Playing with Myself

So here I am again, with a shiny new blog.

Well, the essential design has been used before. I am definitely better at recycling than preserving. Do I have full backups of my previous Movable Type blogs? No. Can I easily import my Livejournal entries here? No. Wordpress backup? Don't make me laugh.

So it's shiny... and empty.

A few words as to how I got here seem appropriate. One day my psychotic mother was impregnated by someone who was probably (possibly) my father... wait, that's not it. Or maybe it is. I'm good at blaming my mother for various neuroses. It's not her fault that the last few years have been unpleasant, because I stopped talking to her well before that. Not about her, of course. I haven't had much luck with therapy.

Anyway, in 2001 I had a final verbal confrontation with the maternal non-parental and chose a wee mental breakdown as a chaser. My doctor prescribed Prozac, and it seemed to help. I still dropped out of grad school when I was ABD ("If only you'd finish that 'paper'!" my father laments) and decided to get a real job. There was temping (definitely not a real job), job by nepotism (oh sure, I was definitely the most qualified candidate and let's not forget the "recommendation" from the graduate school department chair about how I would no doubt get this nonsense out of my system soon), and finally -- unexpectedly -- a job in the business world. History majors of the world rejoice; there is life after grad school.

That Prozac wasn't cutting it, though. I was in physical pain a lot, and inflicting a good deal of psychic pain on my friends with the mood swings, neediness, jealousy, paranoia.... Doctor #2 switched me from Prozac to Wellbutrin.

Within two weeks, I was sitting in the basement trying not to cry audibly and contemplating ways of killing myself. I had it all planned out. I just needed to write the damn will.

I still had enough of a grasp on reality to call my doctor's office and let them know about the unexpected side effect. Two messages and a not very coherent discussion with a nurse later, and one morning the doctor called me at work to let me know that she could "no longer deal with [my] mood swings" and that I should seek treatment elsewhere.

I did what any reasonable person would do, I suppose. I went to my friendly local Human Resources representative's office, closed the door, and burst into tears. She drove me to a mental health center. They tried very hard to convince me to commit myself. Very hard. I withstood their cogent arguments by beating my head on the table rhythmically.

I probably should have said yes, oui? Ah well.

A psychiatrist finally saw me, took a history, and pronounce a verdict -- I was bipolar. Manic depressive. Oil, that is. Texas tea.

Most days I believe her. Some days I'm not sure. But the not being sure also makes me believe her. And her treatment has been far more effective than my previous quacks.

In the last few months, I have had to face a number of truths. I used to blog because my friends were mostly made online and scattered about the country; blogging was a way to keep up to date and active in their lives.

For the most part, I don't have those friends anymore. I take responsibility for my own mistakes, but it is fair to say that when I lost part of the old crowd, I lost them all. I'm her now, the one about whom we used to say, "Have you heard..." and "What a mess she is..." and remember, with some bewilderment, the good times.

I can't read Livejournal. It makes my chest hurt because of what I miss.

There are good things, though. I'm rebuilding.

I'm closer to my sister than I've ever felt in my life.

I've tracked down two close friends from high school, and have made tentative "getting to reknow you" gestures.

I'm valued at my job.

I have my SO, Mr. G, whose neuroses complement my own so well that we are too fucked up for anyone else. And we love each other all the more because of it.

I have the kids, foster and adopted, with whooshing tails and sloppy wet kisses and purrs and insistent paws scratching, who always forgive me for being the worst person in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, I have the words.

So blog on.

Watching: Dead Like Me
Listening: Indigo Girls
Being: Scared, a little lost

It was hard losing Alex, Dana & Georgia so quickly and so close together. Beyond hard. Miserable. Please don't let your cats be outside kitties. Feline leukemia is terrible.

