Running to Stand Still

Comments about courage notwithstanding, this is REALLY hard. I keep sitting down to write some sort of "yes, there is hope" post about my decision to get help and try to get healthy. But so many horrible things happened along the way that I'm having trouble with the"think positive" aspect of it. I keep waiting for a sliver of light to open in my mind, and my heart, but all I can do is think about (him) and (him) and how I'm still so lonely.

Just me and the pharmacy.

Monkey Mind.

I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I need to buy dog food.
I miss you.

Um, What He Said…

heather, who was undoubtably a catalyst for my recent stay at the hospital, has shared a post that her husband wrote about living with someone who is depressed. Check it out here. That's a good man.

I'm working on a post about the whole experience, but it's complicated. I may need to air it out a bit before reliving it here.

I'm better, though. Definitely.

well, THAT was interesting.

I'm home. There's food in the oven. Calder is waiting for Santa.

Notes from the long strange trip to come.

Happy Holidays!

…and Help arrived.

Thank you P, A, K, S, C, S, S and mostly C for today.

You're my heroes.

I love you, and I'll see you when I get back ;)

Help

Citizen Cope

“That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key.” —Elizabeth Wurtzel

Compounds daily?

How about hourly?

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Day One.

Practice.

Sit.

Frustrated.

Cry.

Remember.

Second Guess.

Cry.

Practice.

Numb.

Cry.

The Long, Long, LONG Way 'Round

So, in between all the sobbing and snuffling and cleaning out of the computer files and wading through wads of used Kleenex (actually, toilet paper, and man, that stuff can rub your nose down to the BONE), and the various other activities during THE DAY WHEN I WOKE UP IN HELL AND THEN GOT A LOT OF REALLY NICE EMAILS FROM PEOPLE I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO TOLD ME TO HANG IN THERE BUT WHO REALLY JUST MADE ME FEEL WORSE BECAUSE EVERYONE IS SO NICE AND I'M JUST A SNIVELING IDIOT, I fell asleep on the couch and had a dream that E.M. rode up to my house on his motorcycle and told me that he was taking me to Dunkin' Donuts. The most beautiful man in the world and an Extra Large Regular. I can't figure out if this is some sort of joke or a preview of Heaven.

E and I thank you all for your kind words.

(Edited because I have about 9 million google searches for this particular movie star and I felt bad for all the poor people looking for celebrity news who ended up here.)

think of your own title, I'm too busy mopping up my keyboard.

My God. The kindness of quasi-strangers is humbling.

Double that.

I am beyond words.

Wasted.

I wanted to do something, for the sake of myself.
I wanted to scream, for the sake of my tears.
I wanted to object, for the sake of my intellect.
I wanted to say something, for the sake of…

shoot. I don't know.

It's one of those days (and sadly, there have been a lot of them lately) where I don't like myself very much. I thought I was made of stronger stuff than this, but it appears that me and myself aren't going to be friends for very much longer.

I have lost friends, some by death, others by the sheer inability to cross the street -
Virginia Woolf

Amen, sister. I just can't cross that fucking street.

well the drugs don't work…

they just make you worse.

(thanks for the reminder mandy)

Macylicious

As close as I can get to holiday spirit right now.

There's green. There's red.

Where I'm Calling From

I wrote this post just over two months ago. At one point in a mediation meeting shortly after that, our lawyer proposed that Matt and I each spend a week figuring out how to extricate ourselves from each other financially. Now, as then, I am still financially dependent upon Matt, and he has been struggling with making ends meet in two separate households. While the photo business has certainly brought in some money, it’s inconsistent and fledgling, so it’s unlikely to solve our problems. I’ve been looking for a job for what seems like forever, but nothing’s happening. This all adds up to a very pissed-off Matt, a very concerned lawyer, and a very fucked-up me. Money money money. It’s a bitch.

When the attorney tasked us with this financial untangling, I made a joke about how it felt like homework; all of a sudden I felt as if I needed to write a paper, or study for a test, or meet some impossible work deadline. My head is buzzing with legal jargon about child support and maintenance payments. My stomach is in knots with the fear that before long, I’m going to be cut off from food and gas and therapy and MY GOD HIGH-SPEED INTERNET. I’m not afraid for Calder — Massachusetts protects him well, and Matt is extremely devoted to his happiness and well-being, but all of the legal ramifications of divorce leave me pretty much in the gutter.

