It’s official!!

I am feeling better.

There’s been a definite change for the better in all aspects of my life and I’m expecting it to continue down this path until next Monday.

Next Monday will bring an unwelcome change to my state of mind, but I knew that was coming. Some of this week’s perfectness is temporary, which sucks, but it may become permanent. You never know. *fingers crossed*

That said, there’s one teeny, tiny black cloud hanging over my head this week:

It looks like Black Mountain Symphony won’t be playing in Portland, ME next week like they were supposed to so…

I’m Albany-bound, baby!

Road trip & live music, FTW baby! w00t!!!!!!!!

I’ve spent a good chunk of today cleaning out digital camera cards. Yesterday, I found some old fiction that I had written.

I was struck by just how creative I can be when I really want to. A lot of the new people in my life know me as the logical accountant. They don’t really know the person I was before the events that irrevocably changed who I am. It was after I changed that the creativity just went *poof* and vanished. It took a long time for me to get the creative juices flowing again. Sometimes, I don’t think they’re flowing as much as they used to…

I read a book after we finally got my cocktail right that explained how mental illnesses (bipolar, anxiety, OCD, and addiction) were related to epilepsy. (I think both of my meds are for epilepsy. I know for sure one is. Blows my mind…) There was a story in there about an attorney who wrote brilliant briefs and whatever else it is that attorneys write. One day, his depression moved in, and he lost his ability to write. I went through much the same thing in 2001. I can’t recall if he ever rediscovered his ability to write, but I’ve found mine. I like to think that the incessant blogging I did back then kept me connected to that part of myself.

Going through the photos and reading that nightmarish attempt at NaNoWriMo in 2004 gave me a bit of a boost.

My last two successful attempts at NaNo reminded me that I *can* write. Maybe not particularly well anymore, but at least I’m writing.

That whirlwind year following Instrument all over the face of the earth ignited a new passions in me: photography. Instrument also reminded me that road trips and live music are the kind of therapy that helps me the best. Although I’ve stepped back from being That Person That Goes To EVERY Instrument Show because of work, I’m forever indebted to the boys for giving me the opportunity to discover photography, and for providing hours upon hours of therapy.

Reminding myself that I could be creative again, that I AM creative again, gave me such an ego boost. 

I feel more like myself today than I have since the end of May. 

Maybe I have this latest bout of depression on the ropes…

This is not the entry I thought I’d write.

This is not the entry I wanted to write.

Then, I read this: “Let it flow, let it go” by Miss Banshee, and it hit me hard. If you were (un)lucky enough to know about That Blog I Used To Have, you know, the one where I was open, brave, reckless, stupid, mean, etc., this one may feel like a bit of let-down. I know it does for me some days. I don’t feel like I’ve been true to myself for a long time. That blog, that domain, wow. It created a shit-ton of havoc in my life and an equally large amount of hurt feelings. That was the price I paid for being me, uncensored, without a net.

But I miss it.

I keep coming around to the fact that I want to remove the self-imposed gag order… that I want to dust off that domain and be ME again. I don’t know… Right now, I can’t. Or I don’t want to. I haven’t decided…

I stumbled upon Miss Banshee when one of her entries popped up on that BlogHer ad thingy I have on my sidebar. She blogs the way I used to, but in a much more family-friendly manner. I’m not that polished, nor disciplined, and I don’t want to be, but that doesn’t have anything to do with anything. Nope. This is related to her openness and honesty about her past. It’s something I used to be, and it started some very good dialogues, both online and off, about bipolar, depression, suicide, and the other fun aspects of being me.

Which is a very roundabout way to get to today’s entry…

The title of this entry is my official diagnosis. Bipolar with a side of borderline personality disorder. I think I’m bipolar I, but I don’t remember for sure. I do know that when I start to “slide”, I tend to live in a mixed state. I used to be severely manic… then I started taking my cocktail, and life calmed down. Literally. I’m not sure what I think about the borderline label. I’m sorry, it’s “emotionally unstable personality disorder” according to the fine people at Wikipedia. Because that’s SO MUCH BETTER.

Seriously.

Spend enough time with me - you’ll know that I’m emotionally unstable, but do I have to wear that obvious a label? Isn’t it bad enough that I’m MENTALLY ILL?!?!

Ugh.

