daughter

so yeah, i'm about to just say fuck the world because i'm doing my best to keep my shit together, to not freak out, to do everyfuckingthing in my life on my own as far as taking care of myself, and someone who i thought loved me (and i'm not talking about a boyfriend or some random friend; this person is related to me by blood) said something that was so hurtful and heartless that i'm not really sure what to think.

i'm not a negative person, i really *do* have a lot of things in my life that make me happy, but i don't often blog about them because what am i gonna write? today was super!

how boring, and i don't tend to analyze why i'm happy. i go with it, relish the moment(s), and that's about it. if something out of the ordinary happens that is huge, positive, and unexpected, i *will* write about it...rarely...but the thing i really need to hash out is what i want to improve in my life.

plus, this person doesn't understand why i care about anything that i care about, so why mention it? so he can zone out while i describe in wonderment how i met eddie vedder, and talk about how fun pj20 will be? he doesn't get it, doesn't care.

yes, please ignore me when i talk about what matters most.

anyway, i know it's in my best interest to not let things like this get to me, but i'm already beyond stressed and working my best to take care of all my responsibilities, problems, and needs on my own without drowning. i don't have a lot of support, and it's easy to sit on your high horse of judgment when you have a spouse, a secretary, a full time job, a benefits package, and family to help you out.

i don't have any of those, despite my best efforts (and i'm a student, but that's my fault), and none of my family lives within a 200 mile radius. it amazes me that people who know what i've been through and can empathize and see how hard i bust my ass to keep my shit together tell me that i'm strong and resilient, and this person, who can't even pretend to sympathize with having debilitating depression that forced me to be hospitalized and on medication, thinks that i'm a glutton of self pity.

trust me, if i were to wallow in self pity, i would be dead.


"the picture kept will remind me..."

alone

deleted due to judgment (that i don't need) from people i don't know.

release

i haven't really posted about pearl jam lately, so that's their song in the title, mostly because the lyrics contain the word 'pain', and release from pain would be a really good thing right about now. i'm so frustrated because i'm trying to stay positive and on an even keel. i've got a good little medication cocktail for the depression worked out; i even had my diagnosis downgraded from severe to moderate. but with the pain i've been dealing with, it's really difficult. i do *not* want to bitch and moan all the time, but chronic pain is just that: with you all the time.

it's gotten to the point where it consumes almost every minute of my day. i can't concentrate, focus, or think about anything else without factoring in how much i have to move, how much it's going to hurt, and how much i'll regret it later.

along with all those calculations, i also have to try to figure out how i can do all the things that i need to in any given day, and how many i can neglect. last night was particularly bad, and phoenix was completely freaked out because i was crying, screaming into my pillow, and pulling my hair. i have traumatized my child.

i've been getting spinal injections to control the pain. it's basically a cortisone epidural, and while the procedure isn't bad, i feel horrible afterward. the first one helped alleviate the pain for almost two weeks, but the second one made it worse. my left arm ached, the knife was lodged in my back again, and it felt like a poker was embedded in my neck and head.

after much crying, frustration, and phone calls, i saw my doctor today, who wanted to talk to me about surgery. um, i believe my sentiment to her nurse was along the lines of "HELL NO!" but i still wanted to talk to the doctor about my concerns, results, etc., so i went.

she told me that my reaction to the second injection was atypical; not surprising, as my body tends to do the opposite of what it's supposed to do most of the time. the first injection (they do a series of three) is supposed to reduce the pain by 30%, then another 30% with the second, and then another 30% with the third one.

this, obviously, didn't happen, but since the first one worked she wants to do the third. after that, if i'm still having problems i'm going to have to see a surgeon. i've talked to a few medical professionals about back surgery, and everyone has strongly "urged" me to refrain. usually, they fuse your vertebrae together, then the surrounding vertebrae take up the slack, then *they* need surgery, and so on. no thank you, to the snowballing back surgeries.

however, what my doctor said was that i wouldn't have anything fused. a surgeon would do a minimally invasive procedure to "clean out" all the goop (i have no idea what the medical term is) that's poking around, sticking out, whatever and messing with my pinched nerves. apparently the bulging is incredibly bad (that's what she said), and the severity of the pinching may be what caused the bad reaction to the second injection.

in addition to this, i'll be starting an interdisciplinary pain management out patient program next week, three days a week from 8am to 3pm. needless to say, i'm pushing back my qualifying exams, which i really don't want to do but i'm completely useless at this point, and can't be in constant pain and taking pain killers daily (i'm up to percoset at this point).

the program will consist of physical therapy, occupational therapy, swimming, education about chronic pain, biofeedback, and relaxation techniques. and if the pain isn't reduced by this program, at least i'll be better equipped to deal with it on a daily basis.

fantastic.

i'm not as freaked out about surgery now, knowing that nothing will be soldered together with metal, and if they need to go in and vacuum all that crap out for me to feel better, i'm all for it. it'll take a few weeks to recuperate (i don't know the exact amount of time), but i'll worry about that later.

for now, i'm going to focus on what will essentially be my job for the next five weeks: reducing my pain so that i can feel like human again.

