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More, Please!

Things I’d like more of:

People having parties, the sound and smells wafting over to my porch. I’m not a party person, and I’d hate to be in there, but I love the alive-ness of people having a good time, and if it is not obnoxiously loud, their music. I got a whiff of pot and some good music earlier. I’m set!

To see more kids playing outside and walking together. Not going to happen in this town, sadly. Even the postwoman mentioned that she was happy to see my kids outside playing, and she was younger than me, not someone reminiscing about the glory days of the past.

Bees and butterflies. We have a bunch of hummingbirds and robins. A few squirrels, but not enough bees and butterflies. I planted for them too.

Hours in the day, or years to my life…sometimes. I want to do right here and now, but I wouldn’t mind more time to be independent and chase dreams.




Flowers. I try, but a lot hasn’t taken off here, and the drought is not helping. I sort of miss the automatic sprinklers of the old complex that we lived in. I miss my nasturtiums.


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Follow Up

spent they day in bed for the most part. Got in to the doctor, got labs done, back on the happy pills so I don’t implode. We got a plan for now. I’m not happy about getting back on, but all this hopeless exhaustion plus the sysiphian nature of parenting and housework is enough to bring out the dark thoughts.

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Imagine myself…

     I’m imagining myself doing a Whole30 diet. Basically an elimination diet, or anti-inflammation diet, which have been recommended by two functional medicine doctors when faced with my myriad of small problems, not big enough to be anything with a label. The Epstein Barr Virus, or EBV, did come up with the last set of labs as high (don’t ask me to explain, or dig through papers right now). That was the only validation I’ve ever had for my exhaustion. It’s not thyroid, not hormonal… I’m going to insist my regular doctor order me another EBV test, which I hope she will do, because I need to either shit or get off the pot with EBV at this point. Either I will be validated again as chronic, and I can start the EBV protocols again, as well as the diet changes, or I can gladly clear out half my supplements, and walk away.

     It was really nice to have something to blame, and hopefully it made sense to my family when trying to explain why I’m in bed all day or too tired to do “exciting” things, or keep the house clean. The state of my home is a daily confrontation. It’s humiliating and exhausting. Sometimes enraging, and sometimes it just sends me to my room to self medicate. I mean, give someone with very little energy and a low tolerance to stress a daily erupting volcano of laundry, dishes, dirt and dog hair, add to that monkey kids who hasten the explosion of shit. I have to admit that trying to get my kids to clean is sometimes exhausting in itself and I do give up. I do not have the fortitude that my step-mom had to enforce, and I have not mastered the shame inducing, look of daggers she could do.  Yesterday was mostly a good day. I ended up getting overwhelmed and frustrated with sitting in the sun and heat waiting for the kids to get out of the pool, which took several goes, and then getting into the car and being assaulted with loud crazy banter (one daughter has this sonic dying cow sound, and both tend to flail around a lot)….well, it put me over the edge, I cried the whole way home, and went to bed. Oh, I guess I should preface that situation with a good dose of chicken or the egg thinking while the kids swam:

“Am I depressed, why am I depressed, am I ill, why can’t I solve this, why is it so fucking hard to remember all my passwords to the online health websites, am I just so obese that I’m tired, is it nutritional, if I go back on meds will I mask this underlying health situation, am I ill because of my marital situation and that maybe I should not be a say at home mom–but how the fuck can I go back to work with no energy, why are all the seemingly progressive doctors and psychologist not taking insurance, why is it so intimidating to ask for appointments!?!?!?!?!?  Arghhhhh!”

I should have just read a novel instead of trying to book appointments and find doctors on a cel phone. In the sun. Bad choice. I was so exhausted before hitting the pool, I probably should have not gone, except I do need to get my kids moving.

So, imagine what a month of clean eating would do (not thinking about coffee, or trying to do this while cooking normal for everyone else)…Let’s imagine waking up without feeling hung over, going for some green tea, eating leftovers (because who the fuck is going to cook meat and veg in the morning, while hungry!? No!). Thankfully I like leftovers and soup. I imagine I’ll be prepping a lot of snacks and foods to be eaten for lunch and breakfast. I will become a meal planning, uber-food-blogger-super-mom. Eyeroll. That done, I will find myself with extra energy (I better fucking hope so!). Now what the fuck do I do with it? Art? Spend it all on cleaning this heap? Apply for a job? OK I have energy and no more moods effected by overeating bad foods, sort of like a snarling discomfort. Oooh, I can have people over! I can organize some neat things at the library or in town. Or a dog park BBQ event. I’d like that. It is really hard to imagine this because it’s been so long since I’ve done stuff, had money or freedom to do stuff… It’s also hard to imagine because I fucking love all sorts of foods, and for some reason I’ve eschewed people who’ve eaten differently (some have been “cooky”and that doesn’t help). I need to dismantle me preconceptions of people who eat differently and let it not be an issue. I’ll be whipped and humbled by this I’m sure. As I have been by every other thing I’ve ever said I’d never be/do.

