Abortion Versus Economy.

Yesterday, my cousin tagged me on a Facebook post that turned into a running debate about what was more important to voters, the economy or the abortion debate. First, I’d just like to say that I was pretty pleased that I was asked to back up my cousin. That really made my day and I was having a shitty day all day. The second thing I’m going to say is that, yeah, I’m going to talk politics for a bit.

Now, in specific, the commentary that ended up happening was that someone felt that all of us idiots who are talking about the abortion debate were in fact, massive idiots. I’m not going to directly quote here, but the gist was that we should be paying attention to the recession and we should be thinking about ways to actually fix said recession.

I’m not a huge history buff when it comes to the economy – talk about boring – but I know enough to know that most major recessions were generally fixed by the economic boom surrounding some type of war. We see it just in this century alone: prior to WWI we had a minor recession in 1913-1914. It started fixing on its own, fixed completely during WWI, and then we had a minor recession at the end of the war. (All of those people working for the war effort had nothing to do after that.) We see similar after the Great Depression. While FDR was doing an excellent job and boosting the economy prior to our entrance in WWII, it was really WII that set us back up again. If you look at all of the major war efforts during the 20th century that America has applied itself to, you see a recession, an economic boom, and then another recession. I’ll just leave this list of economic recessions in the United States here for anyone curious.

The thing is that I would definitely love to see the magical end to this current recession. I’m feeling it on two different fronts, in case no one was aware. I not only lost my job (because of bullshit) but I’m having a very difficult time in finding a job to replace said job. Part of that is because I’m looking for a specific salary, but also another large part is due to the fact that, you know, people who are hiring are looking for astronomical amounts of experience in the sectors I’m searching through. On the other front, TH works in the trade industry. Yes, he’s in the union but his father owns a small painting business. The recession is seriously effecting his work schedules and bids because people are under bidding what is a fair price (for a four to five man team) and doing shitty jobs in the mean time. (Here is a list of those employed in trades, which are less than 50% of all workers. And the outlook for job growth in the next ten years.) So, yes. When I say that I want to see the cure for the economy, I’m really not joking.

The thing is that I’ve long since realized that there is absolutely no quick fix for this current predicament. I believe we discovered similar issues in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Everyone would hear about how there needed to be fixes, but they were a long time coming. It’s just the way of the economy. It grows, it stagnates, it declines. We’re in a decline. I don’t like it anymore than anyone else, but I’m going to remind people who the average unemployment rate during the Depression was nearly 30% and we’re at less than 10% now. I realize that we can’t just work a magic wand and fix shit. It doesn’t work that way. It takes years of hard work from both those of us who are the work horses of this nation as well as good hard work for those in power. End of story.

So, why doesn’t this have more of a say in who I’m voting for than abortion? I should be angry and upset and want a fix, right! WRONG. I understand that shit doesn’t work like that. It takes hard work. It takes time. And switching to a new president with questionable economic practices under his belt? It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.

The reason why abortion has more say in who I vote for in November is because I am a human being who can make conscious and informed decisions about what does or does not happen to my body without the general consent of political douchebags who do not know me from Jane Doe. The thing that gets to me most about this whole thing is that a good selection of the males in power believe that I am too stupid to decide if the child I did not want lives in my uterus for nine months, without my consent. The thing about this is that I am not stupid. I am not ill-informed. And I am the only one who knows what is in my best interests. The men who run this country do not know what is best for me, an unemployed mother of one who can barely make ends meet as they are, and it will continue to stay that way.

Until I no longer have to write nasty letters to my congressman about things like the Blunt Amendment. Until I no longer have to worry about being bombed to death in a Planned Parenthood clinic. Until I no longer have to worry that people think I am too stupid to make a decision about what my body does or does not need at any given time, never mind what additions my life does or does not need at any given moment. Until any of those things stop (and a good bunch of others that I haven’t mentioned), the abortion debate is going to be pretty fucking important when it comes to who I do and do not vote for.

We won the suffrage movement. Let’s win the abortion movement.

Dreams, Again.

I’ve been debating all day whether I want to talk about the dream I had this morning. Since I’ve been thinking about it all day, the crispness of that dream has long since faded. However, the important parts are still with me. I have also wondered if it wouldn’t be more appropriate to put this in my spiritual blog. But, no. As much as I think some of this may end up pushing me in a religious direction, I think most if it has to do with the mundane, or that’s the feel of this anyway. So I will do my best to discuss that dream, since someone asked me to, and get to the stuff that was really interesting when I looked it all up this morning.

