I have nothing left to give.
Every ounce of my
energy,
good will,
sociability,
patience,
time,
breastmilk
has been consumed by the
insatiable
around me.
I have nothing left,
just,
very simply,
nothing.
Nothing for the wailing infant who has nursed for the last 4 hours straight.
Nothing for the whining 4 year old for whom nothing is ever good enough.
Nothing for the recalcitrant 18 month old who needs to go to bed now.
Nothing for the guests (my parents) who sat on my sofa after joining us here for pizza.
Nothing for my husband who drowses in the chair opposite me, preventing me, by his very presence, from focusing on the writing I'd like to be doing.
Nothing for me.
I have given everything I have to give.
I have become an empty shell,
the discarded chrysalis,
devoid of the life it once held.
Unlike the chrysalis, however,
My contents have not
transformed.
I have been
consumed
by those around me,
whose need
seems ever greater
than my own.
I have nothing left to give.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
I'm Talking to Myself 'Cause No One Else Is Listenin'
I am feeling utterly overwhelmed. Beside the baby wanting to eat every hour and half, Evie turning aggressive against her sister (whether or not her sister deserves it) and pitching temper tantrums when the least bit tired, and Katie refusing to sleep and her behavior devolving accordingly, work is showing its usual blatent disregard of my nonworking hours, and the list goes on.
My sister called tonight to say "are you available the weekend after this? We'd like to come visit and see the baby and watch the kids Saturday night so you and John can get out." So, I ask John 'are we available'? 'Sure', he says. Then, when I'm off the phone he tells me he might have the opportunity to go to the UConn/Louisville game that afternoon/night and would I mind? It didn't occur to him that he should have told me this earlier or that this would confirm to my family that he doesn't like them. He protests that he likes my sister and her husband and he'd take her husband along. Of course, that makes it all better, now, doesn't it? Welcome to our home, see ya later! And add to that, why the fuck does he get to go out and have fun when I'm stuck here day in and day out being a slave to the children all day and working nights??! And then I feel guilty. Because he does work hard and it's not his fault that he gets to do that away from the kids. He deserves a break. He really does. But, honestly, couldn't he have told me about the game possibility when we were discussing the weekend schedule so I don't feel like a real schmuck with my sister?
Not to mention, he'd rather go to a football game that to dinner with me. Doesn't *that* make me feel great? Of course, I'm a fat blob whose hair won't cooperate and whose gut hangs over her incision like an old man's beer belly over his belt - except mine is floppier because the cause of the bulge is gone, so I guess I can't blame him. Nothing like a little confirmation that I look as much like hell as I suspected.
I got an email tonight from my boss at my church gig. The church is having a cabaret and he wants each of us ringers to sing a couple of songs. I've never sung in a cabaret environment unless you count drunken karaoke. I have NO stage presence (which is one reason why a section leader position is perfect for me) - I'm a dumpy middle aged schlub who looks as dorky on stage as Susan Whatsername from Britain's Got Talent. My fellow section leaders are spectacular singers - they leave me in the dust on a regular basis. I will look/sound horrible in comparison. I can't do this but I have to.
The main credit card is almost maxed out and we have another preschool tuition payment due in 2 weeks. On top of that, I've been nursing my laptop along and I'm not going to be able to much longer. I don't want to spend the money, obviously, but just as much as I don't want to spend the money, I don't want to go through the misery of getting a new computer up and running - finding all the discs and getting the software on there (my photoshop, I have to go back to 5.5 and install that full version, then each of the updates since then), coaxing the "IT" guy at work into putting on the Forteclient software and configuring the funky Outlook thing we use to coordinate schedules, hoping that my backup got everything I needed off the old computer and can get it onto the new computer without problems. Not to mention the simple act of determining which laptop is best for my purposes.
I am fucking exhausted and there seems to be no fucking end to the grind. I try to tell myself that tomorrow will be better but I'm gradually becoming convinced that may be an impossible dream. I know so many people have it far worse and I feel horribly guilty about griping but I'm not sure how long I can keep this up.
