Monthly Archives: March 2010

The Ides of April

So, we are fast approaching April, which means my SAD is about to kick in.   It means saying goodbye to winter and saying hello to spring, sweating, mosquitoes, and humidity.  Yay.  Really.  Just, yay.  Still, spring isn’t so bad–not in comparison to summer.  I hate summer.  I just want to hibernate until it’s over.

There’s another reason I don’t like April:  I was born in the month.  Now, let me hasten to say that I am not one of those people who bemoan getting older.  I don’t attach any particular meaning to the numbers.  In fact, I start saying I’m a year older at the beginning of the year so I’ll be used to saying it by the time I hit my birthday.  Of course, that leads to some confusion in the three months leading up to my birthday when I have to stop and think how old I actually am.  So, I am thirty-eight right now, but I say I’m thirty-nine.  Hey, that’s 13 x 3.  That’s cool.

Anyhoo, I’ve never cared about getting older.  I will never lie about my age.  I’m actually amazed I have lived this long, so why short myself on that account?  However, in the past, I used to get extremely depressed about my birthday because it would remind me of all the shit I hadn’t done yet in my life.  No job, no hubby, no kids, no published fiction, no great contribution to society.  Never one to be shy about self-flagellation, I would berate myself mercilessly on the day of my birth.  My parents would call and ask if my brother had taken me out to dinner for my birthday.  They would wish me a happy birthday, and I would tell them to stuff it, but in marginally-politer terms.  My mom would reminisce about my birth, and I would curtly tell her that she should be the one congratulated for doing all the work–not me.   Yes, I was a total bitch about it.  I fully admit it.  I hated my birthday with every fiber of my being.

In addition to reminding me of all the ways I had failed up to that point, my birthday served to remind me that I was alive.  For so many years, this was a negative for me.  I did not want to be alive, and there was my fucking birthday taunting me with the fact that yes, I was, indeed, still technically among the living.

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Losing It

Goddamn it.  God the fucking damn it.  My NANCY SMASH! high has subsided (although I still greatly admire Madame Speaker of the House), and now, I am back to being frustrated with an issue that seems to plague me.  Rather, a series of issues as they are all interrelated.

I thought I could do it this time.  I thought I could have a sensible eating plan, incorporate a moderate amount of exercise, throw in some taiji, and take off the pounds slowly and sensibly.  As the the latter, I was doing well for the first month.  I lost ten pounds.  Not bad.  In the last month, it’s been a harder road.  I’ve lost and then regained, and in the end, I’m down four more pounds.  Not great.  I know what my problem is, but that’s not the focus of this entry.

As longtime readers know, I have struggled with eating disorders (ED) since I was…well a child really.  My mom put me on my first diet when I was seven (using the ‘you have such a beautiful face’ line as she did), and I have been yo-yo’ing ever since.  Right now, I am near the heaviest I’ve ever been.  It’s not a comfortable place to be at all.  I have not been happy with my weight for some time.  For the third time in my life, I am on a major attack on my weight.

Here’s the problem.  I have no road map in losing weight in a healthy way.  Furthermore, I have a plethora of issues relating to food itself, which makes it even more difficult for me to think rationally about the whole subject.  It has been said that the biggest problem with eating issues is that you have to eat in order to live.  If someone is a recovering alcoholic, she doesn’t have to drink another alcoholic drink for as long as she live.  She will not die from not drinking.  It’s the same with nearly every other addiction.  One does not need to smoke in order to live.  One can quit drugs, walk away, and never look back.

However.  If I were to walk away from food, as it were, I would die.  I cannot give up my addiction as a way of overcoming it.  No, I have to fucking eat every day in order to live.  That means I have to confront my eating issues every fucking time I eat.  Or don’t eat.  Or when I used to chew and spit.  Or binge and purge.

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Yes, We Did

–The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice. MLK Jr.