It starts off with TH, R, and I meeting up with TH’s cousin. This is also TH’s best friend and he just recently moved to Japan for an untold amount of time as a teacher of English. So, it was a little disconcerting to start off the dream with him flying back, considering the price and the whole fact that he’s not exactly made of money, to stop off in America so that we could all fly together to England for a family member’s wedding. And be “we” I mean the entire TH clan we have going on. That’s the parents and the aunts and uncles and all of the cousins. It’s pretty much everyone who gets together on Saturday nights and talks it up. So, that’s how my dream started. We were all meeting together so that we could go to someone else’s house to meet up with the rest of the family just so that we all could go to the airport together.

Now, TH is driving a black extended cab truck, which is what we take to meet up with the rest of his family at his mother’s house. Everywhere is the glint of snow. And by everywhere, I mean this is the snow storm pile up from my childhood. These are snow piles that are higher than my five-foot-three frame. These are snow banks made for forts and snowball fights. The entire area that we are in, which was not our hometown or where we live but a kind of representative pretty aspect that doesn’t really exist. We got into his truck and drove on down to his mother’s house. Now, this whole time I’m in a panic. I don’t fly. R has never flown. And apparently, I never actually packed anything for R and I to go to England. And I’m missing our passports, apparently. Hell, at one point, I don’t even know if R actually has a passport.

We get there and the whole family is boozing it up. It’s got the feel of the Christmas parties they throw, but it’s more frenetic.

TH and I are talking to his mother when I pull TH aside and tell him, in a panic, that nothing is done. I don’t know why, but it’s not done. R and I have to pack and we need to get our passports and I’m just flipping the fuck out. And TH very calmly tells me to go and do the things I need to. But, as I turn away and walk out the door to my car, his truck is gone and I know that TH is too. He’s just… gone. It’s like he’s disappeared, but I don’t worry about that. I’m too busy worrying about the passport business.

So, R and I get into the car and we’re driving. However, I get lost in a ghetto of some sort. The snow is gone and the roads are clear of everything. There are large white buildings on either side of the road, however, that are filled will who knows what. They’re old concrete buildings that have been white washed. My car starts making funny noises and bee-bopping all over the place when I have to pull over. I end up at one of the white buildings in a garage. R and I are holding hands very tightly, trying to find someone to help us. But there’s only two guys there and they frighten me. So, I start walking away when the police show up. “Put up your hands,” they say. At this point, R is hiding behind me and I try to explain to the cops that I am lost and that I’m not with these people, but they tell me to put up my hands and start moving towards me. This is when I woke up.

I can imagine how bad it may have gotten after that.

So, after waking up, I decided to pull out my handy-dandy dream dictionary. There were a lot of parts that really stuck with me, which hasn’t been the norm in dream land lately. I decided to look up the following words: “police,” “snow,” “truck,” “packing,” “passport,” “car,” “white,” and “ghetto.” I actually looked up a lot more than that, but I can’t actually remember all of the words that I ended up looking up. There were about fifteen of them, I believe. I will tell you this, though. Whatever words that I can’t recall that I looked up were just additions to the general theme of this dream, which I’ll get to in a minute. Just keep in mind that there was a theme to this dream and that the words I haven’t listed were just additions or back ups or spare lives to the theme of this dream. All of the definitions I looked up were entwined in some way.

First, I looked up snow since it was the first part of the dream that I remembered. “To see snow in your dream signifies your inhibitions, unexpressed emotions and feelings of frigidity. You need to release and express these emotions and inhibitions. Alternatively, snow means that you are feeling indifferent, alone and neglected.” In looking at this definition, I sat back and thought about my life. Yeah, it makes a lot of sense. The issue I’m seeing here is how much snow was on the ground. I wasn’t joking. It was taller than cars going down the street. It was huge. It was just… everywhere. So, this makes me think that the issues here (inhibitions, frigidity, unexpressed emotions, loneliness, and indifference) are a lot bigger than I have realized.

Then, I looked up truck. “To see a truck in your dream suggests that you are overworked. You are taking on too many tasks and are weighed down by all the responsibilities.” I can certainly attest that I feel, almost daily, weighed down by something. If it isn’t stuff to do with our insurance or my job hunt, then it probably has to do with R and the preschool situation. Maybe it has to do with all the stuff I have to do around the house or dealing with the dogs. Whatever it is, I can say that I feel overwhelmed by it all on a fairly regular basis.

