All that, and more

You might have noticed: I haven't been here much lately.

I started this blog back in the year of our lord just-got-divorced-and-need-to-figure-that-out. I started it as a sort of whispering out into the nothing, rather than a bottling everything up. And it helped a lot. And what do you know, the nothing turned out not to be nothing after all. I met so many astonishingly lovely other whisperers.

The Blog Whisperers! On CBS! I think it could work!

As with all my good intentions, my posting here has become somewhat...spotty? Yeah, let's go with spotty. It isn't that I'm not writing, or venting, or even social networking (Facebook, you crack pipe, I'm talking about you). It's just...

Here's the deal, or as close as I can come to it. I started this blog because my heart was broken, and I didn't know where to put it while I tried to piece it back together. My hands were full, you see.

My hands are still full, believe you me. Probably fuller, all things considered. I own my own business now. I'm a few weeks away from finishing a novel, which I (not unlike that matchmaker from "Fiddler on the Roof") will then schlep around, trying to hook it up with its one true love: some nice man or woman who will have it and hold it and make an honest book of it. I'm the full-time breadwinner of a family of four and full-time everything-person of two small humans who, despite what they've been through, are still wildly amazing, growing, thriving little people.

So now the small era of my life that signaled the interim between "married" and "widowed"--if I get to call it that, and you know what, I think I do--has ended, and so too, I think, must this little blip of anonymity that helped me get through it. I think it's time to let this particular blog to go to God (as we say when we found something unidentifiable in the back of the fridge), or wherever it needs to go, along with that particular piece of my life. That seems best, don't you think?

So, thank you for stopping by, and thank you for being lovely, you marvelous crazy nuts you. If you and I have already made our acquaintances (i.e., you know my real name), I'm on Facebook (and God help me, Twitter--it's mostly useless just now, but then someone once said that about the Blogs). I'm also in the process of starting another blog, the contents of which might or might not resemble the types of things I wrote here. I will probably keep stalking some of the people you see listed over to the left. (Thought you were going to get out of that one, didn't you?) If you want to know where to find me, email me. I'll keep that address open.

Oh, and Dr. B? Peeps are still NASTY. Some things, my dears, will never change.

xoxoxo and Namaste,
PK

America, the Universe, Sweet Baby Jesus...

...THANK YOU!!!!!

OMG. I am so, so relieved and thrilled and just verklempt. After much sorrow, rejoicing.

Smoochies!
PK

Go VOTE!

Tomorrow will either be the happiest or saddest birthday EVER.

Go vote. Give me a happy birthday. Dammit, I deserve it.

A telling question

Who would you rather your 13-year old daughter listen to: (Old School) Britney or (Any School) Pink?

You betcha there's a right answer.

Things that are distressing me...

...in no particular order:
1) The fact that one of the insurance policies, which the company assured me would pay, is not going to pay.
2) The fact that #1 bothers me as much as it does. It's just effing money, for Pete's sake.
3) The idea the McCain could actually become president. Dear God. I honestly don't think I could take that.
4) My son's mental health.
5) My fat ass.
6) My hair. Seriously. I know. Shallow.
7) My inability to chill the fuck out.

Chupacabra

You know what makes me happy? The Chupacabra.
Seriously.
I am going to try and work the Chupacabra into everything I write from now on. Because there is just nothing better than a goat-sucking monster.

Funny

Today, the Girl stood in the middle of the kitchen and screamed at the top of her lungs, full of righteous indignation:
"QUIT YELLING AT MEEEEEEEE!!!!!"

Which was sort of funny seeing as how, you know, I wasn't yelling at the time.

A tip: Don't laugh at indignant 5-year-olds. Oh, the tears! The recrimination! It wasn't funny! Laughing at her IS. NOT. FUNNY!

Ah, but honey. It's the laughing at the not-funny stuff that gets you through life.

I would have tried to tell her that, but she was sort of busy threatening to poke me in the butt with her miniature American flag. I think there's some sort of message there, mayhaps?

Things are going. We're sifting through the business of death. The Boy punched a kid at school last week. The kids are taking ice skating lessons. I swear to God that I heard their father come in the house last week, in the middle of the day, while I was typing away on some job. I actually heard the door open, and I heard him call out "Hellooo?" in this funny way he used to do. I nearly answered, then I stopped, then I really stopped. Then I answered anyway. Nobody answered back.

I want to thank everyone who has sent us kindness--kind thoughts, kind words, kind deeds. It's odd to me that I started this stupid blog as a sort of self-motivating journal to get through some of the harshest emotions after my marriage fell apart. And now it's like I don't know what to say. Probably because I'm not sure what to think. Or, I am very purposefully not thinking. Except for when I've planted my arse on Dr. Zen's comfy chair. I think a bit then. Then I go sneak a cigarette and quit thinking for another week.

