At the Foot of the Stairs

Last night, I was invited out for a drink with some very close friends. We usually just hang out at somebody's house, but last night, we went out (in anticipation of another friend's birthday, actually). Anyway, I just ordered a coke, and the whole time I was there, I wanted to leave. In fact, Dereck was halfway through his Bloody Mary when I announced that we had to leave after that drink because I had things to do at home. What I had to do was put Sam to bed and write a post about last night's episode of House . Not very pressing, either of them. Sam was okay either way, and the post could have waited for morning. I don't know why, but I very urgently felt that I needed to be at home, and then to stay at home. So, when the birthday friend arrived at the DuKum and I received multiple text messages, I begged off. Nothing significant to report as a result of that. Sam kept texting me from his bed because he couldn't sleep. He had taken a nap after school, so tod...

My youngest came home with this joke last night, and it never fails to make me laugh when I think about it. Two men were sitting at a bar, drinking. The bartender washed dishes behind the bar and watched them. The first man drank a shot, jumped out the window, and came back in another window. Then he sat back down. The second man asked, "How did you do that?" The first man shrugged. Then, he drank another shot, jumped out the window again, and again returned through another window. The second man drank a shot and jumped out the window, plunging to his death 50 feet below. The bartender said to the first man: "You're mean when you're drunk, Superman."

Things continue. I suppose that is the only thing we really have, isn't it? The inescapable knowledge that whatever our troubles or pleasures, life marches on. And by "things continue," I mean "things continue to suck." The depression hasn't lifted; however, it has taken on a new form and shape. On Saturday, we went to our accountant to have our taxes done. In spite of saving last year, the fact that we had to get a new roof and a new water heater, and the fact that we traveled some last summer, all contributed to meaning that we didn't save enough. I have almost half of what we owe. I am horrified. I mean, almost paralyzed by this. I have vacillated between a wild range of emotions since we found out. When we walked out to the parking lot, I knew that Dereck had some errands to run. I said, "Take me home so I can change my clothes and get drunk." We got home and I burst into tears in the driveway. Then I went into the studio, lit a cigarette,...

In the absence of anything really interesting to share with you, I thought I'd pass along some links to some new blogs I've been reading. Full disclosure: These people are all members of my extended family. And they are all terrific, funny writers. I have been cracking up reading these this afternoon. Well, not all afternoon. But you get the point. One Magpie is written by my second cousin (first cousin once removed?) Charles's wife Erica. I have never met her. She is completing her MFA in creative writing, and he just got accepted to the program. Writing runs in the family, even when we get married it seems. Smells Funny is written by Charles's older brother Ed. He is funny as hell. You should read at least the first page of the blog. Five Crows is written by Charles and Ed's mother Louise. She taught one of my writing classes when I was at BYU. She is married to my mother's first cousin Tom. My mother was born to Blanche and Perry; Tom's parents were El...

I'm in between books. And I am coughing up a lung (status: Three weeks and unchanged). I stayed up waaaaay too late last night, so I am exhausted. I have been pushing fluids. We are almost out of milk, but I am too tired to go get more milk, though I want to drink milk. But I hate being in between books. The thing is, it's not like I don't have loads of books around that I haven't read. Either my dad sent them to me, or I purchased them with every intention of reading them and then chickened out. I have to be careful what I read: If I read something too upsetting, it just makes the depression worse. I tend to do all right at movies, but reading is a whole different ball game. So, I toyed today with the idea, in the name of frugality, of trying to read some of the books I have instead of wanting to go purchase more (because, let's face it, with the crap I read, I can get a new novel or three while I'm buying more milk). It makes sense to shop your own bookcases, ...

My hands are rough. On my palms and finger tips, for maybe the past week or two, my hands have been covered with tiny white blisters. The blisters peel almost instantaneously, leaving little broken white pieces of skin attached to my fingertips and the heel of my hand. This also leaves my fingertips red and raw-looking. Today is the first day it's started to hurt, just a teeny bit. Before any blisters appeared, my palms showed little red dots underneath the skin, as though they pushed through the skin to form the blisters. Dr. Google suggests it is a form of eczema that comes and goes. Dr. Google tells me it is stress related. I'll buy that for a dollar.

It's all about the Benjamins these days. I should be working right now, as a matter of fact. I have two projects to work on. I think I'm scared-- scared that I don't know how to do this anymore, when, in fact, it's a lot like riding a bike. What I need to do is go out to the studio, pop a DVD of House in and just do the work. Instead, I am sitting in my living room, listening to Rent , and blogging. Back to money. We have been having some serious conversations this week about where we can cut corners. Last Thursday, for the first time, we went grocery shopping at Aldi's. I have never been there before, and from what others have told me about it-- dirty, bad produce, no shopping bags, extremely cheap-- I was scared to go. So, the fact that we decided to do our shopping there felt ominous: Okay, here we go, we have hit rock bottom. We are shopping at Aldi's. I was pleasantly surprised. It was clean, organized, the produce looked fine, they had really an amazing ...

I recently took a chance on adding one of my ex-husband's friends as a Facebook friend. He recently commented that he was going out to his car in a parking garage, and I asked them if there was a strange man sitting in this car... this time. So, he posted a story this incident, which I later wrote a poem about. So, without further ado: Get the f*** out of my car! Today at 4:16pm Per request: The infamous story was that I went back to my car in my downtown work parking garage after a Springsteen concert some years ago (about midnight). The garage was mostly empty as it was where I parked for work, and my brother (the cop) and I had walked to the concert from there. I opened my door--and found some guy sitting in my car! It was a really cold January night, and I assumed he was a homeless guy looking for shelter. That was my first thought. My second thought was then "why does a cold homeless guy have a large screwdriver, and what is wrong with the face of my radio?" Ah, c...

I seem to be able to speak cogently about depression, even when I am in the midst of a bad patch, like I am right now, like I was on Friday. Actually, today isn't bad. Saturday, I was almost manic with my energy levels and good mood. But on Friday, I was in the vice grips of despair. The thing that really pisses me off about depression is that nothing triggered Friday's "episode" as I like to think of it. I woke up, had lunch with friends, but suddenly I found myself sitting on a stool at Il Spazio, talking to my friend John, unable to accept even a coke to drink. I realized I was in danger of breaking down into tears there, so I called another friend and spent the rest of the day watching re-runs of House and smoking cigarettes. I smoked 21 cigarettes on Friday, if you're interested. I had 4 on Sunday. Yesterday, I had none. Today, I have had none. The reduction in smoking isn't deliberate. I am not trying to cut down. It's just the way things go: When t...