I followed that up with packing. “To dream that you are packing signifies big changes ahead for you. You are putting past issues to rest or past relationships behind you. Alternatively, it represents the burdens that you carry.” Now, I wasn’t actually packing in the dream. I still had to pack. I had put it off for whatever reason – maybe I didn’t think we were actually going to go? So, this makes me think that the changes are coming and everything, but I keep putting them off because I don’t think the changes will be good for me or us or will actually happen. I’m not sure, but there’s something there that says I’m “on to something.” So, I guess we’ll just see.

Then, I looked up passport. “To dream that you lose your passport indicates that you are trying to find yourself and get a sense of who you are. Alternatively, the dream means that opportunities are closing off to you.” I’m not going to try and comment on that. I’m just going to leave that right there and let everyone else figure it out.

I followed this up with car. “To dream that you are driving a car denotes your ambition, your drive and your ability to navigate from one stage of your life to another. Consider how smooth or rough the car ride is. If you are driving the car, then you are taking an active role in the way your life is going. …Overall, this dream symbol is an indication of your dependence and degree of control you have on your life.” Considering that the car was starting to break down, I think this means that I always feel like something gets mucked up when I’m “on the road to the next stage” in my life. At least, that’s what it seems to feel like. And considering the feelings that I’ve been having all week, I think this is an adequate interpretation.

I then looked up white. “White represents purity, perfection, peace, innocence, dignity, cleanliness, awareness, and new beginnings. You may be experiencing a reawakening or have a fresh outlook on life. Alternatively, white refers to a clean, blank slate.” I’m not sure what this all has to do with anything, but it does work in somehow. I just haven’t figured it out yet. Since the color white ties into various portions of my dream – the sparkly white of the snow, the pure white color of various aspects to TH’s mother’s house, and the buildings I was driving through – this is kind of an all-purpose “fuck if I know” kind of thing. I know it has something important to do with this because I was, for once, actually dreaming in color and remembered that there were different colors in the dream. (No, I don’t usually dream in colors but sepia tones.) For example, my car was gray, as it normally is, and the truck TH was driving was black and the walls in TH’s mother’s house were the usual light tan color they are… So, since white was so prevalent all over the place, I know it’s important, but I don’t know if it’s because of a upcoming clean slate after shit gets bad (referencing the car thing) or if it’s a fresh outlook coming up.

Next came ghetto. “To dream that you are in a ghetto indicates that you are emotionally impoverished. You are lacking support or love. Alternatively, the dream may be a reflection of your actual living situation.” I’m just going to leave this here and let anyone else make a stab at it…

And finally, police. “The dream refers to failure in honoring your obligation and commitments. To dream that you are arrested by the police suggests that you feel sexually or emotionally restrained because of guilt. The dream may also be a metaphor that you are feeling apprehensive about something.” And I’ll also just leave that there to let someone else expound upon if they so desire.

So, it seems that if my dreams are trying to tell me anything it’s how I am doing emotionally, that changes are coming, and that I need to accept or otherwise. At least, that’s the general consensus I’ve gotten. It hasn’t helped that I’ve received two of the “change” cards when doing my daily Tarot this week (the Death card and the Wheel of Fortune card). All in all, an interesting dream if for no other reason than all of the stuff it seems to be telling me.

That Old Sinking Feeling.

I’m running. I’m running so hard and so fast, the pain in my chest is a burn. There are sharp shoots down my ribs and into my side. It’s more of a life-saving sprint. Ahead of me, is the cliff face. It’s ahead of me and I know that running towards it as though I’m trying to save my life will only end disastrously but I keep running forward. The cliff face is more like a great, tall brick wall. It is endless. It is my everything. I cannot see beyond this unforgiving face in front of me. Instead of mortar and bricks or rocky parapets where eagles nest, there are thorns and bones and knives and railroad spikes. I’m running so fast and so hard that I couldn’t stop in time even if I wanted to. I see the wall in front of me. I see it there, blocking my everything. I see it and I know that I have to veer just slightly to survive, but I find myself running so hard and so fast that tears leak out of my eyes. And those tears aren’t just for the inevitability that I face; the blah drone of forever bleakly laid out before me. Those tears are because I know I can’t stop myself.

