Something Horrible

Legnasty, Daner and I are sitting in the apartment right now, considering how to spend our evening.  We’re drinking some wine, watching Crime and Punishment on MSNBC and debating home decorating styles.  I hope we stay in tonight.  I want to make some watermelon pickles for tomorrow.  We’re having people over but I’m not sure what else is going to be on the menu.  Originally we were going to BBQ all day, but it might rain, blah, blah, blah. And I have a friend who is also gluten free coming over, which will be fun.  We can make snide comments about all the normies who are eating their hot dogs in buns.  Jerks.

the plan so far for tomorrow:

• Mustard Lime Chicken (but I’m leaving out the cilantro)
• Chicken with Rhubarb Chutney
• GFree cornbread
• GFree fresh sorghum bread(this is really for me for the rest of the week)
• Pickled Watermelon and  Pickled Grapes

And whatever else the non-gfree normies want to eat.  Burgers and dogs and stuff.

And wine.

I should re-begin here and redesign this blog and then start posting to it regularly, which is something of a challenge for me.  See, I fancy myself a writer but I suffer from and intense fear of writing.  I know, right?  I’ll never get anywhere like this. 

I also suffer from Ants in my Pants.  Restlessness.  Chronic Daydreaming and Dissatisfaction.  I can’t say I have ADD, because my psychiatrist will not diagnose me with it no matter how hard I campaign my symptoms (”I can’t concentrate at work!” “I’m always distracted!” “I make impulsive decisions and am bad with money!”  ”I start projects and never finish!”).  She’s a tough nut, that shrink.  But she’s probably right. I’m high strung enough as it is.  I shouldn’t add Adderol to the mix.  Anyone who really knows me would agree.

 I digress.  There will be more time to talk about my psychiatrist and my therapist later.  Back to my original statement, that I should re-begin this blog.  But aren’t personal blogs navel-gazing indulgences? I’m of two minds about this.  When I read friends’ blogs, they don’t seem navel-gazing.  They are cool and entertaining.  But having a blog of my own seems ridiculous and… what’s the word?…   Narcissistic.  Oh well then.  I guess I’ll be a narcissist.  

From the Natural History Museum in LA (which is big on gemology and short on awesome dinosaurs).

I can’t find my Lomo cameras. I miss them terribly. But let’s be honest, if I had them right now, I’d just be taking pictures of King and Shaft. It is too grey and depressing for me to wander around taking any good pictures anyway.

“Do you think it’s possible that Shafty is my soul-mate?” I asked Rob.

“Well, sure. It would suck for me, though,” he said.

“No! I mean he’s my DOG soul-mate. You’re my PEOPLE soul-mate.”

I’ve been cooped up in the apartment since getting back from Puerto Rico. I miss going outside for long walks with the dogs. I miss trips to the park, sitting on the bench and watching them run and play. The boys feel the same way. King is antsy. I can feel his restless energy from across the room. Shaft’s too. And when Shaft’s antsy he gets crabby and spiteful. The three of us are feeding off each other these days.
Rob seems immune to this somehow and if he isn’t, if he’s suffering anxiety attacks from being inside all the goddamn time like me, then he’s not showing it.
Dark days, kids. We’re starving for spring.

Step one was:

Read all you can about the adoption process.  Read books, websites, forums, etc.  Call your mom (who adopted you and your brother and therefore is an expert) and talk to her for hours.  Educate your friends on the process (becoming more smug and cocky each time you do).  Become an expert.

Step two is:

Talk to actual adoption professionals and realize that you know absolutely nothing about how to go about adopting a baby.  Feel frustrated and impatient.

Dammit.

Oh, Poor Parrot Dude
Tonight I will break you out
Of that dirty cage

My doc gave me a prescription for Wellbutrin to help me stop smoking.  I haven’t had the urge to smoke since starting it, and I’m very confident that this attempt will net me many smoke-free years, but the combo of not smoking and Wellbutrin is making me so. very. angry.

Every other word in my inner monologue is “fuck”.  Every other word in my conversations with other people is “fuck”.  I screamed at my computer yesterday because I had to restart it (after I installed some software - so it wasn’t my computer’s fault that I had to restart, it was just standard practice).  I have fantasies about punching a hole through the closet doors in my mother-in-law’s house (where I am right now).  I actually growled at my husband when he was rushing me through the airport parking lot the other day.

I am going to ride this out but I don’t know if everyone around me will still be alive in a month.