Guys.
I know I haven't been around lately.
I have been busy. Working. Planning. Holidays. Staying alive (Oh, oh, oh, oh, stayin' aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive).
Today, though, I am moving. Moving in. To my new apartment.
I am going to take some after photos, I'm hoping to get them done before I move stuff in, but the sink and shower may not be finished before I start hauling boxes over and cluttering the place up.
I did do a really good job on the remodel, I gotta hand it to myself. And by "good job" I mean my ideas, not really the work, since all I did with my hands was paint. But still. I bought all the shit, I made every decision, I designed shelving, I coordinated colors. I DID IT, YO.
And today, all of my stuff-- my clothes, the kitchen stuff, the bathroom stuff, my books, my photos, my NEW COUCH AND CHAIR OMG, and my bed-- all of it will be moved over. If I am super-productive and maybe have a little bit of luck.
So send a good wish or two my way, think of me, etc., and I will be back, here, very soon.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Daily Om: The Message of Pain
So one of my dear friends (whom I will attribute/link if she so wishes) posted this recently, and it was something I needed to hear. Via the Daily Om.
Both emotional and physical pain are messages that we need to stop and pay attention.
When we feel pain, our first impulse is often to eradicate it with medication. This is an understandable response, but sometimes in our hurry to get rid of pain, we forget that it is the body's way of letting us know that it needs our attention. A headache can inform us that we're hungry or stressed just as a sore throat might be telling us that we need to rest our voice. If we override these messages instead of respond to them, we risk worsening our condition. In addition, we create a feeling of disconnectedness between our minds and our bodies.
Physical pain is not the only kind of pain that lets us know our attention is needed. Emotional pain provides us with valuable information about the state of our psyche, letting us know that we have been affected by something and that we would do well to focus our awareness inward. Just as we tend to a cut on our arm by cleaning and bandaging it, we treat a broken heart by surrounding ourselves with love and support. In both cases, if we listen to our pain we will know what to do to heal ourselves. It's natural to want to resist pain, but once we understand that it is here to give us valuable information, we can relax a bit more, and take a moment to listen before we reach for medication. Sometimes this is enough to noticeably reduce the pain, because its message has been heard. Perhaps we seek to medicate pain because we fear that if we don't, it will never go away. It can be empowering to realize that, at least some of the time, it is just a matter of listening and responding.
The next time you feel pain, either physical or emotional, you might want to try listening to your own intuition about how to relieve your pain. Maybe taking a few deep breaths will put an end to that headache. Perhaps writing in your journal about hurt feelings will ease your heart. Ultimately, the message of pain is all about healing.
When we feel pain, our first impulse is often to eradicate it with medication. This is an understandable response, but sometimes in our hurry to get rid of pain, we forget that it is the body's way of letting us know that it needs our attention. A headache can inform us that we're hungry or stressed just as a sore throat might be telling us that we need to rest our voice. If we override these messages instead of respond to them, we risk worsening our condition. In addition, we create a feeling of disconnectedness between our minds and our bodies.
Physical pain is not the only kind of pain that lets us know our attention is needed. Emotional pain provides us with valuable information about the state of our psyche, letting us know that we have been affected by something and that we would do well to focus our awareness inward. Just as we tend to a cut on our arm by cleaning and bandaging it, we treat a broken heart by surrounding ourselves with love and support. In both cases, if we listen to our pain we will know what to do to heal ourselves. It's natural to want to resist pain, but once we understand that it is here to give us valuable information, we can relax a bit more, and take a moment to listen before we reach for medication. Sometimes this is enough to noticeably reduce the pain, because its message has been heard. Perhaps we seek to medicate pain because we fear that if we don't, it will never go away. It can be empowering to realize that, at least some of the time, it is just a matter of listening and responding.
The next time you feel pain, either physical or emotional, you might want to try listening to your own intuition about how to relieve your pain. Maybe taking a few deep breaths will put an end to that headache. Perhaps writing in your journal about hurt feelings will ease your heart. Ultimately, the message of pain is all about healing.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Shitshow Kitchen: Mincemeat Handpies, Half-Assed Edition
So I know that I haven't posted a SK post FOREVER, and I miss it. But I haven't had the... whatever it is you need to do that lately. However! I make a mincemeat pie for my friend Tony every year on his birthday. And this year, I made handpies (little portable pies) instead.