Have you ever just looked around yourself and felt that old sinking feeling? They talk about it in books all the time. They usually talk about that feel in some poetic moment when the hero or heroine meets up with Mr Evil Inc. It’s that moment in the book when they know that something beyond horrible and frightening looms up before them, either in a moment of hopeless foreboding or seconds before they watch inevitable death. The authors all talk about that gut-sink and you instantly know what it feels like. You may not have had a moment like that in your life, but if the writer is good enough, then you know. If they do their job with just enough here and just enough there, then you can feel the gut-sink the second the hero or heroine does. It’s that moment, seconds before the Big Bad places a hand upon their shoulders or they walk into a room where their lover lays dead. Everyone who has ever read a book knows what I’m talking about.

But, the writers forget to mention that there are really two types of feelings here. It’s the moment of gut instinct where your gut drops out from beneath you because it cannot handle the surfeit knowledge of what is to come. That’s the one you read about in the horror novels that Stephen King writes or John Saul writes or Anne Rice writes. It’s all that stuff when your gut is intrinsically tied into your survival rate and if your stomach is powerful enough, you can live just another day. But they forget to mention that there is a cousin to this feeling and that is the heart-sink.

It’s that moment when you see an endless eternity of boredom or unchanging sameness come over you. It’s a moment kind of like deja vü. It’s there and then, the fleeting vertigo is gone. Instead of vertigo, though, you feel your heart drop in your chest just like your stomach can when you’re forced to listen to your instincts. It’s that moment when you look around and see that unchanging sameness all around you. That no matter what goals you have or what you do differently, it will always be eternally and boringly the same. The view won’t change. The circumstances aren’t going to be different. The way that things move and flow in your life will eternally be the same. And you’re stuck, like a vampire out of Dracula, in this same eternity. Instead of picking up sexy chicks to turn because you’re bored, you stick it out in the vain hope that something will let up and that something will change. That the circumstances will be hit with the fairy godmother’s magic wand and everything will be, mercifully, changed.

I had that heart-sink, you guys. I’ve had it before and I’m sure I’ll have it again. It’s the cycles. They’re breaking me. The same cycles. The same problems. The same issues. The same tears. Everything is just the same, the same, the same. I know that I have to change it. I know that I have to break the cycle. But it seems like the cycles go in larger spurts now. What was once almost a weekly thing is now a monthly thing. I know that it’s coming and I always think that if I can just do something a little different everything with revert to a state that I can handle regularly. But, instead, I see the futility ahead of me. I see the same lights and the same venue and the same arguments and the same goals. I see them all spread ahead of me like a buffet table and I see only the same choices over and over again.

Aerosmith is famous for putting this into vocals that matter. And I just can’t take anymore. And I’m gonna break. Something’s gotta give. Ain’t that the truth? Unfortunately, while I can turn to them and say, “Yeah, I got that. I can dig it, man,” I can safely assure anyone who is hoping otherwise that they don’t have the answers anymore than I do. All they have is a pretty little song and more money than I could hope to count in my lifetime and probably too much if we added you in the mix. No answers. Just a nice little song that can keep you groovin’ for a while. (Can you tell I’ve been on a Stephen King kick lately? Can you dig, man?) All the songs like that don’t have the magic wands inherent in them either. Don’t bother looking – I’ve already checked. No dice. No quick fix.

So, what happens when I run into that wall, that cliff face I keep talking about?

I guess we may just find out.

Out of the Mouths of Babes…

R and I had a few errands to run this morning. I was having a so-so morning thus far, so I wasn’t overly thrilled with the idea of dragging a four-year-old with mood swings on a grocery shopping adventure. But, when you’re running low on all the goodies to keep him happy and you’re running low on all the goodies to keep yourself happy, it’s time to go grocery shopping. We ended up getting to the store and R was [mostly] fine to that point. As we’re picking out a carriage that we can use, he turns to me and says, “Mommy, you’ve ruined my life.”

…from the mouths of babes, indeed.

I honestly think of my son as a little psychic. He has a nasty habit of coming upon me and saying very astute things that a four-year-old shouldn’t be able to convey properly. He also instinctively knows when I’m upset or unhappy. He’s pretty good at just barreling over and giving me a hug and saying how much he loves me when I need to hear it most. Sometimes, I have to ask, but sometimes, I don’t. It’s probably just the bonding experience of creating life in my uterus for nine months that caused the bond, but sometimes, the kid just pops out with shit and I’m just like, “I don’t even know.” This was one of those instances because, you know, all morning I had been thinking pretty much the exact same thing about this whole parenting gig. I’m ruining his life. I’m fucking this up. I am a shitty parent.