"If I Talk to God", Poison Kiss, The Last Goodnight
My sister called tonight to say "are you available the weekend after this? We'd like to come visit and see the baby and watch the kids Saturday night so you and John can get out." So, I ask John 'are we available'? 'Sure', he says. Then, when I'm off the phone he tells me he might have the opportunity to go to the UConn/Louisville game that afternoon/night and would I mind? It didn't occur to him that he should have told me this earlier or that this would confirm to my family that he doesn't like them. He protests that he likes my sister and her husband and he'd take her husband along. Of course, that makes it all better, now, doesn't it? Welcome to our home, see ya later! And add to that, why the fuck does he get to go out and have fun when I'm stuck here day in and day out being a slave to the children all day and working nights??! And then I feel guilty. Because he does work hard and it's not his fault that he gets to do that away from the kids. He deserves a break. He really does. But, honestly, couldn't he have told me about the game possibility when we were discussing the weekend schedule so I don't feel like a real schmuck with my sister?
Not to mention, he'd rather go to a football game that to dinner with me. Doesn't *that* make me feel great? Of course, I'm a fat blob whose hair won't cooperate and whose gut hangs over her incision like an old man's beer belly over his belt - except mine is floppier because the cause of the bulge is gone, so I guess I can't blame him. Nothing like a little confirmation that I look as much like hell as I suspected.
I got an email tonight from my boss at my church gig. The church is having a cabaret and he wants each of us ringers to sing a couple of songs. I've never sung in a cabaret environment unless you count drunken karaoke. I have NO stage presence (which is one reason why a section leader position is perfect for me) - I'm a dumpy middle aged schlub who looks as dorky on stage as Susan Whatsername from Britain's Got Talent. My fellow section leaders are spectacular singers - they leave me in the dust on a regular basis. I will look/sound horrible in comparison. I can't do this but I have to.
The main credit card is almost maxed out and we have another preschool tuition payment due in 2 weeks. On top of that, I've been nursing my laptop along and I'm not going to be able to much longer. I don't want to spend the money, obviously, but just as much as I don't want to spend the money, I don't want to go through the misery of getting a new computer up and running - finding all the discs and getting the software on there (my photoshop, I have to go back to 5.5 and install that full version, then each of the updates since then), coaxing the "IT" guy at work into putting on the Forteclient software and configuring the funky Outlook thing we use to coordinate schedules, hoping that my backup got everything I needed off the old computer and can get it onto the new computer without problems. Not to mention the simple act of determining which laptop is best for my purposes.
I am fucking exhausted and there seems to be no fucking end to the grind. I try to tell myself that tomorrow will be better but I'm gradually becoming convinced that may be an impossible dream. I know so many people have it far worse and I feel horribly guilty about griping but I'm not sure how long I can keep this up.
"If I Talk to God", Poison Kiss, The Last Goodnight
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I dreamed I lived in an apartment upstairs from a hairstylist I used to have cut my hair. I'd borrowed her margarita mixer and was drinking it with vodka after work. I finished my drink and went down to borrow some more. She wasn't home but I borrowed it anyway. (How obnoxious of me!) Her apartment was really not a separate entity. An older couple (the owners of the house) had the first floor and her apartment was sort of merged with theirs though she did have her own kitchenette, etc.
When I got back upstairs with my illicitly borrowed mixer, I debate whether to pour a bunch into another bottle so I don't have to hang on to her mixer or just leave her a note that I owe her a bottle of mixer. I have a tray of shot glasses half-filled with booze and finally decide to just pour mixer in each one and put the bottle back with a note (I was starting to feel quite the heel for the mooching.)
I noticed that someone had decorated my dining area and left me a cheerful bouquet of flowers, a card, and a balloon for my birthday. Some of my friends had stopped by. I thought it was really sweet but disappointed I missed them. I figured they might come back though.