Anyhoo, back to the point of this entry…

I’ve been in a weird place since coming back from my MIL’s funeral. It’s tended to slant toward the depression, that deep, dark, soul-crushing variety that only truly depressed people understand, and that’s pretty frightening. I’m self-aware enough to know that’s where I am mentally, and I’m trying desperately to not cross that imaginary line I have in my head. The one where I go from functional to completely withdrawing from everything. But I have withdrawn. I barely tweet and I’m never on Facebook. I’m just not interested in life online, and that’s (unfortunately) my most obvious symptom. I’m the last person to pick up a phone and call someone on a good day. But I definitely won’t pick up the phone if I’m in The Bad Place and need to hear a friend’s voice, because calling them and saying “I need you” just isn’t me.

So I sit here, trying to keep my head above water, and not let anyone know I’m drowning.

It’s fun.

You should try it.

I’ve had a break from all the doom and gloom several times, though. I live for those manic episodes, when I’m just completely in love with the world and I just want to experience more of it because it’s so wonderful andIcan’tbeleivehowgoodthisicecreamconetastesheylet’sgoshoppingorsomethingbecauseIcan’tsitstill. Yup. I look forward to being out of my mind. That’s what it’s come down to, lately. I wish I could control the mania, both in terms of scope and in terms of when it occurs. If it were as easy as forgetting to take my meds, I would have been off of them for the past two months. Anything to take the edge off of this depression…

I hate feeling like this and I hate being aware of what’s going on with me.

I hate that I can’t just “get over it” and that it’s not “all in my head.”

I hate the fact that I will be on meds for the rest of my life.

I hate that there’s no quick fix and I’m running out of patience… 

I’ve spent the last few hours moving files from an overcrowded back up drive to roomy new digs.

Of course, sorting through the hundreds upon hundreds of photos I’ve taken over the past few years was exhausting. I found some I’d forgotten I’d taken. Some that made me laugh. Some that made me cry. Some that made me go “WTF?!?!”

Pony.

There are *so* many pictures of Pony it’s amazing. Scratch that. It’s scary.

I found a lot of things - screenshots, word documents filled with bits of IM conversations, Letter(s) Never Sent (HA!) - that I don’t ever want to see again. But I’ll save them. They’re part of my life, and I’ve been embracing the warts and the toxic crap I’ve been finding. I remembered - while looking at a picture that made me burst into tears - that even the shitty parts of my life have value. Without them, I wouldn’t be who I am.

That said, I was reminded of BiG MiSTAKE several times through my clean up.

This one’s for you, BG. Because, well, you destroyed the scene.

friendships - you thought were strong
torn to pieces - they didn’t last too long
and now - with nothing to hide
expose their faults - and make them see your side

now it’s time - to mend this scene
unity among us - would be real keen
friends forever - just having fun
this scene of ours - will be redone

lyrics by Ted Wohlsen
© 1989 BiG MiSTAKE

Just because I love you guys: You Destroy The Scene.mp4 (Don’t be a dick - right click!)

So…

I had my last beginning fencing class this week. I was the only one that showed up so I got to bout with both the teacher and some random British dude that was there.

I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I did very well. It’s a very logical sport… yes, it’s physical, but it’s also very logical. I’ve seen it referred to as “physical chess” and I guess that’s kind of right. There’s a beauty to it and there’s also a nice bit of violence to it. Not like punching violence (hockey), but the fact that fencing has its roots in combat. It’s very stabby. I like stabby.

I’ve got a month to kill (HA!) before I start the intermediate class and I’m going nuts. I’ve got to teach J how to fence so he can practice with me!

Anyhoo, last weekend was LEGEND - wait for it - DARY!

I always have a good time when I head up to Albany. Black Mountain Symphony is made up of some of the most talented musicians I know, and some of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. I am never disappointed when I get to spend time with them. The music’s rocking and the atmosphere - I don’t even know where to start. I can’t even… there are just no words.

Best non-musical moment of the night: hanging out back with the band, Orion spitting lemon seeds at Bill. Bill gets pissed and says, “I will end you, Lollipop Guild!” Rollz says “It’s true because he’s small!” (I love Rollz. The more I get to know him, the more I like him.)

I woke up early Saturday and headed to Connecticut. I ended up taking a detour and wound up at WEBS in Northampton, MA. Eh. I don’t get the hype. Patternworks in Center Harbor, NH is much better. Didn’t stop me from spending too much, though. I almost laugh until I cried when I overheard two women talking. The first one asked if her friend was buying any yarn. The second one replied with “I have more than enough yarn to last me my entire life, OF COURSE I’m buying more!” Ah, women and SEX. There’s just something about going on Stash Enrichment eXpeditions that’s so much fun. Plus, I found a Latvian Mitten pattern book written in Latvian and English. How cool is that?!?! I had to get that. And there was a lot of sock yarn on sale… yeah. I can run my own yarn store off my stash. It’s part and parcel of being a knitter, I guess.