It’s one thing to have self-esteem issues, but quite another when they tie in with your parenting ability. I honestly don’t think that I am a very terrible parent. I don’t think that I am ruining him or his experience on this planet. I don’t think that things are going well right now because I am a fuck up and a screw up. However, when I feel like the shit keeps piling up on me (for instance, the bullshit experience I’m having in trying to get him into an affordable preschool program – of which there will be more soon), I find it difficult to keep my self-doubt as a human being away from my parenting abilities. I tend to get them all mixed up and I get out of control and I start on a crying jag about how much I suck as a parent. I don’t really get into this with anyone because I think that it’s probably part and parcel to being a parent, but I couldn’t say for sure…? I just assume that I’m not the only mom out there who has massive panic attacks because the best of intentions don’t work out the way we want them to for our children.

For example.

Last year, I was working enough and bringing in enough money to send my son to a Waldorf school. I really like the approach they take to teaching kids. I find it innovative and I’ve heard a lot of good reviews. The Waldorf school has tuition, of course, since it’s considered a private school. And as TH figured it out, we would spending something like $90 an hour on his education. I felt that it was acceptable, especially since I would have been the one to pay for it out of my paychecks since TH’s can be completely at random some yearsweeks. (THE JOYS OF WORKING IN THE CONSTRUCTION INDUSTRY.) Then I got fired and my dreams crumbled up into dust. Even with financial aid, there was no way I could afford that. It took me a very long time to get rid of that dream.

When it began to get to be time to think about other preschool ideas, I froze up. I’m not even joking. I would shut down if it was brought up in discussion with anyone. I couldn’t work past my anger at the loss of my job, so I couldn’t do anything like, you know, be a grown up and fix it. So, I froze up and it was with the help of BFMA that I figured out a plan: we would do some home schooling for preschool and then enroll him in a public school. I began to rethink this decision around June. Then in July, I realized that I was being entirely illogical. I needed to have time away from my son, as much as I hate the idea, and sending him to school is the best bet. But things were shitting all up and down in July, so I decided to wait until August to get this stuff done.

I should have just kicked my ass back in March.

I tried signing him up for preschool with the local Head Start program. No dice. I make a hundred bucks more than the federal poverty level (on unemployment). Add that amount to what TH makes and we’ve been wait listed. I doubt I’ll hear back before my son hits 16. So, they gave me a number to call to get help. They called me back this morning after I debated whether or not I wanted to hear what they had to tell me. All of the city’s assets are frozen for helping out parents like me with money problems to put their kids in preschool. It has something to do with the government thinking that people are taking advantage of these programs. I don’t doubt that’s the case, but that doesn’t help me. It was recommended that I seek out a Montessori school or something to put my son in.

But, why would I seek out assistance with Head Start if I could afford to put him into a Montessori school in the first place?

Just writing about this is making me sadder than I have been, so let’s get moving.

So, I just keep thinking back to all the mistakes I keep making. I freeze up. I stop doing. I end up in such a dither about what to do next that I can’t make a proper decision. And then when i finally come out of that freeze, I can’t get anything done the way it should be done because I waited too long. And that’s where the whole “failing as a parent” thing comes into play. I just feel that, as a parent, I can’t do a fucking thing right at this moment in time. Maybe shit will get better in the future but in the mean time, I’ll feel like a failure.

And apparently, my son will let me know when I’m failing him, too.

The Itch is Back.

I haven’t felt this itch in a while. It came in fits and spurts the last few months, so to feel it in this overwhelming way… It’s just so intense. I wish I could just shrug it off. I wish I could just ignore it. I have the mundane to answer for. I have a life to lead. I have things to do…

But, I keep coming over to my computer and stroking the keyboard softly. I keep staring longingly at my laptop and thinking, I need to write now. I sign in to this and I keep saying to myself, Now. It’s time to write this right now. But I don’t know what to write. I find myself sitting in front of the glowing screen in confusion because I don’t know what it is that I’m supposed to be getting out now. I have an idea that’s niggling, but I’m saving it for later on when I sign up for NaNoWriMo. I don’t want to use that little gem up before it’s time… so what the hell?