In Mourning and Melancholia, Freud wrote “for the most part…the occasions of loss extend beyond a literal death to include…all of those situations of being wounded, neglected, hurt, out of favor, or disappointed, which import opposite feelings of love and hate into the relationship or reinforce an already existing ambivalence.” Well, no duh. My ambivalence toward this whole dismantling is really bad. I have to snap out of it. I have to protect myself.

But all I want to do is stick my head in the sand until it’s all over. Change is rarely linear, so I might as well start digging south.

Poor me, huh? Yuck. I despise myself when I feel this way. I have friends who love me. I have family who cares. I have access to Buddhist wisdom:
May I be free of anger, fear, and worries. May I not fall into a state of indifference or be caught in the extremes of craving and aversion. May I not be the victim of self-deception.

Maybe it’s time to turn over my fear. I can replace it with the trust that the highest good is unfolding, not just for myself, but for everyone involved.

Maybe these are quotidian details to some, but shedding the pernicious and embracing the present may be all I have left.

See? I just saved myself $150 in therapy.

I want to be this good

I am totally in love with all the great photos over at Ree's site. IN LOVE. Maybe I just have a thing for livestock, but these are some of the most gorgeous images I've seen. This is how good I want to be when I grow up.

I'm thinking of starting him on caffeine

The Autumn Sessions

I guess I won't be expecting a heart attack any time soon.

I think a little menace is fine to have in a story. For one thing, it's good for the circulation.
~ Raymond Carver

why the laundry is piling up

I don't think I've ever been in darkness this thick. It's soft, like wading through some sort of velvet fog, but blacker than anything I've ever experienced.

It also weighs about a million pounds.

REPOST

Dammit, just because I want to and the bottle agreed. And because it's so darn gooooooooood.

And I can take or leave it if I please.

Through early morning fog I see
The visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see...

Beauty, Ugly.

This was the view from my driveway yesterday afternoon. I wish I could have better captured the quality of the light; it was if the whole neighborhood was enveloped in a great orange parachute. It was very cool.



Have you ever seen that show Intervention on Bravo? It's about addicts and their issues and their recovery, and from time to time there's a short excerpt from someone who was once one of the addicts but has since recovered, and in almost all of these little interviews, the person says that "actually viewing themselves" and how awful they looked and behaved during their addiction made them that much stronger during their recovery. With that in mind, I snapped a self-portrait on what may have been one of the very worst, most pitiful, most self-absorbed days I have ever spent as an adult. I hope I can keep going back to it so that I will NEVER act like that again.

no not one

Done so many evil things in the name of love, it’s a crying shame
I never did see no fire that could put out a flame.

Pull your hat down, baby, pull the wool down over your eyes,
Keep a-talking, baby, ‘til you run right out of alibis.
Someday you’ll account for all the deeds that you done.
Well, there ain’t no man righteous, no not one.

– Bob Dylan, “Ain’t No Man Righteous (no not one)”

um, help?

What does one do when one's therapist is on vacation?

The tequila is already gone.

Layer Cake

And She Waited…

You Missed the Parade

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So now won't make it today
You're on the highway taking the long way home
Slowly but surely you're on your way now
You're on your way down to your town
Won't make it today won't say you're sorry
Won't even call to say you're late
You missed the parade you missed your birthday
Missed every single holiday
Forgot your way home it's been too long now
Too much has changed now it's been too many yesterdays...
But she waited by the front gate with a smile on her face
And she waited and she waited
Never made it again today
It's never okay another delay another disappointing day
I hope you're lonely and empty handed
I hope you're stranded
You took the wrong way to her heart
And she waited and she waited as her smile fades away

Next Time, Maybe…

I've clearly failed to stick with the NaBloPoMo gig. I'm too, I don't know, something. Wordless? Clueless? I used to notice a pattern where I tended to post much more frequently when I was sad or depressed or angry, and less when things were going my way. Well, lately, each day has been a combination of all of those things, so maybe I should just be honest and say that I haven't really had anything interesting to say. I have, however, been taking lots and lots of photos. Maybe I'll just let them speak for me for a bit.

A Haiku for My Brain

I think I really love you
…not enough to stay.
Dubious logic.

The Backwards 4 Indicates Where I'm Going

Portrait of the Artist at Forty.

Send wrinkle cream and tequila.

For Straddling the Misery/Happiness Fence

I can't decide today, so I'm letting Nina sing the upbeat blues.

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So is Gabriel García Márquez.