This might be priority number one, because exhaustion makes me really depressed about my quality of life; I see no way to be better if I have no energy to change what bothers me. End me now then! Don’t let me be a weight that drags down my husband and kids, I’ve already drug down myself. My thoughts can get pretty bleak. When I do take advantage of a moment of having energy, I am a happy person. I love going out. I want more lifetimes.

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“The truth you believe and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.” ~ Pema Chodron

But I’m lost and a bit reluctant to stir the pot. I suppose each area of life can be approached differently, some with a leap and others with caution, or even acceptance. How do you begin? What comes first?



Household management? (Seriously!)

Relationships: familial, marital, social?


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Wow, my blog, has been so neglected. I don’t even know how or why I ended up with a ton of tumblr posts here, except I am glad to see beauty, it’s a good reminder.

I still need to retreat to my cave/sanctuary. Always.

I’m still “stuck” in family life. It is what I chose, and not knowing how to chose both (what ever the other is…), I am here. It would be better if I could full on embrace it. I know I look the part. Parenting and marriage, health and all that has stripped my character. I am plump/fat and that surely makes me look the mom part, right. I am not an evil or bad mom. I care for my children, I have a vague sense of what is needed, I let them do all the art they could possible want, and I love them. I wish I could just engage better, rather than trying to flee.

I am alone. It’s OK after years of apartment dwelling and all the ups and downs of neighbors knowing your business, and you knowing theirs. I do miss the ease of access to others, I am a very low energy person, so I appreciated the ease of walking out my door and going to see people. I made friends. Here, there is the dog park and my friend, who was my Step-mom’s best friend. It’s funny we ended up in the same town. She was my idol when I was a teenager. I loved her verve, and sailors mouth. We got on well and still do. The women I knew before were always busy–try arranging things between two moms with kids and all the schedules. It stinks. She has similar limitations being a caregiver to her “Mom”, the mother of her BF since high school (in Concord!). Cest le vie. The dog park is easy. I can talk or not talk. I haven’t made friendships that have led to coffee or anything, but I really enjoy talking with some of the regulars. I give up on soul mate friendship. Sort of. All I know is that it is hard nowadays. Dog park chit-chat is fine. Plus my house is usually a mess. It would take some full on trust and simpatico to have someone over.

I’m not exploring anything these days. No marital turmoil, or sexual identity issues, no drama. No religious epiphanies or gripes. Everything is what it is. I guess that is why I don’t blog that much. I have several half started diaries, but there is something abhorrent about writing in one. Maybe it’s fear I will put down everything I feel and want, and it will be found or read by my kids. Kids find everything, they are my keepers. Maybe it’s a little like putting to much negativity in one vulnerable space—-and I have no idea why blogging feels better. Maybe it’s because I censor myself a bit. Or even though I am writing, I am sending it to the universe, and I wouldn’t mind a response.

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Repetition 2

How does one live with and accept the choice you’ve made, because the alternative seems worse for others, and maybe oneself? It’s almost like choosing something sub-par, because it ultimately seems like doing the right thing. There are different types of positions to be in when making choices, and I can imagine how having health and energy, money, and no kids would change things. It’s very hard to make decisions with kids in the mix. For the record: it’s not all that miserable, I just feel boxed in, unfulfilled (community, friendships, intimately, etc). Actually that’s a lot of key areas.

Maybe it would be different if I felt like I could be myself, fully, without curtailing my thoughts, and potential activities, or friendships. It feels like I am to my husband, as I was to my step-mom–always worried about what they’ll think, not doing certain things I know will cause friction, not “being” anyway that causes friction. God help me be respectful, but also relearn to be myself. Let me stand for things that matter and let go of things that are detrimental.

If I could stand for who I am, and feel comfortable in my own house, what would that be like? Would I feel better? Would our relationship really collapse (I remember the friction cause by Sufism)? I’d like to feel better about being home and being in this relationship without causing anger or hatred. I want leeway, or times when I can loosen the reigns and not be questioned about things. Maybe these are red flags, and I’m not seeing them because of the kids and because it is not a “bad/violent” situation… Is this the situations worth the work? That’s what conclusion I came to several years ago when I wanted to leave, and didn’t for a few good reasons. Some were personal and “clear”  and some of them had to do with kids, poverty, and health barriers.



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