Is it just because Stephen King’s stories are my life right now?

Or is it just really time to sit down, cut the crap, and get this shit over with?

The life and ramblings of a part-time writer.

I Hate Having Nightmares.

This morning, I woke up at about six or so due to a nightmare. I don’t actually have nightmares often. My brain is super awesome (or something) and will actually do a rewind on it. The rewind is exactly like how it used to be with VHS tapes back in the day. I will, in dream world, watch everything go backwards rapidly with high-pitched voices speaking gibberish. It’s very neat. I’m told that this is something that not a lot of people can do: rewrite their dreams. I’ve been doing this since I was very young, though. I always equated it to my being a writer. Since, as a writer, I can have complete control over the back drop and the circumstances in a story I’m writing, I think subconsciously I felt like I should have the same control over my dreams. Now, this doesn’t happen all the time, but usually if a nightmare is pretty fucking bad, I can go back and rewrite things so that the bad stuff doesn’t happen but that I kick ass righteous style instead.

That didn’t happen this morning.

The dream starts off hazy. I know that in the beginning there was something to do with Tarot cards. I was doing a reading. I believe the reading was for myself. I can see the cards on my kitchen table. The area around the table and my chair is black, as if the table and chair are on a black back drop or curtain. The entire room, which is large, is black like those velveteen curtains you see in theaters sometimes. Anyway, I was doing a card reading. I don’t know what the cards meant, honestly. I don’t know what the reading was about. I just remember shuffling and staring at a card pull that I had done. There were seven cards or so on the table and I know that the deck was, specifically, the one that I use when I do readings for other people.

Now my belief as to why I was dreaming, initially, about Tarot cards is that I was trying to forewarn myself of something or that it’s time I do another test for a self-reading with my cards. (I am just not good at doing readings for myself because I just can’t disconnect the way I do when I’m reading for others.) Just in case I was wrong or something, upon waking up this morning, I clicked on to the Dream Dictionary website that I use frequently and looked up what they had to say about Tarot cards. To dream of a tarot reading indicates your current situation and state of mind. You are open to exploring your subconscious thoughts and feelings. Now, this is also possible. I’ve mentioned (briefly) that I’ve been doing subconscious work while sleeping lately. And I know that I’m working on things that I still feel guilt and pain for, although what they are specifically, I don’t know yet. The thing is that the card reading could have been telling me about that, but I don’t know. I’m not positive that the card reading had anything to do with the rest of the dream or if it was just a foretelling of what is to come or just a reminder that sometimes, I have to try and read for myself instead of relying on others. I DON’T KNOW.

So, later, the dream turns into R and I going on a trip to an aquarium or museum. I’m not sure. The place reminded me of the Corpus Christi Aquarium, but it also had the general museum feel to it: stagnant air and all of that. We were walking around the place with a single guide who brought us into a room that was concrete bleachers on one side and water on the other. The man said to just keep watching and we’d see something exciting. So, as we’re sitting in the bleachers, the water comes towards us. We’re in the middle and I feel no fear at the water coming towards us. In the water is a Great White shark. The only reason we knew it was one was because an announcer told us. So, we’re watching it swim around majestically when the water starts to creep higher. I jump up as the water goes higher and comes closer. R and I run up the steps of the bleachers to a giant window that is barred up; we can’t get out. And behind me, the Great White shark (don’t laugh) jumps out of the water, lands on its hind fins like they’re legs, and comes after us as though it is a human being. Grabbing R, I dived into the water and began running through the water with him holding my hand. We’re going and going and I can see the way out – we’re practically there – and my heart is hammering when I look behind and there is the dorsal fin and the mouth is open and R is going to be eaten. And just as I spin to grab him from under the armpits and haul him out of the way, I force myself awake.


I could just keep seeing that damn fucking shark’s face with its eyes rolled back as it swooped in to cut my baby boy in half. My heart was pounding. I immediately got up and paced a little. I didn’t have to check on R in his room; I knew he was fine. I just needed to shake the terror of that, but I couldn’t. I ended up going online and trying to figure out what the fuck my head was saying. I looked up shark on that website, too. They say, To see a shark in your dream indicates feelings of anger, hostility, and fierceness. You are undergoing a long and difficult emotional period and may be an emotional threat to yourself or to others. Perhaps, you are struggling with your individuality and independence, especially in some aspect of your relationship. Alternatively, a shark represents a person in your life who is greedy and unscrupulous. This person goes after what he or she wants with no regards to the well-being and sensitivity of others. The shark may also be an aspect of your own personality with these qualities. After reading that, I think I was more confused. I think I’m just at a loss. I feel like the meaning there has something but I don’t know what that something is. Any and all of those things could apply to my life or to R’s life. And since the shark was going after R, he’s a key player here.

