taking my vitamins

recognizing the child in me that confuses discipline with obedience

and my husband, love of my life, best friend, who has taken care of me in the most intimate ways possibly both physically and emotionally.

and my children. my children. my children.

i continue to be as kind as possible to every person i come in contact with.
i put my heart into my eyes when i look at a person, so they feel love.
i smile.
i listen when i do and do not want to because people need to be heard.
and i pray.

Ian is 19. Dakota is 21. I've been blogging since 2008.

Lola is 13.

Ever is 4. She will be 5 December 2nd.

"Hello, hello, is there anybody out there? Just nod if you can hear there anyone at home?"