Via Downloadsquad, which has interesting stuff every day I check it.
Remember that thing where you could move the fridge letters around? Kinda like that, I suspect, but I haven’t seen it in action much yet, ’cause I’ve gotta get going to work now, instead of having an argument with Ripley about whether or not his miniwheats can be “dipped” in his cup of water…
Can today at work please just be moderately normal? Yesterday (and most of last week) was outta control…
Last night, I had a collection of bad dreams, but I’m only really aware of two. The first one is gone in that fog of sleep that happens, but the second is sorta interesting.
I was getting onto a plane (at least the building I was in was very similar to an airport, with escalators, and lots of people coming and going), and had someone who reminded me of John Candy leading the way, and it was all somewhat rushed, like he was helping me get where I was going before time ran out. I was taking an escalator down, and then was placed into a capsule that was vaguely tube-shaped. Little windows at the top, and metal bars and framework around me. There was a sense of a countdown, and exhiliration of takeoff, but then something went wrong.
The tube was filling extremely quickly with water. Clear and clean, and fairly warm, but choking nonetheless. I couldn’t move, and couldn’t get myself out of the canister I was in, but wasn’t really able to do much but kick feebly at the edges of the tube, hoping that someone could hear me, or do something to get me out. The air in my lungs exploded out of me in a cough, and I felt the compression of claustrophobia in my chest. I sucked in water, and felt it burn my nose, and kept kicking… and kicking… I was heartbroken, I was dying, and couldn’t do anything about it. There was no panic any more, just futility, and loss.
I woke, and while I couldn’t move (what’s that chemical that we release into our muscles that keeps us from running around in our sleep?), I gasped in air, and then lay there panting, my head pounding and my heart bashing my ribcage as I lay on my still-numb hands.
I looked around a little, and realized that Tate was in the bed, but the soft (foamy, sorta rigid) pillow was over his head. I yanked it back and threw it almost off the foot of the bed, and then watched him closely in the dim light to make sure he was breathing. He was lying on his back, his head was turned to the side, away from me, and yes, he was breathing. He obviously hadn’t been bothered by the pillow at all. At least, he didn’t appear to be distressed in any way.
So why did I dream of drowning? Did my six-month-old son send the sensation of smothering to me for long enough to wake me to get the pillow off his head?
Or what?
That stuff aside, I’ve been feeling the hangover from dying today, and it still hurts. I’m still sad about it.
So… Wednesday.
Wednesday is sorta interesting at work. Click here for the latest scuttlebutt. Saw some people go at my location go who were a bit of a surprise, and a few that certainly weren’t. Bittersweet, in some ways. It’s a transition year (the XBox360’s early release and the flexible release date of the Playstation3 lead the general public into a “wait and see” mode, which hurts publishers like EA), so it’s understandable. We saw graphs that show what happened when the XBox and PS2 came out, so it’s not like we should be completely shocked. Anyhoo, enough about that.
Thursday. Afrika Bambaataa at Atlantis
This was in response to a friend’s question about whether or not they were depressed (or just having a hard time, what?).
Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
I’m hearing ya. I was going to suggest (again) that you apply here at Mole Hill (They have “market” and “assisted” pricing for a suite in one of these heritage homes, and having a friend who’s already “in” really helps. Oh, and did I mention that a single parent with a child gets a two-bedroom, according to the rules?) but then you mentioned in that you can’t move away from E’s preschool and N’s parents.
I think it’s totally valid that you’re depressed, and feeling like it’s really freakin’ hard to clean the house (or get outta bed in the morning). Know what? It is.
The fact that you *do* do these things so often, and yet still have time to be interested and engaged in life (and love) in any capacity speaks volumes toward your ability to overcome what life keeps throwing at you. (know what else? life keeps taking a pee in your turtle pool, too)
I don’t think I’m talking out my butt when I say that everyone reading your post is trying to figure out how they can help in some way or another. Not just go “ra-ra” from the sidelines, but actually get in there and kick the ball too (or at least submarine a defensive player or two). Make sure you let us know when there’s things you could use. Don’t let yourself think for a moment that any one of us wouldn’t jump at the chance to do something to help out.
When A went through a period of feeling completely overwhelmed, and feeling like she was just having it all be too much, I got out a piece of paper and started doing “Good/Bad” lists with her. All the basics were there: Time, Money, Kids, Cleaning, Shopping, Friends, Work, Family, etc, and it was pretty easy to figure out what kinds of things went into each column, but the simple act of writing all that shit DOWN made her realise that she wasn’t being unreasonable about feeling overwhelmed.