21 things

since one of my reasons for writing this blog is to let people who are in my life know me a little better, here are 21 (somewhat interesting) facts about me. i also used another alanis song title for this entry because it was the first one i thought of that fit.

1. i still miss my grandfather, over 21 years after he passed away. i think of him everyday.
2. i'm so left handed that i have to start any activity with my left side. i put my pants on left foot first; same with shoes, jacket, shaving my legs, climbing stairs, tying my shoes, and doing my makeup.
3. i tweeze my eyebrows at stop lights to kill time. i think it makes the lights turn green faster, too.
4. i try not to use the words "always" and "never".
5. when i was born, i had blue eyes and black hair. when i was a baby, my eyes turned hazel, and my hair fell out and grew in blond.
6. i love to cook and bake.
7. my favorite number is 6, and my favorite color is pink.
8. i *hate* green bananas. they need to be bordering on rotten before i can eat them...and then i love them.
9. if i was forced lose any one of my senses, it would be taste.
10. i would never get a boy's name that i'm dating/involved with/married to tattooed on me, but i have five tattoos for a certain band.
11. to date, i haven't been married, engaged, or pregnant. i didn't even live with a boyfriend till i was almost 32.
12. i've had migraines since i was 19. the pain was so bad, i thought i was having an aneurysm.
13. i would love to learn how to play the cello.
14. i'm a terrible liar.
15. if i'm not laying down when i have blood drawn, i faint. i also have to be tattooed laying down or else i'll want to faint...or throw up.
16. i'm pretty sure there's a ghost in my apartment.
17. i had my appendix out when i was 29.
18. i love books. i didn't give any away until i was 27 and moving out of state, and realized that 50% of the boxes were books.
19. i lived in a lot of cities with the word "san" in the name: san antonio, san marcos, san jose, and i almost 30 residences.
20. my earliest memory is falling face first into a pond when i was about 2.
21. i have a rainman-like memory for dates, anniversaries, and birthdays.

low light

so, blog title is a pearl jam song. i could link the lyrics, but i'm really just writing to do it and i'm too tired to make the effort. *sorry* just to sum up this week:

trapped in the house since last friday night due to stomach virus, then apocalyptic ice conditions.

due to said ice, i have needed (and can't do) the following:

- RETURN MY OVERDUE F-ING LIBRARY BOOKS
- bathe my disgustingly filthy child (poor thing)
- wear anything other than flannel or sweat/yoga pants. i feel like i should be at an indigo girls concert or a bikram)
- move out of a 100 feet radius
- buy supplies for my valentine's card
- buy stamps
- go to the doctor at the pain management clinic who is supposed to verify that pain isn't making me suicidal
- get my super cheap laser hair removal done (groupon deal)
- go to guitar class
- go to the chiropractor's
- get my dissertation proposal done
- get grayson's vaccine
- take out the trash (yeah, it's on the patio; classy)
- not risk my life everytime i take phoenix outside due to a potential slip and fall
- have a 5 minute break from my children

i need a vacation, a dose of eddie, something!!
i have been able to listen to a lot of music, though; very nice.

and my second injection is tomorrow; wish me luck and a pain-free IV.

that's all i can think of for now, but viva la YIELD!! happy 13th birthday to one of my favorite albums (i'm old, they're albums, not CDs).

2/3/98

"don't you think you ought to rest?
don't you think you ought to lay your head down?
don't you think you wanna sleep?
don't you think you ought to lay your head down tonight?
don't you think you've got enough?
don't you think you've got enough, well maybe?
don't you think it's time to stop?
there's time enough for you to lay your head down tonight."

caring is creepy

watching dexter is an illuminating experience for me, probably more so than other people. i'm pretty much convinced, fine completely convinced, that one of my ex-boyfriends is a psychopath. i was with him off and on for a long time, and i could never really understand the hold he had over me, or why i stayed until i had distance and clarity. i have a better understanding now.

for clarification, let's call my ex "A".

i know that A cheated on me relentlessly, lied pathologically, and when i was mad would say *exactly* what i wanted to hear to get me back. he even cried when needed. scarily, and sadly, i decided that he was a sociopath in 2001. we started dating in 1999, and i was with him until 2006. like i said, he had a hold over me.

in 2001, when i was working on my master's degree, i took a forensic psychology class, which i loved. one of the things that we discussed was the hare psychopathy test. when i took the class, there were 14 characteristics; the revised version now has 20.

here are the characteristics:

• glib and superficial charm
• grandiose (exaggeratedly high) estimation of self
• need for stimulation
• pathological lying
• cunning and manipulativeness
• lack of remorse or guilt
• shallow affect (superficial emotional responsiveness)
• callousness and lack of empathy
• parasitic lifestyle
• poor behavioral controls
• sexual promiscuity
• early behavior problems
• lack of realistic long-term goals
• impulsivity
• irresponsibility
• failure to accept responsibility for own actions
• many short-term marital relationships
• juvenile delinquency
• revocation of conditional release
• criminal versatility

now, A's never been married, so that one can be thrown out, and he has never been convicted of a crime as an adult, so he hasn't had a release revoked, but the rest of the traits? except for one, he pretty much has all of them.