I just don’t know what that playing has to do with him and me and sharks.


I’ve had a lot of interesting things going on in my life recently. I pretty much thought I should write them down before I forget or you know, before I start the story in the middle the next time I do an actual blog entry.

  1. Tomorrow, I go to sign my son up for the local poor people preschool. I’m not overwhelmingly thrilled that I have to do this, but we are poor and you know, it’s for poor people. All of my worries and fears about what type of education my son is going to get at an inner city school are seriously solidifying. I’ve put thought into signing him up for other cites’ waiting lists so that he can go to schools not in this fucked up city. I have a feeling TH would blow a gasket if R was accepted into one of those schools, thus meaning that we had to drive him to said school and pick him up from said school. So, I’ve decided to try other outlets to get this shit going.

  2. I am actively seeking out places to move. I’ve been going back and forth on this since we first moved into this place. I’ve always let the fears and stuff hold me back. Now, though, I can’t dick around because I don’t think we’ll be able to afford it or anything. This isn’t about me and this isn’t about TH. This is about getting into a city that isn’t this one that has a decent school system. I’m actually going to be looking at an apartment this afternoon with our son in tow. It’s also only slightly more than what I’m paying for this place. So, we’ll see. (When talking about the apartment hunt with TH last night, he said to me, “Why are you signing him up for a local preschool that will be a half hour or more away if you’re looking into moving to a new city?” And I was like, “Uh, because he has to go to school and I can’t assume we’ll be moving in the next month or two?” Silly boys.)

  3. I did some major issue work in regards to MEH last night. It came upon me suddenly and violently and I was shocked out of my gourd when it happened. I don’t want to go into depth about it here since it is part and parcel with religious goings-on. But, I have no problem posting a link for anyone who doesn’t follow both blogs. Which is probably like two or three of you. Anyway, it was pretty amazing and I think it’s helped to bring me peace in a way that the other stuff I was trying out couldn’t do it. All in all, AMAZING.

  4. My birthday was last Friday and it was fucking awesome. I did nothing all day. I pretty much sat my fat as down on the couch and read my book or watched television. And not children’s programming, either. It was fantastic. I think it’s one of the best damn birthdays I’ve ever had.

  5. I tried out Zumba for the first time last night. I’ve been eyeballing it since the craze hit a while back, but I’ve never gotten into it. I didn’t want to go on my own and I didn’t know anyone who would go with me. Well, TH’s aunt started going to Zumba at a very close-to-me place. She ended up dragging TH’s mom with her one day. And then, TH’s mom told me that I was going. So, last night, I tried it out. It’s very different from the dancing that I’m used to. I kept doing things via the jazz and ballet classes I had taken as a child versus what the instructor was doing. I also felt like a complete idiot because I couldn’t follow her feet and her hand gestures, so I had to get her feet movements down pat before I could do the hand stuff. I felt spastic and retarded, but it was excellently fun. I also sweat so fucking much, I could have just lost weight that way. My knees and hips were hurting me – after years of dancing and damage to those joints, they fucking hurt regularly – but I think I’m going to go back next week. TH says that if I do one class a week for a month couple with low intensity exercises, the pain in my hips and knees should abate sooner as opposed to later. We’ll see.

  6. I have a kind of a story in the back of my head that needs more fleshing out before I start working on it. But, the beginning is pretty interesting.

You Must Not Come Lightly to the Blank Page.

The above is a quote from Stephen King, in On Writing.

I go through phases where I want to become a published writer. The phases in between this desire tend to coalesce in the feeling that the story ideas in my head just aren’t that good enough. I put those ideas away like the clothes at the back of the chest of drawers that I swear I’ll fit back into one day. I probably won’t actually fit into those clothes and similarly, I probably won’t actually get to the publishing stage. It’s not because my stories aren’t good. And it’s not because what I have in my head can’t come out, although sometimes that muse block is a bit of an issue, but because I just don’t see how I can ever get to that point. I don’t dream small and hope for something published, once. If that were the case, I would have been satisfied with the few poems published in books when I was a teenager. (I have three or four published poems in compilation books. No, I won’t tell you the books’ names.) I think of days where I can be like Anne Rice or Stephen King, the two most prolific authors in my life, and I dream of those days, dripping in ink and blood and words and wish terribly that I could get that good.