Once I got done at WEBS, I headed to Wickham Park. It used to be one of my most favorite spots in Manchester when I was growing up. It still has a lot of it’s original charm. I have a picture of my parents in the Oriental Garden area and just walking through there made me cry. I wasn’t expecting that. I spent a lot of time, and a lot of money (sense a theme?!) feeding the ducks and squirrels at the duck pond. It was healing and heartbreaking - just the way it should be.

I’m finding that most of my trips to CT now have the power to make me feel so good and so shitty at the same time. I guess it’s just part of coming to terms with everything that’s gone on, has been going on, will go on in my life. There’s a reason I don’t live in Connecticut. Why I will never live there. I thought I was over the worst of it, but Connecticut, and its ghosts, aren’t done with me yet.

Further proof of that was my surprise guest to the All Crazy show Saturday night.

My ex, the high school honey, texted me to see if I was still going to the show. I had a major foot-in-mouth moment when I asked him, good naturedly, how the wife was. Yeah. They broke up. WHOOPS! Other than that, he has moved out of his mom’s place, gotten a great job, and is doing well. Like me, he needed a little musical therapy. Like me, he had a blast. (I LOVE WHEN I’M RIGHT!)

Soup and Skinny hung out with us for a bit. I taught Josh about “SPARKLEHORSE \nn/” and it seemed that the evening’s refrain was “See? They’re not douchebags.” There were very few hookers in attendance which made me kind of sad - he didn’t get the full Up or On the Rocks experience. I got a very nice shout out from the stage (“My friend, Tam, in the pigtails…”) and the music was insane. THEY were insane. I couldn’t stand still and Josh kept up with me all night.  I was amazed by his stamina (insert dirty joke here). Seriously, it was like 100 degrees in there. I don’t know how I kept going and I was riding a pretty good manic high. Better living through chemistry? Ha. Body beats science. Again.

It’s weird being with him. Even after all this time, I still feel a certain connection with him. I shouldn’t be surprised. We were together a while and well… there was a reason we were together. There was a reason we got back together after we broke up. And there was a reason we broke up. Twice. Of course, he’s not that person anymore. I’m not either. But what’s happened has happened and the people we are now still get along very well.

At any rate, it was a successful weekend on so many levels.

I do so much better when I take the time to keep myself happy…

The beautiful thing about blogging is that, no matter what you write, you can reach people.

The shitty thing about blogging is that, no matter what you write, you can reach people.

Unless you specifically call someone out and say, “X, you blah blah blah turnip an octopus”, everyone will think they’re “X”. Shit, everyone will think they’re “X” anyway, like “X” is a code name for them. Even if they’ve never turniped an octopus. Having the entire world think they were “X” never bothered me before. I used to be brave. Fearless. Stupid. Reckless. Back in those days, blogging was awesome. I felt like I was doing some of my best writing.

Whatever it was - good, bad, ugly, riot inducing - it was real.

Now, I’m tiptoeing around.  I’m afraid to say what’s on my mind because I know someone will take it wrong.

I don’t know when I started to care, but it’s gotten old.

There was a blog entry I wanted to post, badly. I needed the closure that putting it out for the world to see would give me. (Nothing’s real unless it’s on teh intarweb, right?) But, I can’t. Too many people would think it’s about them. Some of them would be right… and I don’t need that level of drama.

I’m not working nearly as much as I had been and I’ve found that the fencing is great mental and physical exercise. I’m spending less time on the computer after work and I don’t find myself missing it nearly as much as I thought I would. All around me, things are changing… I’m changing.

I’m happy with who I am and where I am right now. 

I’m - dare I say it? - enjoying my life.

I’ve been bouncing around for the last two weeks after I realized that I can do s00per d00per wicked FUN things this weekend. Tomorrow, I’m off to Albany to hang out with Annie, Bear, Bill, Chris, and Orion (aka Black Mountain Symphony). Saturday, I’m CT bound- I’ll spend the day lounging around and visiting some of my favorite haunts before heading into the Insurance Capital of the World to hang out with Soup and Skinny.

Two days, two of my favorite bands, and a whole lotta highway.

I couldn’t ask for anything more.

The husband just said this to Apache:
“You are our number one, behind our number one. Which makes you number two, and that’s why we call you The Poo.”

Truer words were never spoken.

...and so, the hiccuping uterus has STFU.

J and I went to the Cocheco Valley Humane Society today to “look”. I’ve wanted a baby for a while, and as I discovered, death makes me want a new baby. (In order: some rabbits when mom died, Apache after dad died and now Charlie. Charlie is named after her grandfather, of course.) As soon as J said we’d look, I knew we were coming home with a cat.