*all* of them.

i'm not formulating my own diagnosis or trying to justify many bad decisions to stay in an admittedly bad relationship. i have a BA and MA in psychology, i worked as a group counselor and intake specialist in a psych hospital (oh, the irony), and did intensive in-home counseling for several home preservation programs. i'm not an idiot.

i started watching dexter because i heard from several people that it was a good show, and i've run out of things to watch. it's surprising that i didn't watch it sooner, because i love true crime tv shows, books, and movies. now that i've watched a few seasons, it's become more personal than i ever thought it would.

watching dexter's behaviors, many of which he narrates, has shed more light on A's way of thinking. it's also made me rethink things that he told me, like i "had more influence on him than anyone else." i believed him then, and i still do, but i don't think that i influenced him in a good way. i think he used me like he used everything else.

i was an example of how to be an emotional person, and how to be (and treat) someone in a committed relationship. not so much anymore, but when A and i were dating, i was an *extremely* emotional person. i also expressed what i wanted, liked, didn't like, thought was mean or unacceptable, and ridiculous. and i forgave him. a lot.

he has mutated over the years, and when i say "mutated" with all of the negative connotations that come to mind, that's what i mean. i think he has mutated based on what he thinks he's *supposed* to be, what clues he gathers from his environment, and what the people around him express that they want and need.

when i met A, he was 23, made a lot of money for doing not a lot of work, and had recently moved to dallas, which if you didn't know has some of the most plastic, sluttiest, looking-for-sugar-daddies girls in the world. easy pickings.

A spent a lot of money, slept around *a lot*, got a flashy car, stated that he'd never get married or even live with a girl, and didn't form one real or solid connection with anyone in the five years he lived here. he actually convinced his two best childhood friends to move down here. problem solved.

and like a sponge, i could feel A sucking my energy. he wouldn't talk unless it was something he was interested in (none of which i was interested in, but feigned), or i asked him endless questions about himself or things he liked: cars, sports. that's about it. i almost had to force conversations.

if you know me, zzzzzzzzzz. i really don't give a shit about cars and the endless specs about them. and i like sports, but how long can you discuss soccer moves? and i know *nothing* about volleyball, don't want to, never will. oh wait, there's sand, right? sometimes...

A thought it was weird that i liked to read, and couldn't understand why i wanted to further my education. he didn't want to get know himself, or his motivations, better. feelings; what are those? he treated me like i was a martian if i showed anything outside of a blank stare or happiness. he even went so far as to blame others for his despicable actions, like cheating.

he actually told me that he "didn't want to sleep with those girls." they "made" him do it. at the time, i almost threw something at him (or threw up), but now i think he may have been telling the truth, as much as was possible. A thought that these girls expected him to sleep with them. why was he in a physical location where it was possible to sleep with a bunch of other girls in the first place? another story altogether. A can't read emotion or body language, but he's a master at giving someone what they want, so even if he "didn't want" to sleep with them, he thought that he was doing what was "normal".

as he got older, he changed his viewpoints on a lot of things related to relationships. he relented on the co-habitation thing, then he decided he was up for marriage. i was the lucky recipient of the first, and in discussions for the second. he was militantly against having kids throughout all of this, however.

so, i talked to A at length a little over a year ago. it was like talking to a completely different person than the one i had known for over 10 years. he wants kids, he wants to get married asap, he wants to settle down, he just wants to find someone that he can have a deep and meaningful relationship with because everyone where he lives is shallow and vapid and no one understands him. *sob*

um, hello? who the hell are you?

i look at his facebook profile every now and then, too, and because of the privacy settings, i can't see much, which is fine by me. the one thing i can see is his favorite quotes, which really irritated me at first, now i just see it as spooky.

FIRST OF ALL, two of them are from 'into the wild'; he also had society (an eddie vedder song from the movie) as his myspace song for quite a while. if you've seen 'into the wild', my ex is *everything* that christopher mccandless was not.

he also has a quote from 'sex and the city', a quote that i TOLD him was my viewpoint about love, which he thought was ridiculous, along with other choice tidbits that are obviously geared toward creating an introspective, loving, boyfriend-type person.

oh.my.god.

i know that none of that is directed at me, but at future victims.

there are soooo many other things he has done over the years that are indicative of psychopathic tendencies, but i think the change over the years (and not the normal maturation of a man) is the worst. i feel violated, like my heart and mind were raped and photocopied, and the information was stored in A's brain to be integrated into his daily life.

here's one more example: he couldn't *stand* pearl jam when we were dating. the first time i got to shake eddie's hand, he picked a massive fight when i told him and pretty much ruined the whole experience. every time A and i broke up, i was the one to do it...all 877 times. i'd get fed up because he was an asshole, end it, and then call him a day, a week, or a month later.