ETA:
Ingredients!
Filling
3 peeled Granny Smith apples, chopped into 1/4" dice
3 peeled McIntosh apples, chopped into 1/4" dice
1 C golden raisins
1 C currants
3/4 C packed dark brown sugar (5 1/4 ounces)
8 T unsalted butter (1 stick)
1/4 C diced candied orange peel , (optional)
Grated zest and juice from 1 orange
Grated zest and juice from 1 lemon
1 t ground cinnamon
1/2 t ground allspice
1/2 t ground ginger
1/4 t ground cloves
1/4 t salt
1 1/2 C apple cider, plus more as needed
1/3 C rum or brandy
Crust
1 1/2 C flour
1 t salt
2 t sugar
12 T (1 1/2 sticks) frozen butter, shaved into small pieces
1/4 cup ice water
I will put in instructions later.
I took ZERO photos of the mincemeat making, which would have been glorious, and ZERO photos of the crust-making. And then I was all, FUCK I DON'T CARE, and took pictures on my PHONE, and DAYUM, Gina! LOOK AT THIS:
And then they came out of the oven. Oh Lord.
They looked PERFECT. Well, except for... that one that got away.
But hey, it wouldn't be a Shitshow without that little guy.
ETA:
Ingredients!
Filling
3 peeled Granny Smith apples, chopped into 1/4" dice
3 peeled McIntosh apples, chopped into 1/4" dice
1 C golden raisins
1 C currants
3/4 C packed dark brown sugar (5 1/4 ounces)
8 T unsalted butter (1 stick)
1/4 C diced candied orange peel , (optional)
Grated zest and juice from 1 orange
Grated zest and juice from 1 lemon
1 t ground cinnamon
1/2 t ground allspice
1/2 t ground ginger
1/4 t ground cloves
1/4 t salt
1 1/2 C apple cider, plus more as needed
1/3 C rum or brandy
Crust
1 1/2 C flour
1 t salt
2 t sugar
12 T (1 1/2 sticks) frozen butter, shaved into small pieces
1/4 cup ice water
I will put in instructions later.
I took ZERO photos of the mincemeat making, which would have been glorious, and ZERO photos of the crust-making. And then I was all, FUCK I DON'T CARE, and took pictures on my PHONE, and DAYUM, Gina! LOOK AT THIS:
 | |
| Stuffing the pillows |
I KNOW. Well, two things: One, they look awesome, two, the filling looks a little like poo. BUT IT IS GOOD. Just a sprinkle of sugar...
 |
| Sugar fixes everything |
 | |
| Nommy nommy |
 |
| A pastry only a mother could love |
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Things I Am Wondering
How much does the guy on Yo Gabba Gabba make? Because you would have to pay me a sizable sum to do the shit he does on that show. And wear that costume.
Why do we feel like alcohol will take our problems away? I mean, they do, temporarily. So I guess there's that. But hangovers are like punishment for making the wrong choice.
Why is it that little boys are so fascinated with trucks and dinosaurs? It is like ABSOLUTELY universal. I mean, some little girls are, too. But dude. My kid LOVES dinosaurs.
How can stress and anxiety in your life actually make you sick? Your MIND can make you sick. That is powerful stuff. I guess it works both ways. I need to write a list of affirmations or some shit.
Why are Chicken McNuggets so TASTY?
When is too much enough?
Where have I been all my life?
Where do all of the socks go?
Why do we feel like alcohol will take our problems away? I mean, they do, temporarily. So I guess there's that. But hangovers are like punishment for making the wrong choice.
Why is it that little boys are so fascinated with trucks and dinosaurs? It is like ABSOLUTELY universal. I mean, some little girls are, too. But dude. My kid LOVES dinosaurs.
How can stress and anxiety in your life actually make you sick? Your MIND can make you sick. That is powerful stuff. I guess it works both ways. I need to write a list of affirmations or some shit.