We almost came home with Dino, a 4 year old tabby who has lived with dogs. The only problem was Dino was a “house soiler”. I guess after his owners had a baby, Dino decided to stop using the litter box. We’ve already had a cat that didn’t like to use the box. Pumpkin was scraped, given antibiotics, anti-depressants, and even Rescue Remedy. Nothing worked. I really didn’t want to go through that with another cat. Cat pee STINKS worse than dog pee. So, we gave up on Dino, even though I was finally warming to the idea that not all older cats are damaged goods. (Should have talked to the shelter volunteer first!)

It came down to three kittens - Spidey, Chase and Tootsie. Chase and Spidey didn’t like me very much, but Tootsie seemed to like both of us, so Tootsie it was. Of course, the name was the first to go. I couldn’t do Tootsie. It would have driven me nuts. After a lot of trial and error (dude, I totally would have named the cat “Bruce”, but J said it wasn’t right for a girl.), we came up with Charlie.

I know, most of my friends will be all “Charlie the Unicorn!”, and while that’s not why I chose the name, I have found myself saying “chaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllliiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee” a lot.

Adding a third furry member of the family was not something as spur of the moment as it probably looks… I knew Arsey would do well with the kitten. Arsey LOVES all other animals. (As long as they’re not near her food.) Apache, on the other hand, takes some time to get warmed up to new people, so I knew it wouldn’t be that easy with a kitten. We’re a little further on the first day than I thought I’d be, but we’re far from being a happy family. All things in time. Introducing him to Arsey wasn’t all that easy either.

Welcome to our world, Charlie. I do think you’ll like it here.

We went up to the Nubble Lighthouse and then to The Goldenrod this morning.

How can something simultaneously break your heart into a zillion pieces and at the same time give you so much hope? That’s what the Short Sands Beach region of York, Maine does to me. I think I’ve said it before—it was my father’s favorite place on the earth. We used to stay at the Sands Hotel (as it used to be known) for one week every summer and every morning, without fail, he’d wake me up doing this version of reveille that sounded like it was being performed by a rooster. We’d hike up to the lighthouse, watch the sun rise, and then we’d head to The Goldenrod for breakfast. Until I went to college, it was our yearly ritual.

I suppose it goes without saying that that’s the only place in the world where I truly feel as if my father is right beside me. I feel his presence in other places, in other ways, but it’s that area between Sohier Park and The Goldenrod where I feel him the strongest. I really needed to be with him today. Thankfully, J understood it and we hopped in the car, no questions asked.

I’ve had a rough couple of weeks… J left for Ohio two weeks ago to spend time with his mom before she passed away. He got almost an entire week with her before the cancer finally claimed a long overdue victory. I joined him last Sunday, for what would become one of the longest weeks of my life. I had limited access to the outside world - no cell service and definitely no internet access (thank you, AT&T). I suppose I could have used my sister-in-law’s laptop, but I didn’t want to do personal stuff on her computer. No email (business or personal), and definitely no Twitter or Facebook. I didn’t want to run the risk of forgetting to log out. My iPhone is probably less secure, but at least this way, I know she can’t log into one of my accounts accidentally.

I don’t “do” family. I don’t know how. My own family had disappointed me so many times that I just shut them all out. Except my father, and when he died, well… It was weird to be around all these people and not know a single one of them except on the most basic level. I worry a lot about the concept of “love”:  Is it possible to love people I don’t even know, and to be honest, don’t really have any need or desire to know? (That sound? Every single in-law’s jaw dropping, I’m sure.) I’m too damn independent for my own good. I know this. I’ve surrounded myself with the people I want to call my family. I don’t need, or want, a “family” that’s forced on me just because I married one of them.

That said, I DID enjoy their company. I DID enjoy letting them into my world, albeit on MY terms. I’d apologize for shutting them out, but I’m not going to. It’s who I am and I don’t plan on tearing down my walls any time soon.  As I’ve said before, I refuse to apologize for anything I’ve done in the name of protecting myself. They don’t know, and can’t possibly truly understand, the events that caused me to build those walls as big as they are.

At any rate, I spent a good chunk of today’s trip wondering if the people who lived in those oceanfront houses knew how lucky they are. How much I’ve coveted them - the older ones, not the new McMansions which lack all the charm. I saw the house my father always wanted to buy. The house I want to buy. I know it’s been in the family (or was) for several generations and that the guy my dad talked to had no plans of ever selling it. I know I’ll never be able to afford it. Not unless I change a lot of things about the way I live and spend money…

I think the same thing - do they know how lucky they are to live there - when we go to our land. We recently discovered that we’ve had trespassers on the property, and that got me fired up to build sooner rather than later, but instead of tightening up the budget, reevaluating our investments, putting more towards the debt snowball, etc., I just let it fall by the wayside.

