City Life

It's happened. I have lived in the city too long. I am fully assimilated. I kinda enjoy all the honking.

People only honk when someone is dumb, and it's not always the one being honked at. So whenever I hear a horn lately I think "haha, who is being dumb now?"

Some Stuff

So, Obama released a copy of his birth certificate. Donald Trump is taking the credit. Well la-de-fricking-da. Obama was born here. You were wrong. Now you just look like an ass.

I have a good kid and he drives me mad. How do parents with not so good kids do it?

The problem with trying to read someone that you don't really know is that you don't know them well enough to read them. Sounds like its obvious? Not to all of us, okay?

A quick story for Mama Kat's writing workshop: an embarrassing story from school. I generally don't get embarrassed. I have a high tolerance or something. Drunk friends can easily spit out something told in confidence, though, and my face turns redder than a beet. (Does anyone even eat beets?) I was out and about with a friend in college and we saw this guy I knew from high school. I'm about to say hi when she says to me very loudly "Isn't that the guy that you like from your high school?" Extremely awkward.

One last thing. I'm going to the SITS Bloggy Boot Camp May 7th. I'm going with Mel and Frannie! We are going to have so much fun! Has anybody else been to anything like this?

The Tortured Artist

I have mentioned before that I understand the tortured artist thing. How when you are the worst, your art is the best. My mom said something to me today: "Why haven't you been making more birds?" And I answered something vague about not having time or they being hard.

But the real answer is is that I've been happy lately. I've been doing things and seeing people. I've been socializing. I haven't had the time nor the want to sit around knitting. But now that I've fallen into my hole, it sounds like a grand thing to do. I feel worthless so I need to make something to convince myself (even for a fleeting second) that I am not.

Understanding is not easy. Dealing with it is not easy. Trying not to freak you child or new friends out is not easy. Nothing about depression is easy.

Birthdays and Why They Suck

Yesterday was Ryder's birthday. He was all happy, of course, but I was not. I hate birthdays. They remind me of the beginnings. They remind me of things before they became miserable. Or rather when they were miserable.

Yesterday I was thinking of when Ryder was born. We waited and waited and waited. Then four years ago, I went into the hospital to be induced. Andrew was there.

My family was there. We were watching the Sox when my water broke. They left and I didn't invite them back. Andrew was there. He was probably more scared than I was.

They gave me an epidural and told me to rest. Andrew went to wait outside. I was later told that he was on the phone getting drugs.

I couldn't rest. The epidural made me itchy so everyone came back and I pushed. Pushed and pushed. Andrew was there. Ryder came and he was amazing. Our family had just grown to three. And that's how it was supposed to be. Three. Because Andrew was there.

And now he's not. He was not there for long after Ryder was born. It was just Ryder and I and it still is. I cannot grasp how that happened. It happened so quickly. He was there, then he wasn't. He doesn't even see Ryder now.

Ryder is amazing. I don't understand how he goes about his day not caring to know that. He loved him so much four years ago. How did that change?

Hate and Loathing

I hate him. I have no good reason, I just hate him. Loathe him perhaps.

He's normal enough looking, I guess. An older man with a briefcase. He parks near me, gets on at the same door on the same train as me. He takes the same return train, then we walk parallel to our cars.

Couldn't he be a friend? We have so much in common. No. Because I hate him.

One morning I decided I would speak to him. That should dispel any hatred I have, just seeing him as a normal person. We were paying for parking, next to each other of course, when I said "Wow, the parking lot is filling up quickly today." He said "Well, people park in this lot because it is cheaper than the other." No shit. That's why *I* park in that lot. Not because I want to walk farther. So that was it. The end of Operation Speech Will Set You Free.

As if I couldn't hate him any more, he got this Celtics jacket. It is so obnoxious. Besides being the mandatory Kelly Green, it has banners on the back. You know the type. The ones that teams get for winning this or that, then hang around the arena. Yes those. On the back of his jacket there is a replica of each and every banner the Celtics have won. It sorta makes me want to beat him over the head.

One last piece of evidence for you, before I bore you and anger myself. When he gets his receipt from the parking meter, he places it on top of the meter. Wtf? I am tempted to tell him to just throw it on the ground. Is is really kidding himself by thinking that by putting it on top of something, it is not littering? I bet 5 minutes pass before that thing is flying all over the damned parking lot.

Maybe I'll offer to take it next time. "Instead of you littering, I'll take that paper for you." Maybe.

Or maybe I'll just hit him over the head.

Through the Rabbit Hole

Finally. A little bit of time alone. I must remember to thank Mom profusely. What should I do with this time? Well, the living room really needs vacuuming, but that's dumb. I should throw a kegger or something. Pretend that I'm 22 again. Ok, here's the deal: vacuum the living room then party. Perfect.

La de da... I hate vacuuming... La de da...

Fuck this couch is heavy. Maybe I should put it off til next time. No. That's what I said last time. Just behind the couch then I can get started on my keg.

What the... I don't remember this little door. No, I definitely would've remembered an Alice-in-Wonderland-door. I wonder... hey, it opened easy enough. If only I had one of those nifty "Eat Me" cakes. Well, what do you know? Ask and you shall receive. Mmmm... Carrot cake. I ought to find out who makes these and... Whoa there! Okay, smaller, smaller, I dig it.

Holy shit! This place is beautiful! Look at all the butterflies! And the sun, so bright - not sure how it fit in my house... and the trees. Are those... yeah, there are books growing on the trees. I'll just grab one, here, ah, Catcher in the Rye, that's a good one. And I'll just sit upon this soft grassy knoll. "'If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born..."

"...Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." Ahhh... how nice it is to finish a book in one sitting. I... oh no! How long have I been in here? The kids are probably looking for me. Where's that door? There it is. Kids! Mommy is coming!

That's weird, I'm normal sized again. And the house is quiet. What time... its not a minute later than when I went through the door to begin with... so peculiar.





Imagine you're home alone (I know this may be hard to visualize but work with me here) and you stumble upon a secret passageway in your living room. The passage leads to a room of your very own, one that you will never tell another living soul about. This is your sanctuary. What does your room look like? What will you do here? Be as creative as you want and add a twist of magic.