Her life *was* overwhelming.
Still is.
But I’ll be damned if writing some of that shit down didn’t help her to see that it was okay to feel overwhelmed.
The Super-Soccer Moms out there who work full time *and* clean the house *and* have dinner parties *and* take pole-dancing classes in their spare time (what spare time) are all (I’m pretty sure) faking the funk somewhere in their life. I could be wrong, they might all be just idiotically energetic and overly-healthy people who also like to build cars out of macrame in their spare time. I doubt it though. I’m thinking a lot of them step out of their Escalade in the underground parking and wrangle their $800 stroller into the elevator of their highrise and think “Holy Mother of JEEBUS do I need a drink.”
…and the next morning, they shit on the little club kid at Starbucks who forgot to put CAROB sprinkles on their extra-non-low-whip-spang-enfeebled-mocha-chip-a-crack-a-freakin’-ccino, instead of chocolate.
So… yeah. Life’s hard. Need help?
“A” says that depression *is* picking on yourself and doubting your own abilities. It’s a cycle: You feel bad about feeling bad which makes you feel bad…
She also says there’s a book called “Feeling Good,” that totally helped her. I’ll pray to the bookcase gods and see if it falls on my head, and send it your way.
We took a CanCar and went out to Whiterock to visit Grampa Brian and Gramma Donna
We all had a pretty good time, I think, and it was good to see Jason and Vicky (and their partners, Shannon & Ted).
We went down to the beach area and wandered out to the end of the pier (my dad, Ripley, and Donna)…
Ripley went digging for buried treasure…
…and Tate took over duties as “The Ovulator.”
…and now, after watching some Olympics on CBC and some sorta stress-inducing chocolate challange thing on the Food Network, I’m going to make some coffee…
Peace out, folks.
Let’s start at the beginning of this week:
Monday night.
Mad Professor with Aisha at Richard’s on Richards, 8pm.
I thought I was going to an “early/short” show (Doors at 8? Who goes to a club on a Monday at 8pm?) and turned out that I was going to a “full meal deal” with that started at 10:30 on the dot. Wandered around outside for a bit, watched two young guys smoke pot (doesn’t matter how far away you get from other people, if you’re tokin’ people a block away know about it), and talked to the second person in the “will call” line (an Asian lady with one of those little wool toques that makes me think about how itchy/sweaty wool would be on my scalp) who had an Australian accent and…
…wrap your head around that for a minute…
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Note to self: Growler Kids Audio Entertainment
Here’s Ripley, Tate, and me, in that order…:
Just sitting here watching the Daily Show, and I thought I’d just take a moment and reflect on what a great day we all had. Mostly because of a little outage that we had to go out for a little trip for a checkup for Arwen. Everything’s cool, her blood pressure is cool, and Tate’s cool. Yay them!
Okay, so after we did that (Rip and I sat in the waiting room, reading a Sesame Street book that was ANCIENT – with old scary skinny Big Bird and some sorta GREEN Grover-look-a-like in it.
It was awesome,) we wandered down to the Toys’R’Us looking for a dinosaur costume for Rip. We found one dragon one that was pretty good, but then we found a wicked Dinosaur costume that was… too small. POOP!
So, as any normal 3.5y/o would, Ripley had a massive melt-down about not buying a Thomas the Tank Engine, of course. We ended up outside the store while Arwen paid for the burp cloths ($9 for 4 of them?) with me talking to Rip like a Negotiator because he was already “Timed Out” of being in the store, but I couldn’t send him to a room anywhere (A’s got a post about what we’ve been doing to R’s head as of late) unless you want to count me sending him to the baby section.
(Commercial Note To Self: Tommy Lee Goes to College – God Help Us All)
Cameron Diaz is on the Daily Show now, pumping “In Her Shoes” and she’s got some really REALLY bad hair. I’m not a huge fan of hers in the first place, but seriously, who’d she piss off in the green room to go on-stage looking like that.
Arwen’s falling asleep in the glider chair ’cause Tate’s toasty warm, and cute as hell, and gets this look on his face like Bernard on Black’s Books when he asked for a sandwich with pickles and was told “sure.” Pure bliss.
got totally sidetracked, and will have to talk about the day later…
I asked Ripley for a random word, and he gave me “butterfly” and I put that into Google Images.