Not anymore. I’m building that damn house. I will be ready to break ground in five years. FIVE. Do you hear me universe? Stay out of my way. I’m on a mission… by then I’ll be 40. I don’t know what my expiration date is. No one does. But you can bet your ass I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary to get that house built. Life is just too damn short. My mother died at 46, my father at 55, J’s mother at 59.  Those numbers are hitting a little too close to home as I’m in my mid-30s. My mid-30s… it seems so odd to write that, but that’s where I am. That’s eleven years until I’m as old as my mother was when she died. If I’m due to kick the bucket that early, I want some time in my lake house. The one I should have inherited from my father had he lived another couple of years.

I’m done thinking “do they know…” and I’m ready to start thinking “I’m so lucky…”

It’s probably a good thing I’m such an Excel Ninja…

So, when we last saw our heroine, she was deep in a bipolar snit. The likes of which only really happen once a year. (Thank you, Lord!)

It was decided that she would head to beautiful, scenic, friendly, Albany during the final weekend of The Ick for some much needed music therapy and time with friends she doesn’t see nearly enough.

It was exactly what she needed - including the moment she burst into tears because of what Orion said to her. (For the record, Orion’s a st00pid doodiehead… but more on that later.)

Now, back to first person because writing in the third makes me feel like a ‘tard.

I don’t know how I do it and it definitely isn’t something I mean to do, but I get friendly with people in bands. It’s my thing, I guess. It started with Scott-the-Roadie from BiG MiSTAKE and it’s only gotten worse(?) from there. I can’t count instrument, since I knew D from college, so it really started with Soup and Skinny from All Crazy. Then that crazy little circle of friends included Bill and Orion from Black Mountain Symphony. Now it includes Wild Bill from All Crazy and the rest of Black Mountain Symphony. And Larry the Lumberjack from Sound in Stone. (He’s a lumberjack and he’s ok… DUDE! He plays the tuba. He. Plays. The. Tuba. In. A. Rock. Band. ZOMGWTFBBQ!!!!!!!111!)
 
I want to talk about Larry first, even though he’s really a bit player in this drama. (I have a bit of The ADHD tonight. I’m still in a manic phase and I had fencing. Mania + exercise = bad combo for me. Prolly the main reason why I don’t exercise like I should… but I OH! LOOK! A CHICKEN!)

So.

Larry.

After the show, I went outside to find Sound in Stone and see if they had discs. I recognized most of the band members, but when I went over to them, they kind of looked past me. Not Larry. We engaged in a nice chat about the Worcester area and their attempt to get into the Boston scene. He asked me how I discovered Black Mountain Symphony. (Yes, I’m the crazy girl from New Hampshire that drives all over creation to support my favorite bands.) He talked about playing brass instruments and I told him about my tweet where I said it was cool that he carried the bass line on the tuba when the bass player moved to the keyboards. It was good bonding. I gave him $10 for a CD - doin’ my part to support the local scene - and the look on his face was kind of interesting. I don’t think most people pay for their CDs. It’s a demo, granted, and it looks and sounds like a demo, but they still had to pay for the discs, ink, etc. Like I said, I support the scene. Even when it’s bands I don’t know. (Honestly, crappy production value aside, its a good disc. Not as good as their live performance would have lead me to believe, but it’s good. Definitely one of those discs that take a few go ‘rounds on repeat before you really get in the groove, though.)

Compare and contrast: a band named Gone By Daylight opened for All Crazy at their last Hartford show. They reminded me of Fall Out Boy, not necessarily in a good way, but the music was catchy, so I went in search of a disc. I got it from the lead singer’s girlfriend who took my money and shoved a CD at me without saying a word. No “thank you”, no “please sign our mailing list”, nothing. Not even a freakin look my way. Hey, GBD, I loved you live, but I’m so not going out of my way to see you. I’ll save my gas money to see bands that actually APPRECIATE the people who buy their CDs. Got it? (Long story short, guess who’s going to go to another Sound In Stone show at some point?! August. Portland, ME. I’m serious as a heart attack. Bear was very right when he said I’d like them.)

It all comes down to how you treat people - your current fans, your potential fans, and the friends who have been there for you. All three groups are vital to your survival. Larry treated me well. Scott-the-Roadie treated me well. Soup and Skinny treat me very well. And Black Mountain Symphony…

Well, they have a little guy that made me cry.