So, the Healthcare Reform Bill passed the House tonight.  I have to be honest in that I had my doubts it would actually pass.  I had a friend who told me right after the Senate passed their version that it was all theatre and that the bill would pass in the end (ed. it was before the Senate passed the bill, which makes more sense), but I am a pessimist at heart, so I didn’t want to pay too much heed to his words.  In the last few weeks, I have been burnt out on HCR.  I mean, there are only so many times I can read about death panels and mandatory abortions and how the government wants to come between me and my doctor before I start honing my rusty pitchfork (seasoned in a time-honored, well-kept secret midnight ritual) and heading out to DC.

I even stopped going to BJ so much because HCR dominated the front page, and it seemed like every thread devolved into the same argument.   I didn’t want to deal with it, so I mostly stuck to threads about animals, snow, and the open threads.

Now, I want to say off the bat that I am not a policy wonk.  I know the gist of the bill and what it will accomplish, but I cannot quote it chapter and verse–nor do I really see the need for that.  I knew it contained a lot of shitty stuff (as all bills do in order to get passed), but I also knew it had some good stuff.  The thinking behind passing the bill was that we need to get reform into law first, and then we can strengthen the law once it passes.  It’s how the Civil Rights Act was passed, and it’s also how Medicare was enacted as well.

Anyway, I just wanted to get the disclaimer out of the way that this will be a policy-free blog entry.

I tuned into CNN during the waning hours of the debates.  What struck me was how fucking stupid the Republicans were.  Even the ones who’ve been dubbed their best and brightest–yes, I’m looking at you, Eric Cantor–couldn’t put together a sentence that did not contain a lie.   Now, full disclosure, I usually ended up muting the Republicans because I couldn’t deal with their bullshit.  However, I heard one Congresswoman talk about how the HCR bill was like a blanket that covers the whole country.  Really?  That’s the analogy you want to use?

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T For Two

I cannot wait to see the new AIW movie.  I have heard great things about it, and Tim Burton better not fuck it up.  Then, HP the Last, Part I and II.  They better not fuck up the movies too badly.  You know, I will watch any movie with Alan Rickman in it, and then there’s this video by Texas, called In Demand.  The lead singer wanted Alan in it, and he said yes.  I would give my eyeteeth (what the fuck are eyeteeth, anyway?) to trade places with her in this video, especially in the gas station scene (plus, I would love to have her body).

So, I had therapy today.  My therapist was in Florida, so it’s been over two weeks since we’ve had a session.  On Monday, I had a meditation session with Julie.  Then, she made a fabulous baked tilapia in cornmeal crust with rice and red beans (and turkey bacon!).  She even bought two bottles of Pepsi One for m because she’s thoughtful like that.

Yes, I have a point to my rambling, as usual.  In the meditation session, more images were coming up.  More flashbacks, but nothing new.  Repeats, as it were.  The difference is that the little Minna started fighting back more.  No matter how much my father told her to be quiet, she struggled, fought, and shouted to him that he was not a part of her.  That only caused him to ratchet up the violence.  In the last scene, he tied her wrists with his belt, strung her up, and started whipping her across the face with his second belt.

Let me be clear.  This never happened.  My father never hit me–as least, not as far as I can remember.  He used to beat my brother, though, but I only know that because my mom told me at a much later date.   However, when I described this scene to my therapist, she said it might be a representation of the sexual violence he perpetuated upon me.  This coincides with something Julie suggested to me about why I have never had difficulty enjoying sex.  She posited that perhaps I categorized what happened to me as physical violence and not sex, therefore, I could enjoy sex without flashing back on the molestation.  I have to think about it some more, but it sounds possible to me.

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Sexy Ninja Assassin

Do you know what I like best about Alan Rickman?  Besides that.  I like the fact that he plays many different types of characters.  He’s been a scoundrel, a badass, a leading man, an American Jew, an American cop, a Bohemian artist, a posh upper-crust Englishman, and, of course, Professor Snape in the HP movies.  I know he’s not typical leading man material, but he can star in my private home movies ANY TIME.

