January 22, 2003

You got to go to the lonesome valley
 You got to go there by yourself
 Nobody else can go for you
 You got to go there by yourself
 Oh, you got to ask the Lord's forgiveness
 Nobody else can ask him for you
 You got to go to the lonesome valley
 You got to go there by yourself
 Nobody else, nobody else can go for you
 You got to go there by yourself

Pfft.  Well, I keep TRYING to get to that lonesome valley so I can walk it by myself and figure out where some of the dark trenches lie and isolate the mine fields and scout out the sink holes BUT every time I go down in there, these little critters that I birthed keep going in there with me!

And what does all that allegorical crap mean?  Just that I gave myself until Full Moon Saturday morning to shovel out of this depression I've been in and I'm still not completely there.  I'm at the point where I have a pretty good idea of what is causing the depression, but I still have to decide if the better part of valor is to try and *do* something about it or to otherwise accept the things I cannot change and [have the] wisdom to know the difference and get the hell over it.  I just can't get the alone time to sort it all out and by the time kiddies are asleep at night, I'm just wasted tired, so it keeps getting pushed off until later.

What usually works best for me, to your detriment have you not the inclination to X out the column when you see where it's going, is for me to just purge a bunch of crap into my journal and see what the chain reaction synergistically creates. 

Here you get a grab bag of the psychobabble that goes on in my head.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

I had a weird moment recently, these moments of which are fortunately quite rare, in which I felt utterly dumb.  I was leaving the Albertsons that I shop at once a day if not more.  It's just a couple of blocks down the road.  Across the main drag from Albertson's, there's a little consignment shop that I had never given any never mind.  It seemed fairly forgettable, which it well may be.  This time, I came close to slamming on the brakes!  There was a sandwich sign out front that read, "CRAFT AND ERAMIC."  For one glorious moment, my life lit up like a Christmas tree!  Oh Dear Lord, could it be???  Just moments from my home, could there actually be a "Craft" store (as opposed to Crafts, as in Arts &, versus "Craft" as in, Katrina the Wiccan) that was not only ballsy enough to advertise itself as a CRAFT store instead of "metaphysics" or  "unique gifts," but also was into dead language?  As in the language of Christ??  BONUS!!!  Sadly, there were cars behind me, so I was forced to flee to Eric back home with my glorious news. 


Whereupon he informed me that it's "Aramaic" (and the sad part is I KNOW THIS!!!) and that the sign has been there forever and is supposed to read "Crafts and Ceramics" but some of the letters fell off.  I was crushed.  Not only was the glorious shop I had built in my head in two blocks of bliss a total fallacy, but I had been stupid and I was not very familiar with that experience.  Eric did find it quite amusing.  Go on.  It's OK to laugh.  But it sucked. 

The lilies are going absolutely mad.  I mean, this *is* January, right?  I have the two that were first, the initial one of which is browning and curling and done, the second being still ripe and full.  There are a total of FIVE more unfolding.  I take that as a reminder that my life is rife with blessings and more miracles are coming all the time.  The lilies are encroaching big time on the rosemary patch and normally, they live quiet well together.  Rosemary may been a new home.  It's pretty robust, so should handle a move well.  I'm going to have to get some decent outside time so that I can cut back the Mexican Sage, which is almost on the ground and needs to have last year's growth trimmed back to make room (and energy) for the new stuff coming up.  Same for the mint.  The humming birds were eating from the Sage blooms like mad well into Winter, so I didn't want to take it while they were still using it, but I haven't seen them for a while.

Had another pedicure yesterday.  Ladies, you really must all prioritize this in your budget, no matter how goofy it may sound.  This one wasn't as good as the other one.  Leslie and I wanted a place that was closer (the other was waaaay across town), so we tried a new shop and this one didn't have the thrones, just the Vietnamese women with foot fixer tubs.  It was still very nice, don't get me wrong and she did a pretty good job.  The nails are slightly shorter than I wanted and she shaved my toes (?!) which made me feel rather simian, but it was still a very nice experience as Leslie and I sat there yakking it up and sighing a lot.  Pedicures = good.  Pedicures = necessary.  Pedicures = life.