When I walked into the bar, Bill saw me before I saw any of them and I got a hug tackle. Annie and Rollz came over to talk to me, too. It was so nice that they were as excited to see me as I was to see them. (Although this now makes two or three times Annie has said they’ve been talking about me. Should I be weirded out by this? LOL) I had very nice chats with all three of them, both as a group and individually. It’s nice to walk into a bar and get welcomed so warmly. I hate bars and I’m probably never going to be 100% comfortable in them for any of a dozen reasons, so it’s REALLY nice to get the warm welcome.

After the show, I went to talk to Orion. I thanked him again for the nice things he posted to my Facebook wall. Then we talked about my drive and some other things… the end result was that he made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It was REALLY nice to hear such kind things from him. It totally made my night. My weekend. My month. But the end result was that I burst into tears the minute I hit my hotel room. He had been TOO nice, TOO kind, and I’m not used to hearing stuff like that. That’s not to say that Soup and Skinny don’t deliver the high octane warm fuzzies, but this was… different.

So. Yeah. Jerkface made me cry.

Things have changed in my life - drastically - since I took the new job. I definitely have less time to play than I would like, but it will even itself out. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but the meantime, I’m itching to find the time to head back up to Albany.

Even if it means Orion makes me cry again!

Staring at the floorboards for what seems like an hour. Looking out the window, it’s starting to shower. They say, “It’s all in your head.”
“Grandfather” - Black Mountain Symphony

How I wish it were all in my head!!
I mean, I know it is all in my head… it’s bad brain chemistry, but I wish this was something I could control.

Some days, the meds just don’t work. There’s no fighting biology some times.

And that, my friends, fucking sucks.

Such is the life of someone with bipolar…

I have been having a REALLY. BAD. TIME. lately. Really bad.

Since I’ve started the new job, and finally have an excellent idea of just what I’ve gotten myself into, I’ve really been keeping a tight watch on my cycles. I’m careful to work like mad one weekend and take the next one off. I’m trying to avoid anything and everything that could even come close to stressing me out. (Outside of work stress. There’s no way to escape that yet. Except working weekends…)

Well, all the prep and calendars and med management in the world couldn’t keep me sane during the past few weeks.

I’ve been in the middle of a manic cycle and I just knew my father’s anniversary was going to suck. It wasn’t a self-fulfilling prophecy (as was suggested by someone GRR!), it was just a fact. I knew that it was going to be rough - when the nightmares start, I’m a walking wreck. I’m sorry. That’s just the way it works and I was having the nightmares long before the anniversary. So yeah. Reliving the afternoon I found my father and then ID’ing him in the coffin every night for a week or two is certainly a harbinger of what’s to come.

As if the nightmares and manic cycle weren’t enough, Mother Nature decided that she had another trick up her sleeve: PMS.  Thank you, Mother Nature. Take an already mentally unstable person and screw with her…

Oh yeah, my mother’s birthday is May 3rd. My parents’ wedding anniversary is the 10th and Mother’s Day is the 9th this year.

Recipe. For. Disaster.

I started reaching out to those who knew me before all hell broke loose. I started reaching out to other members of The Dead Parents Club.

Apparently, that was an ingredient in the recipe.

I don’t know why, but EVERYBODY and their mother (ha ha ha) decided they all knew what was best for me. How to beat the bipolar. How to move past the 30th. What kind of clothes I should wear to fencing. What kind of house we should build. What I should do with my hair. Even a well meaning friend added fuel to the fire when they commented on what type of bicycles the hubby and I should get.

I just kept getting so, so, so upset that I went pretty nuclear.

The meds normally keep me from getting to that point, but it was pretty much “abandon hope, all ye who enter here” by then.

I don’t know what to say…

I know who I am. I know what I want…

I am grieving. I am an orphan.

I want my father back.

If anyone has any suggestions on how to bring him back (and not zombie-back, because EWWWW!), then I’m open to your advice.

If not, please keep your opinions to yourself.

I can’t deal with people telling me things that go contrary to what I want or who I am. Not right now, at least. I don’t have the strength to deal with it…

Talk to me next weekend - after The Ick has passed and I have regained my sanity.

My dad always wanted to to visit Kent State. He was obsessed with the shootings there. He planned on going May 1, 2001. He died April 30, 2001.

This is for him:

Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We’re finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio.

Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We’re finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio

“Ohio” - Neil Young

(On a side note - I got to see the original handwritten lyrics at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame while Dad was still alive. He was not impressed. WTF?!?)

Don’t think I don’t know who you are, or why you’re doing it.

Go ahead. Spend hours combing through the archives. I guarantee you you’ll find all you want and more.

I’ve tolerated you and your insecurities long enough.

It. Is. War.