We have been tossing around the idea of getting a couple of new kittens for the past two months but summer time is a bad time to establish regular routines, and Border Collies, psychoSpaniels, bipolarMommies, and new babies need routine. Now that Mr G is firmly grounded in town -- no more conferences or conventions because he has to get ready for the beginning of the semester -- we thought it was time to see who was out there waiting for us. Boy, did we luck out. Meet Selena, Lily, and Harley. Selena & Harley are from the same litter, and are probably about 4 months old. Lily, who was fostered with them, is about a month younger. I will have better pictures as soon as we get a new battery for the digital camera. The Bat Girls are nonstop action and purring. Lily is much more shy (unlike her namesake Lily Rowan), but she is elegant and smart. And definitely hard to catch, so the name fits.

Oh, the dogs can't wait until the kittens are brave enough to come upstairs! DoggieTV is playing the all kitten channel these days.

On a completely unrelated note, I have several things that I absolutely need to get in the mail this week as they have been hanging over my head like the proverbial rain clouds. The package that bothers me most is the one I need to send to a former friend, containing what's left of her things at my house. It's appropriate, I suppose, that the end of our friendship became so akin to the breakup of a really dysfunctional relationship. I love her so much and think of her often, but we never could find a middle ground between her need for distance and my fear of abandonment. We made a lot of mistakes. As for her things -- book, CD, and the like -- I am torn because I have presents that I bought for her at various times throughout the year, saving for birthday or Christmas. I could give them to someone else, but it feels wrong because I bought them for her. On the other hand, it's pretty damn stalkerish to send a bunch of crap that might trouble her. Now that I think about it, though, she did the same to me before I finally pushed the issue and we chose not to try and work it out -- a present dump of things she had collected that reminded me of her. I guess a note freeing her to do whatever she wants with them (not that she wouldn't) will do the trick, getting the stuff out of my house and exorcising those demons.

Speaking of which, someone at work offered me an exorcism. She didn't use those words, of course. It was more, "You've got a spirit of anger in ya girl," and an offer to "lay hands on me". Life just keeps getting funnier.

Watching: Foyle's War
Listening: Everclear
Being: Tired

Friday iPod Random Ten:

1. Josette's Theme by Robert Colbert
2. I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better by Tom Petty
3. Synchronicity I by The Police
4. I Kissed A Girl by Jill Sobule
5. Treehouse of Horror V (Medley) from The Simpsons
6. Straight Gold Player by Lenny Kravitz
7. The Grass is Blue by Dolly Parton & Alison Krauss
8. Small Town by John Mellencamp
9. Queen of Hearts by Juice Newton
10. Black & White by Sarah McLachlan

Wow, kind of... easy listening-ish.

I need a nap.

In answer to the Snarkland question of the week, I got the scar from being attacked by a rabid piece of pepperoni pizza. Yes, I fought the pizza pie and the pizza pie won. It was summertime, see, and I was young (maybe 12, but I don't think much older) and wearing the kind of short shorts I don't wear anymore. Hell, I couldn't get into them any more. Well maybe my ass could, but the potbelly couldn't. So I'm at a pizzeria with some "friends" (read: the lady my mother dumped me on, because she had summer custody, and the lady's kids) and out comes the pizza, piping hot and steaming. The pepperoni was curled nicely, specks of oil doing the mamba on its edges. I retrieve a piece from the deep crust pan and, instead of landing on my plate as intended, the slice ends up on my bare leg. Or rather down. Pepperoni side down. By the time anyone realized what had happened, I was blistering. I remember the drive to the hospital as one long, piercing howl. From my lungs, not a siren.

You can't really see my pepperoni scars anymore. I have worse in other places. But it's still my favorite scar story because it is so typically moi.

Mr G and I celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary yesterday. My high school reunion, if there was such a thing and if I was going which I wouldn't, would have been 15 years this summer. It's funny -- never in a million years is this where I would have imagined ending up, but there is nobody I would rather be with while I do it.