Why are Chicken McNuggets so TASTY?
When is too much enough?
Where have I been all my life?
Where do all of the socks go?
Friday, December 9, 2011
Doing All the Things
So I should be moved over to the apartment in... well, I'm going to say by December 20th. Right in time for Christmas... yay? The floors will be done on Wednesday, the appliances in late next week, and... then I just have to move my bed and clothes and stuff. So it will be... almost two months exactly since the bomb dropped.
Even though I'm so close, though, for some inexplicable reason, little things are starting to turn into IMPOSSIBLE SITUATIONS. Like, my friend who is a plumber cannot come plumb the line for the gas to the stove until late next week. BUT I WANT TO MOVE NOW. And now that I asked him to do it, and he came to check it out, I feel like I would rather just hire someone to do it and not have to wait. It is worth whatever I have to spend to get out of here. But I also feel bad because he has legit reasons for not doing it IMMEDIATELY TODAY, and that also made me feel guilty, like I am taking advantage of him or something UGH.
I just want it DONE. I don't want to be in limbo. And I know, I have zero furniture. Zero idea of what I am doing. Zero ability to envision the future. But I just want it DONE. So I can start trying to put myself together. Because every time I try to do that now, something happens to tear everything apart again. To make me feel like an interloper in my own life. Like I shouldn't have any hope. Like nothing will ever be OK again.
UGH.
Maybe I am just being overdramatic because I was sick today and feel like complaining and BLAH. And I read some of my therapy book and OF COURSE I feel like throwing puppies to sharks now. *sigh*
This cheerful note brought to you today by GLOOM AND DOOM.
Even though I'm so close, though, for some inexplicable reason, little things are starting to turn into IMPOSSIBLE SITUATIONS. Like, my friend who is a plumber cannot come plumb the line for the gas to the stove until late next week. BUT I WANT TO MOVE NOW. And now that I asked him to do it, and he came to check it out, I feel like I would rather just hire someone to do it and not have to wait. It is worth whatever I have to spend to get out of here. But I also feel bad because he has legit reasons for not doing it IMMEDIATELY TODAY, and that also made me feel guilty, like I am taking advantage of him or something UGH.
I just want it DONE. I don't want to be in limbo. And I know, I have zero furniture. Zero idea of what I am doing. Zero ability to envision the future. But I just want it DONE. So I can start trying to put myself together. Because every time I try to do that now, something happens to tear everything apart again. To make me feel like an interloper in my own life. Like I shouldn't have any hope. Like nothing will ever be OK again.
UGH.
Maybe I am just being overdramatic because I was sick today and feel like complaining and BLAH. And I read some of my therapy book and OF COURSE I feel like throwing puppies to sharks now. *sigh*
This cheerful note brought to you today by GLOOM AND DOOM.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Sorry, Charlie
Yeah, I deleted that post. The one that showed up in all of your readers and you can't access. Well, I "unpublished" it. Almost the same thing. Anyway, I did it because I was overtired/overemotional/over...drunk? maybe. But it was just a pathetic rant, the kind that you need to let out but you don't really need to let out in the open.
Things are still shitty. But I am going to be OK. Right? I mean, I am, she said, with finality and conviction.
One of my friends is a contractor, and he's charging me only an arm to put in all the flooring, not an arm and a leg. They started today. I got most of the painting done already. The appliances are going to be delivered Sunday.
Except I forgot to get a shower. Whoops. And I keep putting it off, every day I think of it. For no apparent reason. I am sure Guinny understands the whole not-understanding-this-ness of that.
I had to come back early because the wood for the floors came in to the store, and I had to get it into the apartment ASAP for it to "season" or acclimate or some shit. Anyway, it cut my weekend of me time short. I might end up doing it again next weekend; it kind of depends on how this week goes.
I am thankful for all of my friends. Without you, I would not be getting through this. With you, I am surviving.
P.S. Thinking about getting this couch. What say you, friends? I thought I'd ask you since I'm basically picking out a bed for you.
Things are still shitty. But I am going to be OK. Right? I mean, I am, she said, with finality and conviction.