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."

I'm clearly involved in some sort of search for literary companionship in heartache. Perhaps J. Alfred and Pip are next on the list.

Fred Exley is reading my mind.

"[I]…have lain afternoons imagining how tonight, this very night, I will find the strength to turn and walk on about my business. But then evening comes, and sleep, and then the dream, and then that shuttering of heavy blackness."

I'd like to find a way to not wake up for a while.

I’ve had the blues, the reds and the pinks…

I’m acting out, a bit. Not necessarily in a destructive way; nor, however, can it be called constructive. Jung called the moment when we start the ongoing process by which we become ourselves individuation. Buddhists call it enlightenment. One of my friends likens it to ‘fessing up, conceding our negative behaviors. I turn forty this week, and I’m starting to panic a bit about who the hell I actually am. So much has changed in the past year or so, and while there are some constants that I feel good about; my ability as a mother, my loyalty as a friend, my (insert something I haven’t thought of here), I’m concerned that my ongoing need to put on my game face is starting to backfire. Sometimes inner fortitude is the last thing I feel.

The new venture is going well. There is an honest, very real happiness that comes from the work of shooting photos, working with clients, having happy results. I am loving it, and am recognizing it as more than just a distraction from my troubles, but a good way to move away from them. But with that new perspective comes a worry that some of this is just false bravado. Is that what I’m showing? I still get pissed/anxious/sad/worried about the same things, despite the distraction. The knots in my stomach are still there. Still tight. Still desperate.

The acting out part comes in to play with certain people in my life. I’ve been trying to do the right thing by Matt, trying to glide through the final stages of this divorce with as few histrionic outbursts as possible. The obvious roadblock to that is that dismantling a 10-year old marriage is layered with emotional complexity. I’m over him as my husband, but not over the experience. My anger over it is yielding to attacks of self-blame and remorse. What does his leaving say about me? Not a new question, but one I find myself asking again and again as the other important relationships in my life evolve, or in some cases, devolve. People I love yell at me. People I respect tell me that I’m slipping, that I need to get my head out of the clouds and back in the game. Vivian Gornick said “it was marriage that taught me that anxiety looks like devotion.” I don’t think it’s marriage, necessarily. I think it might just be love.

I’m tired of being at war with my desires.

Stormy

Not much of a beach day. We didn't lose power, though, and for that I am grateful.

And brave the storm to come, for it surely looks like rain…

I've been working on some thoughts, and had a nice chunky post in the works for today (NaBloPoMo!), but we are in the middle of a fairly significant northeaster here, and the lights have been flickering, so I am shutting down the works and going out to watch the ocean.

The storm suits my mood, anyway.

Much more cooperative than a 4-year-old

Happiness = Reality ÷ Expectation

From Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult:

"Why hadn't he realized this before? Everyone knew that if you divided reality by expectation, you got a happiness quotient. But when you inverted the equation — expectation divided by reality — you didn't get the opposite of happiness. What you got, Lewis realized, was hope.
Pure logic: Assuming reality was constant, expectation had to be greater than reality to create optimism. On the other hand, a pessimist was someone with expectations lower than reality, a fraction of diminishing returns. The human condition meant that this number approached zero without reaching it — you never really gave up hope; it might come flooding back at any provocation."

I seem to have a problem with the flooding back part. Evidently, I need to become a little more pessimistic.

Or maybe not. This may be a bit too much like math for me.

On second thought, all they needed was a broom.

I made my home here on the floor

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I want a Dyson for my birthday

I just read this in the comments section of Bossy's blog, and it made me laugh harder than I have in a long time.

That's actually kind of sad.


Carperpetuation (kar-pur-pet-you-ay-shun) n.

The act, when vacuuming, of running over a string or a piece of lint at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it back down to give the vacuum one more chance.

Wordless Wednesday

(Click for larger image. And also so you can see the frowning.)

Dozens of people spontaneously combust each year. It's just not really widely reported.

I have, I don't know, a fever, some sort of bug, whatever. It hit me just hard enough to excuse an entire afternoon lying on the couch watching Christopher Guest movies. The man is truly, truly a genius. This is Spinal Tap should be in the Smithsonian.

"We've got Armadillos in our trousers. It's really quite frightening."

"No. No. No. I feel it's like, it's more like going, going to a, a national park or something. And there's, you know, they preserve the moose. And that's, that's my childhood up there on stage. That moose, you know."