As my dad used to say, we’re playing a game and it’s called “You Lose.”

Your turn.

I saw the Goo Goo Dolls at the Casino on Thursday night. (Obviously!) They were awesome. The energy coming from the stage was intense and the energy coming from the audience was just as intense. The last time I saw them, we were at Great Woods and there was a tweenybopper next to us. Ms. Tween was whining the entire show: “When are they going to play that song? You know, the one from that movie?” I wanted to punch her so badly. I will never understand why people will spend so much money on concert tickets to just hear (in her case) one song. Seriously. She didn’t react to any of the band’s other hits - just “Iris”. That song, from that movie.  *sigh* This crowd was different - EVERYONE was into it. EVERYONE around us knew the words. We sang to each other. We sang to the band. We sang. And it was… orgasmic.  (Well, it was before and after they played “Broadway”. That’s the only one I can’t stand - in a ““Losing My Religion” makes me want to pry my eyeballs out with a spork” type of way. The lyrics just hit too close to home.)

It was general admission, which means standing in the crowd, getting jostled and trying to look around the tall people. I have to say, my years of hopping around to all kinds of all ages shows certainly helped make the night a wicked freaking awesome success and a half. I got the very nice tall, tall guy and his just-as-tall friend to stand behind me instead of in front of me. (There’s a certain way to do it so you don’t come across looking like a douche.) and I was able to get a spot in front of the soundboard. IMHO, that’s where the sound is best. Don’t ask me why - I’m sure there’s a reason, but I discovered it accidentally. From my awesome vantage point, I also got a very good reminder as to why it’s so damn hard to take good concert photos. So many people think all they have to do is point the camera in the general direction and push the button…

It’s not that easy.

For starters, there’s the issue of focus. Performers don’t stay still. Especially performers who have wireless instruments. I couldn’t keep up with Johnny at several points. If I couldn’t, there was no way my camera would be able to. You should find a stationary point about the same distance as the performer, push the shutter down halfway and get the focus to lock. Follow the intended target and snap the picture at any point after the focus locks. 9 times out of 10 it will be pretty decent. They won’t always be crystal clear, but they’ll be clear enough.

Then there’s the flash. YOU. DON’T. NEED. IT.  Turn the damn thing off, or diffuse it. Between your flash and the stage lighting, your pictures will either get washed out or it will look like they’re performing in daylight. I can’t think of a single concert picture I’ve liked where the stage lighting hasn’t been used to the photographer’s advantage. I can’t think of a show, either, where the photogs in the pit have used a flash. I actually got a new camera for my birthday - a Canon S90 specifically since it’s good in low light conditions. So far, I’ve found it to be a little too noisy when I’m taking photos at shows, but as I’m getting better with it, the pictures are getting better. Definitely operator error, so far. I’m starting to come to the conclusion that the better the camera, the harder it is to get good concert shots. I love my Nikon D40, but it’s too damn complicated to bring to a show. My wicked basic, point and shoot, Olympus Stylus 1010 was definitely my go-to camera, but I’m phasing it out in favor of the Canon.

Anyhoo, Johnny came out and performed “Sympathy” acoustically all by his lonesome. Best. Goo Goo Dolls. Concert. Moment. Ever.

I wish for things that I don’t need (All I wanted)
And what I chase won’t set me free (All I wanted)
And I get scared but I’m not crawling on my knees…

Stranger than your sympathy
All these thoughts you stole from me
I’m not sure where I belong
Nowhere’s home and I’m all wrong

It was such an amazing night. It was, without a doubt, one of my top three concerts.

In other news, I’ve decided I’m going to learn how to fence. With a sword! Yes, yes, yes, clumsy, awkward me with sharp metal objects. Someone’s losing an eye or dying. Better make sure my life insurance policy is up to date - J will be bummed if I die an accidental death and he doesn’t get that big fatty check. It’s something I’ve always thought about, but never done anything with. I’m pretty shy when it comes to learning new sports, especially since I’m so uncoordinated. But, I need to lose weight and I don’t want to “exercise” (*shudders*), so I’m looking for something fun to do. We’re also talking about biking, kayaking, and rollerblading. That all sounds like fun, especially since we can do a lot of it in the parks near the water, but I’m really, really excited to play with more pointy sticks. I really think it’s fate - there are 4 fencing clubs where I can take classes within about an hour of where I live.  Wow.

I’m a little amused that I received a very nice “thank you” type message in my Facebook inbox from an unexpected source. It’s not from who I wish it were from, but even if it were from that person, it’s just a little too late. All I’m going to say on the topic is “vagina boob”. Take from that what you will.