One of my friends is a contractor, and he's charging me only an arm to put in all the flooring, not an arm and a leg. They started today. I got most of the painting done already. The appliances are going to be delivered Sunday.
Except I forgot to get a shower. Whoops. And I keep putting it off, every day I think of it. For no apparent reason. I am sure Guinny understands the whole not-understanding-this-ness of that.
I had to come back early because the wood for the floors came in to the store, and I had to get it into the apartment ASAP for it to "season" or acclimate or some shit. Anyway, it cut my weekend of me time short. I might end up doing it again next weekend; it kind of depends on how this week goes.
I am thankful for all of my friends. Without you, I would not be getting through this. With you, I am surviving.
P.S. Thinking about getting this couch. What say you, friends? I thought I'd ask you since I'm basically picking out a bed for you.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Day One, Part One
Look at me! I took a shower, I am wearing real pants (not pajamas), and I am in a coffeeshop, AKA the Real World. I'm not bawling like a baby in a dark corner somewhere! Also, I am eating the fattiest scone ever conceived by the mind of man and drinking a Monkeytail, which is a 4-shot Mexican mocha.
Look!
This is the place I used to go all the time when I was alone in Boise with Charlie, back when he was a tiny little infant. Six months of solitude, that was. Hard.
Anyway. Coming back to Boise is strange. Like I said, I thought that the time I was here without Dust was more like two months until we talked about it a few weeks ago. It was a hazy time. Coming back did give me that familiar feeling of "Me Against the World," though. Which... well, I mean I guess it's better than "Everyone Against Me." Or "Overwhelmed and Unable to Cope."
SIGH THIS IS GETTING ME NOWHERE.
Anyway, I am going to finish this shit, or at least try to eat some of it, and then go walk around stores for a little bit, until I can be alone with my thoughts again.
Look!
 |
| SO EFFING GOOD |
Anyway. Coming back to Boise is strange. Like I said, I thought that the time I was here without Dust was more like two months until we talked about it a few weeks ago. It was a hazy time. Coming back did give me that familiar feeling of "Me Against the World," though. Which... well, I mean I guess it's better than "Everyone Against Me." Or "Overwhelmed and Unable to Cope."
SIGH THIS IS GETTING ME NOWHERE.
Anyway, I am going to finish this shit, or at least try to eat some of it, and then go walk around stores for a little bit, until I can be alone with my thoughts again.
Runaway Train
Tonight, at about 8:00PM, I ran away from home.
I just couldn't do it anymore. I needed a break. I need a break. I can't deal with all of this, all at once, relentlessly. I needed to breath. And I have seen that my emotional fragility is catching my kid's attention, and it is not good for him. He does not need to be breathing the sorrow in through his tiny little lungs.
So I knew I had to be gone. I have had to be gone for a long time now. But I didn't know where to go. I don't have family I can trust, no friends nearby, no options. I finally broke down and called a long-distance friend, who talked me out of going to my mother (out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were). Then I called a friend who lives in Boise (which is a few hours away), to ask him if he had any ideas. He was all, "What about your condo?"
I totally forgot about that. We have a condo in Boise that is currently unoccupied. This would mean I could have alone time, rest time, no-thinking time, and I could see my friend when I started thinking and worrying and freaking out and needed someone to talk me down from the ledge.
So I called hubby, told him I was leaving, packed a bag and waited for him to come home so I could take him to his mom's car (she's out of town so he can use it), said goodbye to the best kid in the world, and left. The whole thing took about 30 minutes from inspiration to execution.
My return date is supposed to be before Monday at 10:00AM. Because I have to work then.
I didn't take the kid because I love him too much to subject him to myself right now. I can barely take care of myself. I feel like an infant who needs a mother. I love him too much to not choose what is right for him-- which, in this case, is staying with his functional parent for the weekend while the broken one tries to tape herself together with wine and solitude.