For Tuesday, it's

10 Things I Hate Doing

1. Going to family reunions (I love you, but...)
   
2. Trying to fall asleep without the tv on (yes, I realize there is probably some deep psychological significance to this)
   
3. Returning books to the library unread
   
4. Trying to sleep with a growling Spaniel on my head (two sleep-related issues is two too many)
   
5. Listening to anybody defend bigotry or Shrub
   
6. Trying to decide whether any given action/feeling is "me" or the manic depression
   
7. Putting away laundry
   
8. "Socializing" a cat who doesn't want to be socialized
   
9. Wearing socks
   
10. Answering the phone
    

Reading: a phenomenally boring Insurance Law textbook
Listening: "Another Day" by Papas Fritas
Being: Unproductive

Booking Through Thursday

1. Do you enjoy books that have cooking or eating scenes in them?


2. Have you made or eaten anything that was inspired by a recipe or scene in a non-cooking book?

I must admit, however, that I have quit reading the Diane Mott Davidson series of mysteries because I find that the interjection of the recipes jars the flow of the narrative. Compare it against a Rex Stout mystery, for example, where there is a great deal of discussion about food but it runs naturally through the narrative. I don't dislike DMD's mysteries -- I just got tired of the "trick" of the format.

I wonder if cooking in mysteries has replaced the trope of drinking booze in a darkened room?

I am highly suggestible when it comes to food. Just say the word "pickle" and my mouth starts watering. I'm not sure if I have tried to duplicate a dish in a novel, but I've definitely been inspired to snack.

The dogs are also highly suggestible. Just say the word "book" and their mouths start watering.

Watching: Kidnapped and Studio 60 pilots from Netflix
Listening: "The Reflex" by Duran Duran
Thinking: The best way to save money is to not go anywhere

Friday iPod Random 10:

1. "Mother Father" by The Dave Matthews Band
2. "Le Passeur" by Wasis Diop
3. "I Wanna Be Your Man" by Sam Phillips
4. "Folsom Prison Blues" by Johnny Cash
5. "Promontory" by Trevor Jones (Last of the Mohicans)
6. "American Girl" by Tom Petty
7. "Some Days You Gotta Dance (Live)" by The Dixie Chicks
8. "Jealous Minds" by Robert Cray
9. "A Gypsy Incantation" by Anne Dudley (The 10th Kingdom)
10. "Love is Like a Butterfly" by Dolly Parton

Somewhere, I have a back-up of the random drabble generator. I think. Hopefully on the not quite dead yet laptop. Must check.

I'm also pondering a domain name for my Real Life stuff as, embarrassingly, I had to post some sample work for a recruiter and he couldn't access the site because his Net filter marked it as "adult" content. This is what you get for trying to conscientious about marking your fiction as NC-17 when in reality it is far less lascivious than anything in your average Nora Roberts. Nevermind that I haven't hosted fiction on my site in at least two years...

I wanted blackdog.net or blackdogs.net, but neither are available. Black dogs are notoriously hard to get adopted at shelters. For some reason, people don't think they are attractive. My other online personae are either too difficult for anyone but me to remember, or not terribly appropriate for job hunting.

Hmm. Suggestions welcome.

The Random Domain Generator yields:

bansheeeskimo.com
contemporaneoushandful.com
alkalineintricate.com
lurksyntax.com

and so on. Heee.

Name Boy suggested cageypagey. ::groan::

The Surrealist Domain Name Generator suggests:
utensilelfradio.net
rubbertoastersex.com
soaplovefurniture.org
tomatotomatowristwatch.com
culinarypickleangry.com

I do rather like "culinarypickle". Heh.

In reference to Joss Whedon's favorite 25 TV characters, I tried. I really tried. But I guarantee my list would be different tomorrow. So in no particular order:

1. Rube from Dead Like Me
2. Anya from Buffy
3. Eddie from Keen Eddie
4. Tegan from Doctor Who
5. Marguerite from The Lost World
6. Lucy from General Hospital
7. Emma Peel from The Avengers
8. Jack Bristow from Alias
9. Gregory House from House
10. Beverly Crusher from STTNG
11. Jacob/Selmak from Stargate SG-1
12. Maggie Evans from Dark Shadows (the Original)
13. Methos from Highlander
14. Trip from Enterprise
15. Abby from NCIS
16. Sam from The West Wing
17. Joe from Medium
18. Susan Ivanova from Babylon 5
19. Harley Quinn from Batman TAS
20. Mentok the Mindtaker from Harvey Birdman followed closely by
21. Myron Reducto from Harvey Birdman
22. Larry Fleinhardt from Numbers
23. Ed from Cowboy Bebop
24. Logan from Veronica Mars
25. GOB from Arrested Development

You know, once you start going it would be quite easy to make a longer list. But then I wouldn't be working on the things I should be working on.

