Working On It

I have no idea what is going on with me.

Sign #1 that I am out of it: I forgot my in-laws anniversary.  (I literally used to be the personal assistant to the heir of Hallmark.  Literally.  I write thank you cards for thank you cards.  So this was a weird one.)

Sign #2 that I am out of it:  I slept from Saturday, 5 pm, until this morning at 11 am.  It is Monday.  So I slept for like 40 hours.  Without a meal.  Just woke up, peed, and slept.  So weird.

I’m not pregnant, I’m not on drugs, so I have no idea.  Stress?  I just hate feeling so disorganized.  And tired.  I need my groove back!


Home, Sweet Home

I just reread my last post.  OMG, my grammar leaves a lot to be desired.  I was beyond stressed.  I still am, but two weeks in is a lot easier.

The long and short of it is that we are at the beginning of a long journey.  People with systemic lupus don’t die of old age.  Luckily, her internal organs (well, not her eyes/ears) but kidneys, liver, etc look okay.  If the infections that enter her body due to a crappy immune system continuously go to her metal, we are lucky.  In a week or so, they will decide if she gets to keep her knee.  If not, they will take out the knee permanently, and she will be in a wheelchair.  My siblings, our spouses, and I will then have to decide how to take care of that situation.

I am just unmotivated right now.  I don’t want to leave the house.  I am tired, and worn out, and just need a break.  I haven’t showered since Thursday.  It is Tuesday.  That is disgusting.  I don’t know what to do.  I know I should call my shrink, but I keep putting it off.  I don’t even know if I am depressed (ok, maybe that is stretching it…) so much as I just need to zone a bit.  I am anxious to get into a schedule, but the first step is SO FREAKING HARD.

Someone Get This Girl a Drink. Or Something Stronger.

Three years ago this week, I was in a hospital room watching my grandma die.  It was exhausting and tiring and draining.  And that is the nicer things I can say.

Two days ago, I got a call that my mom was sick and going into the hospital.  She has lupus, and most of her joints are artificial now.  Apparently, one of her knees got a strep bacteria in it and had to be cleaned today.  She will be on an IV from home for 8 weeks, and between my sister and I will have to take care of her.  I live in another city from my mom, so yesterday I jumped on a plane.

I don’t know why, but this is KILLING me.  I am so exhausted.  Maybe it is the correlation of timing…maybe it is the stress of worrying about my mom.  But in 24 hours I have become a zombie.  Oh, and also, they are weening me off of my anti-depressants in hopes that I can try to get pregnant this summer.  So all around, I am a wreck.  I went to the gym today and worked out for an hour…I cried on the treadmill the entire time.  Times like these make me so furious that my mom is sick.  She doesn’t deserve to be in the pain she is in.  She never complains, ever, but yesterday with tears in her eyes she told me she was scared.

Last week, I was sad thinking that I am turning 30.  Today, I am feeling 60.

Let’s Get Going, 2010!

I  am one of those people who HATES endings.  Every summer at camp, I dreaded going home, but even more, I hated the last few days…knowing it was going to be over, and sad, and mopey.  I am notorious for ducking out of parties and not saying goodbye.  Not because I’m rude, but because I hate the whole “goodbye” thing.

But 2009?  Can bite me.

Yes, I got married, and that was fabulous.  But as any of you married people know, marriage isn’t enough to make for a spectacular, end-all, be-all anything.  I mean, I LOVE D. and our wedding was amazing…and our marriage is great.  But the other things that have happened this year?  OY.

And, to top it all off, I am turning 30 in 2010!

I dreaded 30 for a long time.  Hell, I dreaded 15.  I have always hated becoming older.  But in the last few weeks, I have realized that 30 is going to be great.  Why?  Because my 20s were insane.

I had: 11 jobs, 8 boyfriends, several idiotic boyfriend moments (not going into numbers!), lots of “discovery”.  Not all bad.  But definitely the kinds of things that are much more enjoyable when looking BACK, rather than enduring.

So, whereas I am not eager to rush through anything, I am thrilled to say goodbye to this year.  And…to celebrate, D., his best friend, and his best friend’s fiance and I are all going to Disneyland for New Year’s Eve!

May 2010 be as magical as we all deserve!

Ho ho ho!

I had a funny holiday flashback today, so I thought I’d share.

My father converted to Judaism right after he met my mom.  He grew up in a Irish Catholic home.  That being said, they weren’t really observant, save for Christmas.