OK.  Taiji yesterday.  I have decided that it’s time to face the beast, as it were.  Since the flashbacks were coming during meditation time regardless of whether I meditated or not, I decided to trudge forward with the meditation.  I would use the method Julie taught me (looking at the images and saying, “You are not a part of me” before dispelling them) because it’s past time I dealt with this shit.  I’ve lost fifteen years of my life (well, more, but fifteen since I consciously decided to shove the memories to the deep recesses of my brain) to my childhood, and I cannot do that any more.

So.  I rooted myself.  I took deep breaths.  I remembered Julie’s instructions.  Then, the flashbacks came.  They are not really new ones any longer, but they are still horrifying.

In my bedroom.  I am seven.  I am on the bed.  My father is on top of me.  He is choking me and telling me not to fight him.  The me in the image is fighting him this time.  She is saying, as best she can, “You are not a part of me.”  He keeps choking her.  She is flailing her arms and legs.  Suddenly, The Man (someone with whom I would choose to have sex, like Alan Rickman, though it is not him) enters the picture, picks my father up off me and tosses him to the floor.  The Man reaches for my hand to help me up.  I am now a young teenager with hair down to my ass (like I have now, but I didn’t have then).  Holding my hand, he leads me to the door.  Before we reach it, though, my father is up and blocking our path.

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At a Loss

Ed. Note: It’s bothering me that in my tag cloud, Taiwan is as big as Alan Rickman.   So, I am going to tag every post with ‘Alan Rickman’ until this is no longer true.  Fun Alan Rickman fact:  he’s been with his partner, Rima Horton, for 45 years.  They are not married, and they have no children.   Alan Rickman is insanely sexy.

Ok.  Now that I have justified the Alan Rickman tag….Oh!  I can actually put it on yesterday’s post as well.  Be right back.

On to my entry for the day.

My mom called tonight.  Well, first she emailed me this morning.  Her publisher had sent her three mock-ups of possible covers for her book, and my mom wanted my opinion.  I sent my opinion to her, and she mentioned that I had ranked them in the same order that she had.  She added, “Like mother, like daughter.”  My immediate response was, “I am nothing like you.”  Which is not true, but it was my gut reaction.

Anyway, she called tonight.  After talking about the book cover and a few other desultory items, she went in for the kill.  First, she talked about her lingering aches and pains (quite normal for older people, I gather), and then she moved onto her real topic:  My father’s health.

Apparently, he has had a spike in his blood pressure.  190/100.  This has happened twice in the past few weeks.  He has meds for high blood pressure, but he refuses to take them.  He hates going to the doctor for anything serious (he’ll go for perceived illnesses), but I guess he consented to go today.  My mom kept repeating how worried she is about him.  Then, she would pause.  I know she wanted me to ask questions or be concerned, too, but…

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Friend or Foe?

I have a few conflicting ideas running through my brain that I haven’t thought out completely, so I’m just going to dump them here.

By the way, Alan Rickman as the Caterpillar?  Bring it.  I love Tim Burton’s work, even when I hate the result (Big Fish, par exemple, even though it has the yummy Ewan McGregor in it as well as the yummy Helena Bonham Carter) or the ending (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I’m looking at you).   However, I have yet to forgive you for Sweeney Todd:  The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.  I was anticipating that movie so much (and I don’t usually anticipate movies at all).  I mean, Carter, Rickman, and Johnny Depp?  In a musical?  It’s like a wet dream come true for me.  What could possibly go wrong there?  Don’t ask because I still can’t speak about it without getting choked up.


Back to Burton.  He is creative and bizarre with more than a dash of disturbing. I have never cared for Alice in Wonderland, so I am looking forward to his rendition–as long as he’s resolved his father issues.   Again, it has Depp, Carter, and Rickman in it.  How could it possibly go wrong?  I am a bit worried about the 3D effect because I get nauseous from that, but I know they’ve vastly improved the technology in the last twenty years.