i thought i had finally gotten away from him when i started dating *another* ex (i told you i recycled boyfriends). btw, this is the ex whose marriage i inadvertently ended, and this round of dating is when it happened. quite the tangled web, please try to keep up. make sure your fingers and toes are in, and place all of your carry ons under your seat.

i was dating another guy, and hadn't talked to A in six months, a RECORD!!

and then A called me, saying that he loooooved me, he wanted me back, blah blah blah. all the things he thought i'd fall for. and i told him that i was with someone else, i loved him, i was done. all that was well and good until the other guy and i broke up, and i somehow ended up talking to A, who was living about 1500 miles away at the time. he drove straight to dallas the next day, and a few days later, we were looking for something in his car and i found the entire pearl jam catalog.

what.the.hell.

when i asked him about it, he said he was listening to the CDs because he wanted to understand what mattered to me better, and he wanted to give them a chance because he knew how important the band was to me. he was trying to get closer to me. at that point, i believed him. i thought it was sweet and thoughtful, and quite the effort. now i see that he was trying another tactic to appear normal, or what he thought i expected normal to be.

when he and i lived together, it was in northern california, around the time of laci peterson's murder. one day, i realized that if i got pregnant, there was a chance that i could end up like her. i don't know if A would ever be capable of murder (never say never), but i felt that there was a very real possibility that he would get rid of a money-sucking, fun-ending child to which he bore financial responsibility for 18 years.

that's when i got out.

the goodness in the world

yes, i'll admit it, i have the tv viewing habits of a 14 year old girl, as well as the listening preferences (sometimes) of that same girl...and at times, i eat like a teenage boy whose parents have gone out for the evening.

in this vein, i posted a link to the new taylor swift album on facebook. yes, the *album*. fine, i already have the cd, but i wanted bright, shiny, black, teenage-worthy vinyl. today, as i'm watching celebrity rehab (this post is painting me in an increasingly disturbing light), someone knocked on the door.

to be fair, i've been having serious back issues recently, and after two chiropractic visits this week, and staying up late to watch dexter every night for the last week, i decided to take it easy this afternoon.

back to the knock...

it was a UPS guy with a package (remove your mind from the gutter) that could only *be* an album, and it was from tennessee, not seattle, and therefore not pearl jam. hmmm...so i opened it. the taylor swift album that i told the world of FB that i wanted!!!!

there was no name on anywhere, only an email and a phone number that i don't recognize...an email address with the incriminating initials "pj", prefaced by a shortened version of "love to rock to".

i posted a few things on FB, trying to find the person, used my detective skills, and asked someone else in the pj community. he finally (quietly) came forward.

thank you so much, dan, for one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me.

merry christmas.

thank you, jen

i *was* going to post about my day, but no.

i just talked to my sister jen who gave me some very useful and wonderful advice, so in an effort to make progress despite my missteps today, i'm going to focus on this...

and some days get even better (and yes, we're back to pearl jam, people)

i woke up today in a not-so-great mood, tried to be positive, tried to think of ways to get out of the house, be productive, do something (anything) to feel good, or at least not awful. oh, and avoid taking a four hour long nap.

i ending up spending the day doing some much-needed work (grading), so i feel productive, and i hung out with a sweet new friend who made me dinner, a cool gift, and pampered me like a princess.

i then went and hung out with *another* beautiful, talented, fantastic friend, who gave me *another* sweet gift, and we made gingerbread men (first time for me). now, don't get me wrong, my gratitude about receiving these gifts doesn't come from materialism or greed.

they were handmade, thoughtful, exquisitely unique, and representative of what generous, kind, loving people these two women are. the fact that they went out of their way and took the time to grant me with these acts of kindness is priceless, and feeds my soul.

i also got a very sweet text from my hawaiian baby girl who received the gift i sent her, in hopes that it will bring some joy and relief to what has been a very hectic and difficult time for her.

to add to that, i came home and had FOUR more cards (and a bracelet) from my pearl jam jamily, and my secret santa recipient (who's had a hellacious week) received her package today, and was so excited and happy that my heart nearly burst.

i've been dying to send it to her, and she finally got it today. she has held my hand and talked me off the ledge multiple times in the past few weeks, and i love her dearly.

it seems that a lot of people struggled this week, and are having a difficult time this holiday season (me included). the card exchange that was organized by some very smart, dedicated friends/fans was the best idea i've seen in a long time, and by far, one of the most loving things i've been a part of. i am blessed and honored to have these lovely individuals in my life.
i love you all so much.

i may be "much more than pearl jam", but i would be *nothing* without them and what this band has brought into my life.

some days are better than others...