I have a LOT of cleaning to get done and I'm looking at it with a passion reserved primarily for intensive dental work.  A couple of weeks ago when I started to feel that big slide into depression coming on, I took Eric aside and told him I felt one coming on and was going to go with it rather than fight it to see what it had to offer.  Also let him know that I would be pretty much running on generator power for a few weeks while I sorted things out and to just be cool.  He was wonderful about it, patted my hand and told me not to worry and to take all the time I needed.  Pfft.  Needless to say, a week was about all the time I needed according to him.  By Saturday, maybe a week into it, he started his grumbly self mode.  I blew it off for a bit, but he grumbled louder and such to get my attention.  We were having guests over in less than a half hour by the time it all came out.  I asked him to help me straighten up before everyone showed up and it was like I was the little Dutch boy with a finger cramp.  Pulled out the finger and the damned dike broke, the village flooded, killing the little Dutch boy and all in the area.  "OH!" he says, "Now that we're having company you want to clean up!  And you want me to HELP."  Pfft.  So he reminds me, oh so gently and in that tone you use to speak to children with homework not done (make that developmentally challenged children with homework not done), "If you kept the house clean through the week, I wouldn't have to help you right now at the last minute."  *sigh*  Never mind that I was explaining that the majority of what we needed to clean (tick tick tick goes the clock as we talk) occurred that very day.  The big flood cometh. 

I really need for all of you to brace yourself for this one.  If you are like me, you'll fall over laughing at the next part.  Eric said to me, with a straight face, deadly serious, "Your performance for the past two weeks has been deplorable." 

When I burst out in my best Phyllis Diller laughter (I *love* the way Phyllis laughs.  It's so very full and vital and abdominal!), totally out of control.  I couldn't stop laughing, both at his words and how serious he was.  I kept laughing while he told me how slovenly and lazy I am.  Pfft. Yeah, buddy, that's esoteric knowledge right there.   He got obviously (and rightfully, I guess) irritated because I wasn't taking his stinging observations very seriously.   He decided to up the ante a bit, not getting, I suppose, the reaction he was looking for, so he says, "Like Delena's problems with her room, I feel a need to break you of these bad habits."  Insert more uproarious laughter.  I couldn't believe I was listening to a guy who is younger than many of the cookie sheets I own, telling me he was going to break me of something.  After I finished wiping the tears, I reminded him that A) He knew I wasn't a house frau when we married (he said he thought I was just overworked as a working single mom, which is reasonable) and that it was really rotten to marry someone expecting them to change.  B) One of Paul's major complaints in leaving me was that I was a slob, so obviously, I'd rather sacrifice a husband than clean a house.  C) I provided full disclosure a while ago that I was going into a temporary slump and would not be up to par for a bit.  D).  If he wants a broken wife, there's something really, really sick and wrong about him.  E).  He has now completely ensured that I could not produce ANY positive cleaning results for a few days at least lest I reward his poor treatment of me, thereby starting or continuing a cycle that shows him that if he berates me, he gets what he wants. 

So I'm not trying to be obtuse or difficult about the cleaning.  Not directly, anyway. I do know it needs to be done and of course, it makes total sense that it would be the job of the person who stays home.  Yeah, I run around like mad in the 30 minutes prior to his return home, cleaning like a maniac trying to get the house presentable.  Yeah, that sucks, but it's where I am right now.  Part of it is that when I'm working heavily internally, I don't see much externally and really just don't notice the mess.  Lame excuse, but it's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Well, that's a pisser.  My uncle and brother have both called to tell me that my mother is in the hospital in critical condition.  She has congestive heart failure, which is a condition from which two people I know have bounced back from beautifully this year.  The bad news is that they have her up to 100% oxygen and her saturation level is still falling, she's bleeding internally, she has a fever and they've had to not only sedate her, but paralyze her because she keeps fighting the respirator.  So she's totally knocked out.  Before she went down, she told my uncle she wasn't going yet (she's always said she knows when she's dying), but it doesn't look good.  I haven't seen my mom since 1995 when Paul and I went out to visit.  I haven't seen my sane brother since 1986 when my father died.  The hospital has said to bring all the family in, but if I go, I'll have to use the rent money for February to do it.  That leads us to the ethical question of whether to throw caution to the wind and go because I should and because I'd like to or figure that the best thing to do is to protect the family that is here and depends on me.  The cheapest flight are $500-600, plus money for a rental car, plus a hotel.  There's nowhere I could stay as far as relatives are concerned.  None are really set up for guests.  Definitely, I would have to go on my own and leave Eric and the kiddies behind.  So I'm still mulling this one.  Crap.  That woman always did have the worst timing. 

Given that bit of info, I think my ramblings have gone off track for a bit, so I think I'll close and maybe pick up the flow again later on.

Hope all is well with all of you and that the year is going well.

Much Love,


Jan 23, 2003
Jan 22, 2003 Jan 17, 2003

Jan 13, 2003

Jan 9, 2002

Jan 3, 2002

Dec 24-25, 2002

Dec 13-18, 2002

Dec 12, 2002

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