I guess that's okay, too.

I'll loan you mine

Missing

I suddenly had the most intense longing for a Sears catalogue. You remember those? The giant tomes that used to come in the mail? I'd spend hours and hours and days and months pouring over them, cutting out pictures, wishing for things.

I want one so badly, I could just cry.

I may be avoiding missing other things. Possibly.

Arrangements have been completed. If you're local and would like to attend the memorial service or wake and need information, please feel free to email me.

Wasted

I don't know how to say this, so I probably won't. The thing that I was afraid of happening happened today.

I don't know what to say. There isn't really anything to say.

If you're the praying type, say a prayer for my kids. If you aren't, I'd still appreciate you doing whatever it is you do.

I might be a while. I don't know.

PK

Anyone? Anyone?

I'm debating whether I can turn this blog into a pseudonymous creation. Well, it is already, I guess. What I mean is, can I clean up some of the old posts--switch them to draft status--and commence to using this space as the blog for a more precise pseudonym, attaching it to my pen name?

I've had the "no Google" code on this site for a while, so I hope that many of the posts I would want to remove from public view would not be available in cached form, either.

I just don't think I have the gumption (or the time) to manage *another* blog. I already have a double life on Facebook, where my actual profile and my writing pseudonym's profile are friends. (It's good to be your own friend.) But I don't think I can just transfer this puppy over wholesale, as there are some posts that might either jeopardize the privacy of people I care about or be frowned upon in posts by someone marketing writing to children/young adults (who theoretically would find their way here).

Thoughts? Anyone else handle something similar?

Mental illness sucks

It sucks to watch somebody you care about being destroyed, and know that there really isn't a damned thing you can do about it. It sucks to realize that you need to remove yourself emotionally so that you will be ready to deal with the things you'll need to deal with if they kill themselves, which they've threatened to do not once, but multiple, multiple times. It really sucks when you've watched the person honestly try to get better, and nothing seems to help.

It just sucks.

Can't this wait 6 years? (or: My Internal Dialogue)

"Katie dumped me."

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry." [Dude, you're 8. EIGHT! I am not ready to deal with the hussies. Aren't you supposed to be out eating worms or something?]

"M said he heard her talking to another boy. She told him she likes him, so she was going to dump me, and then she did."

"Well, I know your feelings are probably hurt..." [HUSSY!]

"Yeah..."

"And I just have to tell you...even though you know you're only 8, and you're not old enough to really have a 'girlfriend'..." [Especially not one who's a HUSSY!!!]

"Yeah..."

"I do think that was pretty uncool. She sounds awfully fickle. I don't think she was good enough for you." [Little hussy.]

"You're right. When she dumped me, I was going to tell her, "You are SO immature," 'cause I knew that would really make her mad, 'cause you told me about that, remember? But then I didn't, because I decided it would be mean, and I was too good for that."

"Wow." [WOW.]

Reminders

Overheard coming from my lips and following the Boy down the street the other afternoon:

"Have fun!
.
.
.
And remember your phone!
.
.
.
And remember your bike helmet!
.
.
.
And be back in an hour!
.
.
.
AND DON'T PLAY WITH DEAD THINGS!!!!"

Prepare for Awesomeness

So the kids and I went to see "Kung Fu Panda" this afternoon. I haven't said much about it here and probably won't, but I'm keeping them for all overnights now. They did get to spend some time with their dad this week--he had them over for dinner and then a few hours before bed, plus half the day Saturday--but for now, they're sleeping over here every night.

The Boy is also going through some potentially big changes. Part of it is probably just growing up, getting older and understanding things a little better. He's also taking a second round of a social skills class at the local university, and I think he really is getting some good from it. I've also got him back seeing his therapist a few times a month, so that he can hopefully build more skills for handling the stressful stuff in his life. I think all these things work together, little pieces of a bigger puzzle that makes a picture of a person handling life well or losing his or her shit. I would be remiss, though, if I didn't reveal this piece over here in the corner: He's on medication again.

We tried that back in kindergarten...and wow. That experience is in the archives somewhere. Well, this year, we decided to try again and see what happened. That decision was based on feedback and discussions from him, about how he was feeling in school, with other kids. He tried a typical ADHD medication, and it seemed to help with focus a bit, but not with his moodiness or low-frustration level. We tried a Tourette's medication, but it just made him tired, which made him more moody. Then a few things happened, and what I can say is that it brought up the possibility that we had a hyper-sensitive kid who was suffering from anxiety and stress and--yep--depression. So after much soul-searching and many discussions with his (truly excellent) psychiatrist, we broke out the Zoloft.