...and some days are worse. this has been a particularly bad day, for reasons that i can't quite figure out. i know that this is a tricky time of year for me, and that that
'bad" anniversary is coming up in two days, but i don't know if that explains why i cried for over an hour today, have no interest in going anywhere for christmas, and have forced every move i've made since i got out of bed.

i got three very sweet, beautiful, amazingly original cards from my pearl jam peeps today, and even that made me cry...in a good way, but also because i feel like they're the only family i have a lot of the time, and my own family doesn't have time for me.

i don't know, i feel like i need a break from reality, from this illness. it seems like it's holding me hostage, and doesn't *want* me to get better, doesn't want me to call my friends, or ask for help, or do positive things to get out of this rut. i feel like i'm being held captive by something that's trying to drag me down and kill me.

it's unrelenting and brutal. i feel like i'm battling with myself, or a part of me that wants me to die. i don't know that my will to live is strong enough to beat it back.

i've had so many friends tell me that they're here for me if i need anything or want to talk, but what do i say? i'm lonely, scared, sad, afraid that i'll never get past this? no one wants to *hear* that, and no one knows what to *say* to that. and i'm tired of being a burden.

so i say nothing...

a video blog for today, pretty much just pearl jam

here's my first attempt at doing a video blog. it's short, sweet, and to the point, but it sums up my day in the best way possible...without a big broadway number, show tunes, or fireworks.

video blog - please watch

i tried to post this directly to my page, without the link, but i'm having technical difficulties, and i'm way too tired to deal with them anymore. xoxo


my amazing gifts from my secret santa

















my mantle with all my sweet, beautiful christmas cards

















and the back of my shirt (from santa).
the front says "can't find a better band" : ) *LOVE*
hopefully the girls will fit.













i love you guys!

any given thursday

yes, yesterday was thanksgiving, and i know the typical route is to write about what you're thankful for.

this year (and last year as well), i spent thanksgiving with friends, rather than family. i don't think that calling them "friends" quite gives them the credit that they deserve. these people in my life have become my family.

let's say they are my family of choice, not blood.

i'm not entirely close to a lot of my family, but i have friends who have offered their hearts and homes to me, visited me when i was in the hospital, taken care of my kids when i went out of town, driven me to the airport so i didn't have to pay $100 for parking, and accept me for who i am, with love, generosity, and kindness.

there are many people who won't do so much for their family, much less their friends. i do have family who do what they can to take care of me, are always at the ready with a shoulder and an ear. well, pretty much my daddy, and there are others that i could probably count on in a pinch, but my closest relative lives 200 miles away (not counting my mother here).

i'm extremely blessed to have these amazingly supportive, loving, understanding individuals in my life.

i have friends who can commiserate with me when it comes to depression, medication, and less-than-perfect mothers (you know who you are).

i have friends who, although they are miles and miles away, share my love of music and all things pearl jam (damn it, they're back again).

they truly are my family (i just wish most of them lived closer).

run like hell

i started running again last week. i haven't really done it on a regular basis since the summer of '09 when i was running about 20 miles a week. my entire life, i have *abhorred* running. it's not that i'm not active, it's just that i would rather have my legs shaved by a blind man with 4 fingers than to sprint more than 20 feet.

ah, shaving. my least favorite thing in the world to do. if i won the lottery, first thing i'd do (no vacation, no paying off bills): laser hair removal from top to bottom (no pun intended there).

i never understood what people got out of this seemingly masochistic activity, then i hit the two mile mark, and it all fell into place...the legendary runner's high. i started this mostly painful activity because after 3 semesters of working on my phd, it was either run, become an alcoholic, become an addict, or kill someone. those were the only plausible choices, and i didn't relish the idea of rehab, jail, or becoming a murderer.

i got my master's degree pretty much with my eyes closed. i showed up to class, i figured out from the discussion what was going on, i contributed, i went home and dealt with my psychotic boyfriend. at the end of each semester, i'd crank out three 20 page papers in a week, and ta da, here's your A.

i didn't read hardly *anything* except my holocaust books (because they were interesting), and i managed to get all As, and one B (in the freaking holocaust class, of all things!). during most of this i was dealing with said psycho boyfriend, flying to colorado once a month to see him, doing an internship/TA position 50 miles from my house (one way), taking 12 hours of school, and working two jobs.

but getting your phd, at least for me, is a whole other ballgame. although i had one shitty professor tell me that it's impossible to read all that you're assigned, i did it, so take *that*, jackass. every week for four semesters, i read, studied, worked, had no life, and wrote papers.

then i had a semi-serious meltdown and reading kind of fell through the cracks for a while. but running does help me...i need the stress relief, and it really works, despite my initial misgivings. bonus, it isnt' dangerous to myself or others...well mildly dangerous to me because i have to contend with the treadmill and manage to not fall down.

but i've been running outside lately, and i like that much better than the treadmill; fresh air, nature, not feeling like a gerbil is always nice. however, there's always the possibility of the rolled ankle, getting hit by a car, frostbitten fingers. whatever.

i've also found that my state of mind and music play a big part, so i have to psyche myself up sometimes, think about how good i'll feel after i'm not sore anymore, and pick great music.

and yes, taylor swift has been motivating me for the past week. what of it? i listened to pearl jam yesterday and this morning...needed a little mutual pain, anger, and frustration to drive me, not sweet, little, naive taylor.

real music, real passion, real energy. that's my boys.