By the way, I just have to say one thing very quickly about the Oscars.  For some reason, despite my lack of interest in most pop culture, I watch awards shows.  I DVR them and zip through all the boring parts, but it’s still tedious.  I think this is the last year I will even do that.  Here’s my observation.  Every time a new presenter came onto the stage, I said (out loud), “Who the fuck are you?”  I had no clue who half of them were.  I haven’t seen a single one of the Oscar-nominated movies, and there are only a few that even tickled my fancy at all.  The Hurt Locker is one of them.  Up is another.  A few in the foreign flick category seem interesting as well.  That’s about it.  I like the idea of Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire, but I can’t see it.  I have a hard time watching any movie with rape themes, especially if the rape is portrayed. Numb3rs, the one show I watch (though this will probably be the last season as it has lost its juice), had a child sexual abuse episode last week, and it wrecked me to watch it.

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Detaching From My Brain

I had taiji today.  Wait, let me back up a second.  In my last therapy session, I talked with my therapist about not wanting to let the flashbacks distract me.   I have no desire to have any kind of real relationship with my father, so there is no reason to dwell on the flashbacks.  I am not saying I shouldn’t let them out; I just don’t want to lose focus on what I really need to do.

My therapist has repeatedly reminded me that I am not my thoughts, that I am more than just my intellect.  I have a hard time grasping that because for so long, I have based much of my persona on my brain.  It’s the one thing I know:  I am smart.   No matter what I hate about myself at any given time (I’m fat, lazy, neurotic, cynical, paranoid, OCD, enmeshed, thin-skinned, grumpy, negative, pessimistic, etc.), I have always been proud of my intelligence.

However, I am not my intelligence.  It is not me.  I can’t think my way out of my problems, though I can certainly put thought into how I am going to change my attitude and behaviors.   This is really difficult for me because I want to be able to batter my way through my shit with the force of my brain power.

It doesn’t fucking work that way.  In addition, I tend to get caught up in thinking about things so much, that becomes a distraction in and of itself.

Another thing.  My sleep has been off-the-charts horrible this week–which doesn’t help in the thinking department.  My brain is slow, thick, and sluggish because of my fucked-up sleep.  Earlier in the week, I almost got into an accident, and it was completely my fault.  Then, today, as I was pulling out of my driveway, I did not see a car that was driving down the street–though I looked both ways before I pulled out.  Fortunately, the driver of the other car saw me.

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Going Off Half-Cocked

So, I have been thinking about this job thing.  I thought about my strengths.  People like to talk to me; I have a psych background; I am a writer and a performer with a very creative imagination.  I have a husky, sexy voice.  I LOVE sex, and I am not in anyway ready for a relationship right now.   I have a very specific skill set.  See where I’m going with this?

For the last ten years, I have thought on-and-off about being some kind of sex worker.  It’s mostly been a joke, but once in awhile, I couldn’t think of a real reason why I shouldn’t at least look into it.  Now, I’m too old and fat to be an expensive call-girl.  I’m not so sure I would want to do actual sex for money, anyway.  However, there are plenty of other job opportunities for a sex enthusiast.  I have a couple of reality shows floating through my mind (would have to go to cable for them).  I could open an online whorehouse with rooms for different fetishes.  But, realistically, I narrowed it down to two choices.

One, I could be a professional domme.  Mistress Minna.  Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?  I look good in black leather, and I can wield a mean whip.  Yes, I am a sub in real life, but I have switched before, and I am a very good top as well.  There is a dungeon in NYC owned by three women, and they have training sessions.  I saw a website of a local dominatrix, and it was so Minnesota-nice.  The whole idea of being a domme was interesting, but kinda tiring.  I mean, it’s a whole performance thing, and it would most likely give me an even more-skewed view of men.  In addition, I would have to actually meet these guys in person.  I’m really not a good people-person.  However, my house would be spotless, and I would get paid to make someone clean my house.  That, admittedly, is tempting.

However, in the end, it’s not enough.  Kel suggested phone sex operator, and I looked it up on teh Googley.  Love Google.  I read a few articles on how to become a phone sex operator, and I found two legit sites.  I am also toying with the idea of just doing it on my own.  I already have one friend expressing interest (ok, she probably was joking) in being one as well.  We could be start our own small business!

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