Now, this is the teeniest, tiniest amount of Zoloft ever. But interestingly, after 3 weeks, I'm seeing a change. At least I think I am. I'm a little reluctant to call it too quickly, but I swear that he's been less moody this week, and even more organized and agreeable.

I didn't make this decision because I want my kid to be perfect or benign or anything like that. But I remember what it felt like when I was suffering from acute depression. I remember what it felt like to get help for that. He's still an 8-year old boy, and he's still bouncing off the walls and arguing with his sister and getting into all sorts of mischief with his friends and trying to talk me into whatever he wants to talk me into. It's just that I'm starting to see a kid who isn't always on the verge of losing his shit. And that makes me happy.

And I don't know what this has to do with Kung Fu Panda, really, except that it WAS the most Awesome movie Ever. We were indeed blinded by its awesomeness. Plus, I sort of secretly love Jack Black.

Yeeeeaaahooowwwww!

Just a gigolo

Flea's recap of the Police concert that Orange and she attended reminded me that I meant to recap this:

When Jeannie and I went to the same concert last year, I got the Boy all riled up about the Police. How awesome they were! Message in a Friggin' Bottle!

So when Roxanne came on the radio the other day, I cranked it up. "It's the Police!" I told him.

After a minute: "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"What's this song about, exactly?"

Er.

"Well," I said, "it's a guy singing to his girlfriend."

"Yeah, but about what?"

"And her name is Roxanne."

"Yeah, but what's he saying to her?"

"He doesn't like her job."

"Oh." Then, "What's her job?"

Oy vey. "Well...she dates people."

The voice from the back seat pitches up a notch. "She dates people? For money? That's her job?"

"Yes. And that makes her boyfriend feel jealous, and he wants her to stop. Because that job is pretty much frowned upon. Not to mention illegal in all but one state."

"And she gets money. For going on dates."

"Yes."

Pause.

"How much money?"

Uh, not the point, kid.

"Which state thinks it's okay?"

"Nevada."

Pause.

"I'M GONNA MOVE TO NEVADA WHEN I GROW UP! I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT JOB, MOM!!!"

World weary

So we're at the park and we see three women--probably high school or or college age--go by on bikes. They're wearing bikinis, towels draped around their shoulders.

The Boy's got eyes like saucers.

"Why are those teenage girls riding their bikes in their swimsuits?" he asks.

"Good question," I say.

"I bet they're on their way to the pool."

"Probably."

"Or," he says, with confidence, "or, they want people to pay attention to them."

"It's a good bet," I say.

"Why would they want people to notice them?" he asks. Then he answers his own question: "They probably want people to buy what they're selling."

"Oh?" This is an interesting theory, though I'm not sure I like where it's going. "And what do you think they're selling?"

"Teenager stuff. Like Teenage Blower Machines."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Teenage Blower Machines. That blow smoke rings. For teenager parties. They have those at all the teenager parties."

Indeed.


Oh, and this one.

allrighty then

I don't think I sat on this one long enough. I'd cut two lines and two words if I could.

And while you're there, read this one. Isn't it lovely?!

The kitchen sink

I'm thinking back to when I started blogging and how conscientious I was about posting regularly, leaving comments on other blogs, and lord. I do so suck now.

But you know what I'm doing? I'm writing a book. For really and truly. And it's kind of awesome. (Not the book, necessarily, but the writing of it.)

What will become of it? Who knows. Does it matter? All I know is this: That feeling I've had for the past 10 years, that feeling like you get when you leave for vacation and you think, "Crap. Did I leave the stove on? I bet I left the stove on. No, not the stove. What then? What did I not do? What what what?"

It's gone.

We're staying afloat so far with the freelancing, which is just fine, considering that it's only 6 months in and that I'm pretty much supporting four people with only a fairly modest amount of child support. I've had a few pieces published here and there. I have picked up several writing jobs and some new editing clients. I may have an opportunity to return to full-time work, and I may take it, but who knows?

I haven't been very good about writing here, because I'm writing not here. And I'm trying to decide how to handle the necessity of blogging as a writer. Do I disappear and suddenly pop up somewhere else, living out my bloggy life under a new name, like a virtual Elvis? With less sparkle, of course. Do I manage two blogs? Should I point from here to things I'm writing (which as of now are also under pseudonyms so wouldn't likely threaten my anonymity, but would make it likely that people could trail back here)?

So these are the things I think about, and then I think about the stack of editing waiting for me and that damned first draft that is waiting to be finished. And I wonder how everyone is and I try to catch up reading a few blogs but don't have time to leave comments or write here and that's a little bit of what's happening and why things are quiet.

Just so you know.