it's just a broken heart

despite what you may think, i'm pretty particular about what i listen to (i think), but i also have a varied taste in music. for the past week, i've been running to taylor swift's new cd. now i realize that i'm not 14, but it's a guilty pleasure and it keeps me moving. her songs are all about good relationships gone bad, stupid choices (hello, john mayer), regret; all things i can identify with.

my musical taste does tend to gravitate toward the depressing love song; songs about ended relationships, betrayal, regret, "why didn't this work out", "why did you leave me", "i have to leave you, it's for the best". ya know, the brokenhearted variety. apparently, this is a genetic trait, as my dad listens to the same uplifting genre.

which made me wonder why pearl jam (yep, they're back) and their music mean so much to me. they don't really do a lot of "relationship" songs, not like the kind i was referring to. i'd say that they write a lot of songs that are "emotional", but they're about emotional pain; anger, abuse, loneliness. again, things with which i can identify.

the first pearl jam song that got me was "black". i had heard "alive", "jeremy" (hell, the kid who they based the song on went to a high school in my district and i remember when it happened), but those songs really didn't click. but "black", how could you *not* love this?





aw, young ed...what passion, what a voice. yes, he's beautiful, too. totally beside the point.

it wasn't until i heard "black", a song about a relationship that has ended, and the pain, loss, and regret that the singer feels, that i got the tape (remember those?) and literally sat for hours on my best friend deirdre's bed, trying to figure out the freaking lyrics.

because ed wouldn't be ed if he made anything less than challenging, especially when it comes to his personal experiences.

i listened to that song over and over, and my freshman year of college, i even had the lines
"i know someday you'll have a beautiful life, i know you'll be a star in someone else's sky. why can't it be mine?"
written in chalk on my wall.

my roommate probably thought i was nuts, but it was there for a reason, and for a person: the first person that i really and truly loved. he was, to date, the best boyfriend i've had, and when your best relationship happens at 18 years old, you, my friend, are fucked.

so, despite fact that the majority of pearl jam's lyrics aren't about lost love, they *are* about the human condition, and the struggles that (apparently) a lot of people feel. because i'm not sitting alone in those arenas, stadiums, and theaters. i definitely wasn't alone at madison square garden last may, with tens of thousands of people screaming and singing louder than the band.

i did a project about pearl jam for one of my classes, a storytelling project, and i had to interview 25 people and ask them 25 questions.

question #25 was this:

Which of these words, if any, have led you to Pearl Jam’s music because you can relate to these things and/or have experience with them: pain (emotional or physical or both), feeling like an outsider or misunderstood, dissatisfied, hopeless, alone, seeking a connection?

without question, all 25 people picked almost all of them.

so i'm not alone.

while love may have led me to pearl jam (and has kept me around), pain, dissatisfaction, and feelings of being misunderstood have kept me here, even though i'm part of a community that welcomes me with open arms. in that, i feel a connection.

elsewhere? that's a different story.

bobcat or housecat? you decide...

i've never really been a cat person. i love dogs, and have had them for most of my life. i tend to treat my dogs as children. take phoenix for instance. i buy him birthday and christmas presents, and i insist that he's in another room when i wrap them so he won't ruin the surprise. okay, it's kinda weird, but i don't have human children, and ya work with what ya got.

despite gift giving, i'm not one of those annoying people that takes their dogs everywhere in a purse, dyes their hair funky colors, or dresses them in a different outfit every week.

fine, phoenix has been known to wear a sweater on occasion. for example:





doesn't he look *thrilled*?














but in my defense, his life usually looks a little something like this:




that's my bed. yep, rough life.














so, in order to keep my child occupied (because he's obviously not getting enough love or attention from me), i decided to get a cat: less maintenance than a dog, keeps to himself, poops in a box, acts like he's doing you a favor by petting him. you know, all the reasons why you'd want a cat.

two days after i decided to get one, a litter magically appeared in my mom's yard. it's kismet! to be clear, i did not pick my kitten. he picked me. so i took him home because that's what where i was going, and he was going with me. but really, how could you not love this face?



















i will tell you. he's obviously on a mission of some sort...a calling, if you will. i'm not sure who his puppet master is, or what agency he's working for, but that mission is obviously to drive me to the brink of insanity. yes, i suffer from depression, but i'm not crazy...yet. it's only been 5 months.

i haven't had a kitten since i was 16, and that cat, cassandra, was not your average bear. she was feisty but sweet, somewhat lazy, and affectionate. in a word: perfect. now i know that most kittens (and puppies) are playful. holy hell. playful does not even begin to describe grayson.

a sidebar about his name. when we found the litter, we gave each kitten a nickname so that we could identify them, instead of pointing and saying, "that one, with the hair!" while we looked for homes for them. grayson acquired his name because he looked like he was wearing gray socks. cheesy, but it worked.

i brought him home after going to see pearl jam on the east coast (yes people, there they are again) and i could *not* think of a name for him. after two days, i had yelled "grayson" so many times that it pretty much stuck. i had no say so in the matter, which seems to have solidified the nature of our relationship.