Everybody think happy thoughts for Dr. DiG, who defended her dissertation last Wednesday, interviewed for a job on Thursday, got the job on Sunday, and is now hoping to be there for the beginning of classes on... tomorrow!

Tarye no lenger; toward thyn heritage
Hast on thy weye, and be of ryght good chere.
Go eche day onward on thy pylgrymage
-- from the infamous JL, for my friend

Courtesy of pages turned, the National Defense University's professional military reading list and links.

Naturally, the USAF link is broken.

Scratch and win with Cascade. Ooh baby.

I had a friend who used "Lalala" as her subject line whenever the email contained a discussion she didn't want to have, usually about how I had hurt her feelings in some way. I'm sure she didn't notice the coincidence.

Friday iPod Random 10:

1. Que Si Que No (Funiculi Funicula) by The Gipsy Kings
2. Over My Head (Cable Car) by The Fray
3. Jessie's Girl by Rick Springfield
4. The Wind Cries Mary by Jimi Hendrix
5. Just Another Movie by Timbuk 3
6. Colin Opens His Eyes (The Secret Garden) by Zbigniew Preisner
7. Rocket Man by Elton John
8. Live-In Skin by The Foo Fighters
9. Love Over Gold (Live) by Dire Straits
10. Shape of My Heart by Sting

Lots of (parenthetical) songs this week. Number 10 is just the salt in the wound. ::sigh::

I wonder if Twiggy, the Amazing Water-Skiing Squirrel gets teased by her squirrel friends. In my experience, squirrels fall in two categories: bossy and cocky. "You let them do WHAT to you?" Campus squirrels -- the ones who steal your lunch and tell you to like it -- would kick Twiggy's ass.

The Emmys continue to be as generic as ever. It was lovely to see Dick Clark, however. And the Angels. Sabrina was always my favorite on Charlie's Angels, and Kate Jackson continues to be a class act. I wish I had the Dark Shadows DVDs with her on them (even the ones where she wasn't allowed to say anything!). And I wish the two DS movies were out on DVD, since my tape of NoDS with Kate in it has never been returned after a loan.

Bitchbitch, moanmoan. Don't mind the crankiness, I've been up since 3 am.

In honor of teevee, Boy the Bear's TV Age Gauge. Who in the heck is Madylin Sweeten?

Ten on Tuesday: 10 Things You Think People Don't Like About You

1. I use sarcasm as a primary form of communication.
You mean everybody doesn't adore me?

2. I alternate between needy and dismissive with alacrity.
NB every relationship of significance in my life

3. I make you feel dumb by explaining something pedantic.
If only you knew that I feel dumber afterwards than you

4. I hold grudges.
It's true

5. My hair looks stupid.
If I don't like it, why should anyone else

6. I don't tell the truth.
Even when I'm telling the truth

7. I wear my scars as badges.
Buy a fucking crutch and move on

8. I don't keep the garden weeded.
At least I'm no worse for the property values than the stripper who used to live here

9. I don't smile.
That's just the way my face is shaped. Honestly.

10. I don't do my share.
That's true too

The water heater pilot light remains fickle. I suspect our house will blow up any day now.

Adjusting my medication last week was supposed to relieve me of the zombie curse under which I have been placed during waking hours. There is improvement, but on the whole it has not succeeded. Moreover, the nasty gastroenterological side effect that the original dose was suppressing has returned with a vengeance. I am so tired and sore that it aches to be upright.

I'm supposed to be working on two websites for other people but I haven't even managed to get pictures of the new kitties uploaded on my own site.

I don't know where the tape is with House's season finale on it. It would be nice to view the episode in its entirety before Tuesday.