I’m re-reading The Mist by Stephen King. I go through phases where I love his stuff and I go through phases where I’m sick of his stuff. I’m in an off phase with Anne Rice, too. I still dream of the day where I can be like them, where my words are everywhere and I’m on lists and I can say on my tax returns that I am a “writer.” But those days haven’t shown up and those days are either too far in the future or not made for this life or maybe, just a goal that I’ll never achieve at all.

I started writing about vampires because I love them. I’ve always loved them. I remember taking out The Last Vampire series by Christopher Pike in my local library just about once a month. I would read and re-read them over and over again. I loved his version of vampires. I loved everything about those types of creatures he wrote about and was sorely disappointed with the series’ ending. (I won’t spoil.) But that love affair took me to ‘Salem’s Lot by Stephen King, The Season of Passage by Christopher Pike, and The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice from start to finish. I watched and read and did research and read some more. All of my childhood was absorbed in horror stories – I think I read Pet Sematary for the first time when I was nine or so – but I always went back to vampires. I knew them. I had good ideas on how to create them. None of this sunshine bullshit. None of this fang bullshit. None of this horse manure that was so popular in the stories that soaked my childhood. I would head back to the innovative ideas that Christopher Pike began forming in my head with his vampire series and revamp them (hurr, hurr) to something that I felt was more functional.

I went back to the old stories about vampires, you know. When I talk about the research, I went back to the old myths, the old beliefs. I went back as far as I could and hand-selected the pieces that I thought were the most interesting. For example, did you know that to keep a vampire occupied, back in the day, they would throw seeds or nails on the ground? It would keep the vampire occupied because they all suffered from OCD – they had to count all of the seeds, nails, or what have you on the floor at their feet without fail. I loved this little piece of vampire history. I wanted to add it to my novels, but I never figured out how.

So, here I am. I’m re-reading The Mist, like I said. And I can feel the terror rising in my belly as I read all about the horrible things in that artificial, white mist. And I’m wondering why I can’t get shit out like Stephen King, Anne Rice, Christopher Pike, MaryJanice Davidson, Patricia Briggs, and Charlaine Harris. You’ll see that I have horror authors in that list, but I also have the paranormal romance authors that are so prolific today. I want to write about vampires. I want to write about horror, but I want to keep it in the framework that those ladies have set up for me: a little romance, a little sex, a little something to keep the readers coming… and not just because there are blood and guts everywhere.

But then I head back to my dreams as a child. No one could write as wonderfully, to me, as Stephen King. It didn’t matter what it was that he was writing about, but it scared me nonetheless. My favorite frightening stories are in the anthology, Night Shift. I would re-read Jerusalem’s Lot (not to my confused with his stab at vampires) and fall asleep with the lights on. I would re-read The Boogeyman and make sure my closet door was shut, my hands and feet were not near the edge of the bed, and again, that my light was on into the wee hours. There was no way I could stay awake if my eyes were heavy enough, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a security blanket of sorts to protect me from the horrific imagery Stephen King can easily invoke.

I had a rabbit named Professor and a doll named Emily who did their duties well.

I want to write about fears. I always have. I just have to figure out what those fears are and how to write them… without sounding too much like an idolizing fruitcake.

Adventures in Parenting: The Pupa Stage.

One of the worst things about being a parent is watching your kid grow up. I’ve been watching my son go through both literal and figurative growing pains since the day he was born. Each new achievement has been bitter sweet. The day he started crawling, the day he started walking, the day he first explored grass*, the day he said “dada” for the first time, the day he willingly went into the pool for the first time, the day he stopped sucking his thumb. Every moment has been exciting because I can literally watch him grow up, before my eyes. And every moment has been another stab in the heart because I am newly reminded that he won’t be “my baby” forever. The nights where we snuggle on the couch watching television could end sooner, as opposed to later. The days where he comes running to me with his major cuts and scrapes could be drying up before my very eyes. This is the shittiest thing and the greatest thing about being a parent: watching the kid in question grow up.

We’re on the precipice of big-huge changes around here and I don’t like.