back to playfulness...grayon isn't playful, he is maniacal. i swear he didn't sleep the first two weeks i had him. i know. i was home. wall to wall insanity. he ate plants, shredded the couch cover, chewed on power cords, ate paper...pretty much anything that would get him killed, either by me or jolt of electricity. maybe it's a death wish, not a mission...

i got a water gun to "train" him, that's what "they" tell you to do. it's as easy as herding cats. he'd do something he *knew* he wasn't supposed to because i had just yelled at him about it 17 seconds ago. i'd pull out the water gun, and he'd squint and wait to see if it would work. let me add that this water gun was a piece of shit from walmart that worked sporadically. he'd wait and if it did spray water, he'd run...and then return to chewing on my earphone cords or trying to shred the chair ties, playing hockey with dog food, or terrorizing phoenix.

remind me again, why i got a cat?

granted, he pretty much has a dog's personality; he comes when i call him, loves to be petted, and acts like he's part of the pack (of me and phoenix, that is).

and i feel bad. i don't *want* to yell at him, because no one likes to be yelled at. i don't like to yell, i rarely do it (anymore), i grew up in a house *full* of yelling. and he really is sweet and affectionate, except when he's sleeping on my face.


i know, he does it out of love. uh huh.
















the yelling is starting to affect my psyche. about two months ago, i had a dream that i killed a rabbit by shaking it to death until it was a bloody bag of flesh. talk about disturbing. i'm convinced it's because i had yelled at grayson before bed and i felt guilty. then a few nights ago, i dreamed that i pulled one of his front legs out of the socket when he pissed me off and i grabbed him, and i had to put it back in. WTF? (needed caps there)

slow down. before you call the spca, you must know that i don't abuse either of my kids. granted, i yell at grayson, but when your cat is standing in the middle of your dining room table, with a mouthful of the pile of 60 exams you just graded and your lap is full of dog and knitting, you'd yell too.

phoenix is another story, for another blog. in short, i never yell at him because he never does anything wrong, really. he's a super mellow dog who seems to have inherited some of my anxiety. they say that pets mirror their owners, but if that's the case, i must have a split personality. keep your comments to yourself, please.

here's what he did last night:















i'm hoping that once i get grayson neutered, he'll slap on 15 lbs. of laziness and calm down. if not, i'm faced with the prospect of a 20 lb. monster who is a dog batterer and lays on my face.

awesome.

the life of a guinea pig/fat cat

soooo, other things on my mind. i'm going to divulge some personal info, and this isn't exactly easy for me to broadcast to the world, though i've dealt with it for half of my life. i'm on a few psychotropic meds because, like 47% of the population (i just made up that number), my brain doesn't produce the chemicals necessary to live a "normal" life. normal is a completely different topic, and i don't want to digress. anyway, i have a really, really weird brain that won't tolerate about 99.5% of the psych medications out there (that is a real number).

i was really excited in january when my doctor found something that worked and didn't make me hallucinate, stay awake for four days, cause panic attacks, or any of the other super fun side effects i've had to deal with. luckily, i'm not a guy because i'm sure sexual dysfunction would have been in there somewhere. back to meds:

i started taking this medication and, after like nine months on it, along with weekly therapy, i was feeling *great*, like tony the tiger great, until...i realized that my clothes were getting tighter and tighter. yes, happiness is all well and good (yay, mental health!), but if you gain weight, it's not exactly great for the self esteem. how can i not get depressed when i eat 1200 calories a day, work out six hours a week, obsess and record everything i put in my body, and still gain __ lbs?!?

<----- this is how i have been feeling.

i went to my primary care doctor, who told me that the med i'm taking is *notorious* for weight gain. fantastic. i went to my psychiatrist who said that, yes, weight gain is common with this drug. even better. she weighed me and "kinda" freaked out because every time i see her, she stresses the importance of exercise. i tell her i exercise. she says "good job". meanwhile, i had gained over 10% of my body weight since march.

now, this woman is a great psychiatrist, but if you've ever taken any psych meds or dealt with someone who has, it's a crapshoot (that was originally a title for a pearl jam song. yes, i'm obsessed). you are, in essence, a guinea pig and they try and try again until they find something that works.

because there are sooo many drugs i can't take, to find one that does work is a freaking miracle. the fact that it has the pesky little side effect of gaining __ lbs. in ten months is discarded in the name of mental health. anyway, because i was about to (calmly) have a nervous breakdown, and because she's a great doctor, she changed my medication to something that is known to cause weight loss. woo hoo!

now i'm dealing with the ever-so-fun task of experiencing and weeding through the side effects, while trying to determine if they'll go away. i also have to decide whether the side effects outweigh the intended effects. i talked to one of my friends about this (i will keep her anonymous to respect her privacy), and she said that she kept a journal of how she felt when she started a new med. i decided to try it out. here is a sample entry:

doubled the dosage today, numb, moody, blank mind and trouble remembering. i just want to go home and lay there and do nothing. i really just want to lay on my face, as weird as that sounds. i don’t want to feel anything, physically or emotionally. my brain doesn't contain any information. it's not that i can't access info, it's literally empty.