Growing up, my mom’s mom (who I blog about a lot) got us for all of the “good” holidays.  We were with her for all of the Jewish holidays, and Thanksgiving.  So we usually visited my other Grandma the week before Christmas.  (Because Christmas was for Chinese food and movies, and no one could take that away. :))

One year, we were visiting and my grandma took 4 or so cousins and my little sister to the mall.  My mom pulled my grandma aside and asked that no matter what, my grandma not take my sister to see Santa.  Being 3, my sister was too young to really understand, not to mention the fact that my mom was petrified of us sitting on strange men’s laps if she wasn’t there to supervise.  (Seriously.  Wonder where I get my anxieties?)

So the mall went okay.  Or so we thought.  Later that night, we were all watching tv when the news panned to a shot of my sister, screaming bloody murder from Santa’s lap.  You could hear her screaming, “I don’t know you! I’m Jewish!” on the top of her lungs, and the reporters were trying not to break up into hysterics.

And that, my friends, was the last time my grandma was allowed to take us to the mall around the holidays.  Come to think of it, I doubt she would of wanted to after the fight my sister put up!!

Rhymes with Look Schmields

Sorry I have been MIA.  I may or may not have gotten laid off (I did) and I was finishing up a paralegal course…yay for yet another job!  (Someday…gotta get the certificate first!)

Yesterday, however, I read something that inspired me to post again.  (Insert here…if I knew how).

I used to live in Los Angeles.  I lived in Brentwood, the fancy part of town, where people pretend that they care about the earth and can walk everywhere, because all of the ridiculously expensive boutiques are all close to each other…but in real life they drive big SUVs.  Anyways, I frequented a bagel shop that also had a lot of stars there.  It was little and unassuming, and it wasn’t a big deal.  It wasn’t like I talked to anyone, but occasionally you would start to become familiar faces to them, and they would smile at you everytime they saw you.

Anyway, a few years ago, right after that whole crazy Tom Cr.uise and Matt La.uer interview happened, I remember thinking, “I wish that I could call Look Schields (name different to protect the famous) and thank her for speaking out”.  She basically stood up and said that being depressed and being on medicine isn’t a big deal, and that Tom had no business in attaching an even bigger stigma to it.

A few weeks later, I walked into the busy  bagel shop, and the cutest little girl said, “You can sit with us!” I smiled and said, “No, I’ll just wait for someone else to get up”. She persisted and her mother said, “You better sit, she is pretty insistant!”  It was then that I realized, um, I was talking to Look Schmield’s little girl.

I sat down, and complemented the little girl on her tutu (which, apparently, she refused to leave the house without.  “When I was your age, I wanted a dog so badly that I would eat only underneath the table and crawled on all fours for three months straight,” I told her.  Look smiled and said, “Sometimes I want to eat underneath the table, too.”

Encourage by her comment, I felt like I could say what I wanted.  Very carefully, I thanked her for speaking out.  I told her that when Tom made those statements, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Let him come to my house for a week, I’ll go off of my meds.  Let him look anyone in the eyes and say that depression is easily curable by diet and Xenu and whatever else he preaches…”  She was so sweet and flattered.  I was so careful not to overstep any boundries, but it was so important to me to make sure she knew that it MEANT SOMETHING.  Her using her voice, when so many use it to speak on something that they don’t understand, to say, “Hey.  Depression is real, and it hurts…and it takes courage to get help, and to fight.”

Living in LA I had a lot of bizarre, wonderful things happen.  It is where I met D.  And it’s also where I got to say thank you to someone who helped to free me, even just a bit, from the ties that bound me to feeling like I was weak.  Because I am not.

Maddie’s Day

I never met Maddie.  I have never met Mike, or Heather, or even Rigby.

But I know their story.  And my heart hurts.

Heather and Mike have done something with their grief that just AMAZES me.  They have taken it upon themselves to not only make sure that their daughter is remembered, but to make sure that other parents don’t have to go through the hell that they have endured.

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you wake up, in sleep paralysis?  Where you are stuck, not moving?  And watching something miserable unfold in front of you?  I liken that feeling to grief.  You can wake up everyday, and be rendered useless by the pain in your heart.

The Spohrs shock me with their ability, everyday, to wake up, shake off that paralysis, and live.  Live a life, filled with love and memories, so that Maddie is still here.  And it is changing people by the dozens.  (Don’t believe me?  Click on just of almost any Mommy Blogs).  UNBELIEVEABLE!

Happy birthday, Miss Maddie.  You are so loved.