Things I packed:
Kindle
Laptop
Phone
Shampoo and conditioner
Four bottles of wine
Wine key
Fuzzy sweater
Four pairs of pajama pants
Two pairs of jeans
Toothbrush
Soap
Toilet Paper
Towel
Two coconut waters
Two Red Bulls
Air mattress
Two pillows
One blanket
Things I wish I packed:
A cup
An ipod
A utensil for eating
The case of coconut water I set out to take and forgot
Things I probably didn't need to pack but did anyway:
Bikini
Four clubbing shirts
Clay Matthews jersey
Transformers t-shirt
Two fizzy bath tablets
One bottle of Rombauer Chard
One bottle of La Crema Pinot Noir
Cambozola cheese
And for the record, I was totally fine until I got about three blocks from downtown, at which point I saw all the Christmas decorations and started bawling so hard I couldn't see and became a hazard to myself and others with the blurring of the vision and the driving being mixed.
P.S. Thank you all for your comments and support. The situation is more complicated than my wildly truncated version, but I gave you the salient points from my side. Hubby does not need his balls run over by a train. We have both been unhappy and resentful about a number of things in our marriage, and some sort of crisis was bound to occur. He does need to be happy, and so do I, but I would prefer for him to be happy with me rather than some common whore.
Crap. I did it again. *sigh* It is hard for me to see around her. And not just because her ass is the size of Asia.
CRAP! AGAIN!
You know what? Fuck it. DAMN HER TO HELL.
I just couldn't do it anymore. I needed a break. I need a break. I can't deal with all of this, all at once, relentlessly. I needed to breath. And I have seen that my emotional fragility is catching my kid's attention, and it is not good for him. He does not need to be breathing the sorrow in through his tiny little lungs.
So I knew I had to be gone. I have had to be gone for a long time now. But I didn't know where to go. I don't have family I can trust, no friends nearby, no options. I finally broke down and called a long-distance friend, who talked me out of going to my mother (out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were). Then I called a friend who lives in Boise (which is a few hours away), to ask him if he had any ideas. He was all, "What about your condo?"
I totally forgot about that. We have a condo in Boise that is currently unoccupied. This would mean I could have alone time, rest time, no-thinking time, and I could see my friend when I started thinking and worrying and freaking out and needed someone to talk me down from the ledge.
So I called hubby, told him I was leaving, packed a bag and waited for him to come home so I could take him to his mom's car (she's out of town so he can use it), said goodbye to the best kid in the world, and left. The whole thing took about 30 minutes from inspiration to execution.
My return date is supposed to be before Monday at 10:00AM. Because I have to work then.
I didn't take the kid because I love him too much to subject him to myself right now. I can barely take care of myself. I feel like an infant who needs a mother. I love him too much to not choose what is right for him-- which, in this case, is staying with his functional parent for the weekend while the broken one tries to tape herself together with wine and solitude.
Things I packed:
Kindle
Laptop
Phone
Shampoo and conditioner
Four bottles of wine
Wine key
Fuzzy sweater
Four pairs of pajama pants
Two pairs of jeans
Toothbrush
Soap
Toilet Paper
Towel
Two coconut waters
Two Red Bulls
Air mattress
Two pillows
One blanket
Things I wish I packed:
A cup
An ipod
A utensil for eating
The case of coconut water I set out to take and forgot
Things I probably didn't need to pack but did anyway:
Bikini
Four clubbing shirts
Clay Matthews jersey
Transformers t-shirt
Two fizzy bath tablets
One bottle of Rombauer Chard
One bottle of La Crema Pinot Noir
Cambozola cheese
And for the record, I was totally fine until I got about three blocks from downtown, at which point I saw all the Christmas decorations and started bawling so hard I couldn't see and became a hazard to myself and others with the blurring of the vision and the driving being mixed.
P.S. Thank you all for your comments and support. The situation is more complicated than my wildly truncated version, but I gave you the salient points from my side. Hubby does not need his balls run over by a train. We have both been unhappy and resentful about a number of things in our marriage, and some sort of crisis was bound to occur. He does need to be happy, and so do I, but I would prefer for him to be happy with me rather than some common whore.
Crap. I did it again. *sigh* It is hard for me to see around her. And not just because her ass is the size of Asia.
CRAP! AGAIN!
You know what? Fuck it. DAMN HER TO HELL.
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