once again, welcome to my brain.

i feel the need to add a p.s.

while i'm going through all this trial/error/guinea pig experimentation crap, i really am, overall, doing soooooo much better than i was even a few months ago. several people have written to me, expressing concern (thank you friends, i love you), and i want you to know that i'm really, really good. i don't say that lightly, and it kind of scares me to put it out there because i'll be waiting for the other shoe to drop, but i'm hopeful, content, fulfilled, and optimistic. : )

the beginning...

before you start reading this blog, or any that follow, there is one thing you must know: when i'm not writing for business or professional purposes, capital letters are virtually non-existent for me. i know that this drives my dad crazy, but i talk fast, i think fast, and i type fast, and i don't have time for little things like the shift key. i will proofread the hell out of something, looking for misspellings because i'm a little OCD (needed here because it's an acronym) about things like that, but caps? eh.

i also tend to write in a stream-of-consciousness fashion, so if i ramble, change topics mid-sentence, or throw you for a loop here and there, welcome to my brain.

now...

so, the title of my blog is "much more than pearl jam", which i find somewhat ironic (or maybe highly, you be the judge) as one of the lines from one of my favorite pearl jam songs, "breath", is

"if i knew where it was, i would take you there. there's much more than this."

ha ha, how funny. ah, feel the irony, alanis.

i'm starting this blog because i don't really feel like i have a voice. yes, i have a literal voice, which you'd know if you've ever really pissed me off. i can scream with the best of them, although i haven't done it quite some time. i mean i'm looking for something is representative of me. i see a lot of people in my (grad school) program who are making, doing, writing, creating, and i feel like a slacker. i want to draw, write stories, play the guitar. i can do all of these things a little, but i'd like to have a better proficiency instead of feel like a lazy, untalented bum.

my friend jon sent me this youtube video about libras, which is my astrological sign. in the video, this wacky psychotherapist/astrology "expert" acts out the characteristics of a libra, and while she's a nutjob and i disagree with some of what she said, i do agree with this: i'm kinda good at a lot of things. see above paragraph, please.

there are a few things that i'm really good at: going to school, memorizing song lyrics, applying mascara while driving and looking at the road, tying a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue, but i'd like to feel like i have a "thing" that i'm known for or that defines me. what most people know or associate with me is...you guessed it: pearl jam.

i've been reading for my qualifying exams, which to sum up, consist of four exams that essentially test what you've been learning in the phd program. one of my friends referred to it, aptly, as academic water boarding. so, i'm reading this book about fandom, (because my dissertation is about pearl jam and the fan community. i *cannot* get away from this band!) and it discusses the levels and types of fandom. if you're really into a band, a sports team, whatever, and you wear shirts with their logos, buy memorabilia, gather with other people to enjoy the object of your idolatry, etc., you're pretty much in the upper tiers of the fan theory spectrum.

when fandom truly becomes a facet of your identity, it's what you're known for or what you present yourself as. back to wanting to be seen as something more than a pearl jam fan...i really am! although you wouldn't believe it from reading this so far.

on that note, a gratuitous picture of eddie at this year's bridge school benefit concert:












ah, so much better now.

anyway...i do want to be seen as something more than a fan, but it's a huge part of my identity. it's one thing i'm truly passionate about. i'm passionate about a lot of things. remember, i'm kinda good at a lot of things; being passionate is one of them.

i think i take for granted the fact that i have something in my life that i love so much. a few years ago, i was talking to one of my friends about a trip i was taking to see eddie in concert in chicago, and she looked at me and said, "you're really lucky. i'd kill to have something that means that much to me."

i never really thought about it. doesn't everyone have something that keeps them alive, that they'd die for, that they can't live without? i'm not talking about a significant other, or someone you're stalking on facebook, i mean a true, deep, sincere love (fine, obsession)

...and on a side note, i'm not really sure why i'm ellipses happy today...

of something. even if it's eating chocolate cake, and you try chocolate cake at every restaurant you can find, and travel the world searching for the best, most perfect chocolate cake ever. i'm not sure where i was going with all of this, except to say that I LIKE THINGS OTHER THAN PEARL JAM. sorry, caps were necessary.

and after all that, and proclaiming my non-pearl-jam-affiliated-persona, there is hardly anything else that affects me the way they do. whether it be lyrics or looking at a picture of eddie (yes, he's my favorite, although not everyone's), pearl jam just makes me happy. this seems like such a simple concept, but it's so hard to achieve.

i mean, everyone wants to happy, right? *crickets*
except those crazy drama queens who thrive on misery and bitching. i know i want to be happy, i'm working really hard to be happy, and to have something that you can listen to, look at, or participate in that improves your day, your week, your life, that is magical. i happen to be lucky enough to have an entire group of people that get me and understand where i'm coming from and what moves me. that's a rare, precious thing.

i'm not sure if i conveyed what i wanted to, or if anyone will get what i'm saying, but i can always come back to it later. i'll mull on it over a nice slice of chocolate cake. : )