So. The new day job is kicking my ass.  I feel like I’m working around the clock. I go in on weekends. I bring work home. I stress all the time over the details. And that’s just doing one company’s books. I was hired to do the books for five different companies - all under the same corporate umbrella. The main company I’m working on right now is a bit of a financial disaster. It’s totally fixable, and we’re on the right path to finally become profitable, but holy cow. This week, I took on the books for company number 2. I’m definitely not complaining, though. I LOVE IT THERE. The people are awesome and Boy Wonder always makes me laugh. I’m fortunate that I went from bouncing paychecks and temper tantrums to working like a dog but having a blast. Definitely a change for the better, and once we get profitable, it will be even more awesome.

I went out to dinner this week with a former co-worker. Her eldest daughter is my age, so from time to time I look to her for motherly advice. Life got completely funked up weird this week, and I really appreciated hearing her take on certain things. I will admit, I giggled like a fiend when she yelled at me for taking jobs at struggling companies and trying to turn them around. I failed at the last job - but only because I was being fought every step of the way. This job, I’m excelling at. Mostly because I’m a superstar. She kept telling me I needed a cape because I’m SUPER TAM! I laugh every time I think of myself at my desk with my cape on. I have GOT to find a cape… and maybe a tiara.

I got busted on Easter Sunday for being at Bean’s instead of Rhode Island for Easter Dinner. Didn’t really enjoy the fact that I was accused of turning my back on them. Telephones work both ways and they always knew where my father was - he would have passed out my information to them. (At least they did know where he was right up until he moved to Ohio and died.) I can’t continually apologize for “disappearing” so that I could take care of myself after my mother died, and I refuse to do it any more. People don’t accept the fact, or would prefer to ignore the fact, that I hated my mother with a fiery passion. I really, seriously, wished her dead all the time. When she died, my father and I did indeed sing, “Ding dong the witch is dead.” (Yes. Yes, we did.) However, I needed some closure and I never got it. I needed to know the woman my father loved, and I never got that chance. Sorry to drop an f-bomb, but that seriously fucked me up. I was broken and I had nowhere to run, no one to fix me. This was a situation of my own doing and I have to live with the choices I made until the day I die. So, yeah, I was in a pretty shitty mood after that conversation.

Thankfully, I was able to stop at the ocean on the way home. Sitting on the rocks, watching the waves crash. That heals me in a way conversations - even really good ones, with the best friends a girl can have - can’t. I connect with my father when I’m near the ocean, smelling the salty air, and it just makes everything better. It didn’t hurt that I had a brand-spankin’-new kayak on the top of my car, either. Today, the Wonder Hubby and I took the kayaks out and cruised around the salt marsh behind our house. If the wind hadn’t sucked so bad, and we hadn’t fought the freaking tide, it would have been a perfect outing. More healing after the crap that came down this weekend. It’s like I’m not allowed to have a fun time without getting shafted on the flip side. Grr… 

Also keeping me on the right side of sane when I can’t get to the water is (surprise!) music. I journeyed into Worcester on a Wednesday night a few weeks ago now and hung out with Black Mountain Symphony. (Check out their new album!) Since I got there too early, I wandered into the bar across the street from the Lucky Dog and ran into the band. (There is nothing like getting a huge hug from Bill!) I helped them lug their gear into the bar, which had the side effect of getting to talk to Bear. He’s such a nice guy. His sister, Annie, is a sweetheart, too. They’re all nice people, really. I’m fortunate that I got to meet them and even more fortunate that I get to call them my friends.

Of course, every outing has to have its defining moment. This one had several - loved getting the shout out from Bill, and did not love being asked if I was Annie’s mother. Dude, I’m not that much older than her! I wasn’t nearly as insulted by that as I was in one of Dave’s friends asked me if I was married to Derek, though. (Yukadoo! A) D’s so *not* my type and B) Seriously? EEEEEEEWWWWWWWW!!!!!)  The best part was when J and I went to see BMS again that Friday. The guy that asked was at Friday’s show too, and he was telling the table about how he insulted this girl - some “super fan” from New Hampshire - by asking if she was Annie and Bear’s mom. I couldn’t help myself and told him that if he was going to talk about me, to do it louder so I didn’t have to struggle to hear him. *grin* 

I still smile every time I think of this message Orion posted to my Facebook wall: Hey Tamara! I just wanted to thank you again for coming to see us play so much! We’re grateful for the support and it’s always good to see your friendly face at our shows! It’s really quite encouraging actually There’s nothing like being appreciated… and it really makes me want to head up to Albany to see them again since they don’t get down south much.

Water, friends, music, and working like a dog… that’s my life for now and I. Could. Not. Be. Happier.