Nigel: You know, just simple lines intertwining, you know, very much like - I'm really influenced by Mozart and Bach, and it's sort of in between those, really. It's like a Mach piece, really. It's sort of...
Marty: What do you call this?
Nigel: Well, this piece is called "Lick My Love Pump."

and the song I'll be singing for days: Sex Farm
Working on a sex farm, trying to raise some hard love. Getting out my pitch fork, poking your hay.

Rock On. To Eleven.

Memo to: Will Shortz

Re: NY Times Crossword puzzle for Monday, October 22.

1. There is no such thing as clam bisque. Okay, well, maybe there is, but up here in New England we have CRAB bisque and clam chowder. Or Chowdah. It was a very misleading clue, especially for a Monday. Do you know how much crossing out I had to do because the answer should have been CRAB bisque?

2. Little Bo Peep lost her SHEEP. Not her ewe, her ram, and her lamb. HER SHEEP.

Thank you for your attention. Carry on.

Lisa

On Love & Other Difficulties…

“I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other” — Rilke

Why did it take me so long to learn this? It's so simple.

Paris.

I've never been, but I keep dreaming that I'm there. It's where I'd like to be in 18 days or so.

Je suis effrayé de tourner quarante.

I Could Sure Use Some Sunshine On My Apple Trees

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Where are you now
Are you in some hotel room
Does it have a view?
Are you caught in a crowd
Or holding some honey
Who came on to you?
Why do you have to be so jive
O.k. hang up the phone
It hurts
But something survives
Though its undermined
I'd still like to see you sometime

I'm feeling so good
And my friends all tell me
That I'm looking fine
I run in the woods
I spring from the boulders
Like a mama lion
I'm not ready to
Change my name again
But you know I'm not after
A piece of your fortune
And your fame
cause I tasted mine
I'd just like to see you sometime

Pack your suspenders
I'll come meet your plane
No need to surrender
I just want to see you again

We're in for more rain
I could sure use some sunshine on my apple trees
It seems such a shame
We start out so kind and end so heartlessly
I couldn't take them all on then
With a head full of questions and hypes
So when the hopes got so slim
I just resigned
But I'd still like to see you sometime
I'd sure like to see you

Scaring the Crap Out of Myself

Thanks to lots of nice comments from people like I Hope So, and a giant push from my friends, I have finally hung out a shingle.


I don't know what that means, exactly, except that the phone has been ringing a lot and I'm running low on just-one-more-shot-PLEASE lollipops. I'm scared to death. I'm also having fun.

oh and thank God for Photoshop.

Well the leaves have come to turning…

Today is pumpkin day, as family tradition dictates. This will be the first year that Calder and I will be doing this as a duo, and I've been informed by his majesty that I might have to "invite a big man to come because you won't be able to lift the giant pumpkins."

Grrr.

The Internets Are So Cool.

Found this just in time for the weekend. Can you imagine (heh) what it would have been like to be the driver? I think I may be stoned just from watching.

Colorful

Googling

Usually some time after the first of the month, I go to my site stat pages to see if there were any unusual keywords used to find me. Mostly I get the same group; various forms of sunset pig (hyphenated, all one word, quotes, etc.). Sometimes people who might have heard a song or seen a video on the blog go back to try and find it again by keyword-searching the song name or artist. All pretty normal, and pretty expected from a blog with such low traffic as mine. My expectations are humble.

Today, though, I'm a bit puzzled. The following are the keywords that have brought people to me since October 1st:

sunset pig

pigs that I like

who can sing to a pig? (I'd love to know what this person was really looking for)

van gogh crying

van gogh the scream

vincent van gogh

blackness everywhere a little less shine

smoking and your heart (this one is particularly odd as there are thousands of medical pages that come up as hits when this is used as a search term. How the hell do I come into it? {unless someone out there knows my heart is smoking} ;)

and last, but certainly not least:

pig fuckers



Maybe it's time to change the name of my blog?

Just give me one thing that I can hold on to.

This completely unhinged me today.

There has got to be a way through to a different ending.

To believe in this living is just a hard way to go.

Too Bad Jim Wasn't Here…

I love you the best
Better than all the rest.
I love you the best
Better than all the rest.
That I meet in the summer.
Indian summer.
That I meet in the summer.
Indian summer.
I love you the best
Better than all the rest.

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This is Not My Dog.

But, oh, how I hope she won the blue ribbon.

If Today Was a Fish…

…I would throw it back.