When I got back upstairs with my illicitly borrowed mixer, I debate whether to pour a bunch into another bottle so I don't have to hang on to her mixer or just leave her a note that I owe her a bottle of mixer. I have a tray of shot glasses half-filled with booze and finally decide to just pour mixer in each one and put the bottle back with a note (I was starting to feel quite the heel for the mooching.)
I noticed that someone had decorated my dining area and left me a cheerful bouquet of flowers, a card, and a balloon for my birthday. Some of my friends had stopped by. I thought it was really sweet but disappointed I missed them. I figured they might come back though.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
I dreamed last night I was at some sort of street festival. It was being held off the main street in an old mill town. City-style buildings, maybe 3-4 stories high at most. I'd wandered to the main street with a friend and as we were standing there, a jet landed on the main street. I was talking about the jet's landing gear being rotary gear instead of conventional gear (which makes no sense to me now) and was pointing out some aspect of the landing gear when I happened to glance up and realize that the pilot made an impossible landing by missing the overhead wires which were strung across the street. He landed through a gap between sets of wires that was barely as long as the plane. I yelled to another friend that it was a hell of a landing but realized she couldn't hear me. I walked over to the plane where a bunch of airport people I know were gathered and repeated myself.
~~~
I realize today that this may have been somewhat precognitive. Although today's impossible landing was in the water and not a city street, the plane was about the right size for an A320. Despite the utter impossibility of such a landing, it occurred and no one was killed in either my dream nor the reality. Also, witnesses say they actually wondered whether the plane was some sort of sea plane, the landing seemed so unprecipitous; seaplanes land on floats, a different type of landing gear certainly than conventional gear.
This is kind of odd, I know, but, for all that I'm a pilot, I don't dream (at night) about flying.
So, at any rate, I think it was a bit precognitive which doesn't happen to me much.
~~~
I realize today that this may have been somewhat precognitive. Although today's impossible landing was in the water and not a city street, the plane was about the right size for an A320. Despite the utter impossibility of such a landing, it occurred and no one was killed in either my dream nor the reality. Also, witnesses say they actually wondered whether the plane was some sort of sea plane, the landing seemed so unprecipitous; seaplanes land on floats, a different type of landing gear certainly than conventional gear.
This is kind of odd, I know, but, for all that I'm a pilot, I don't dream (at night) about flying.
So, at any rate, I think it was a bit precognitive which doesn't happen to me much.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A couple of quick mental images from the last couple of days.
About 4 days ago:
I dreamed I was at some sort of training or school. We were being housed in an old department store, I think. My choir director was also attending the training. Instead of dorm rooms, they'd partitioned the various big areas of the old deprtment store with those pipe-and-drape things they use for tradeshows into various "roomettes". Others were complaining about it. I was thinking that at least we had a lot more space than the people who got dorm rooms but, later, it occurred to me that I would have to be very quiet if I wanted to do anything of a personal nature.
A couple nights ago:
I dreamed I was in a hotel suite. My parents and sister were there. There had been some sort of battle and John and I had retrieved these three nearly newborn infants. Somehow, either John had killed their parents in the battle or something like that. My mother asked what we were going to do with them and we were going to give them to some social service agency. We were getting ready to leave the area the next day as the battle/war in this area was done and we needed to move on. The babies are in some sort of co-sleeper attached to the bed. I'm getting onto the bed to crawl over to comfort one of the babies and thinking I didn't want to give them up, the poor little things. Meanwhile, I'm also realizing that someone (my mother, I think) has tried to clean some sort of grease spots on the comforter to the bed with some nasty chemical and has poured so much on that the pillow and comforter are soaked through in spots and unusable. I'm mad and demanding to know WTF she was thinking.
About 4 days ago:
I dreamed I was at some sort of training or school. We were being housed in an old department store, I think. My choir director was also attending the training. Instead of dorm rooms, they'd partitioned the various big areas of the old deprtment store with those pipe-and-drape things they use for tradeshows into various "roomettes". Others were complaining about it. I was thinking that at least we had a lot more space than the people who got dorm rooms but, later, it occurred to me that I would have to be very quiet if I wanted to do anything of a personal nature.
A couple nights ago:
I dreamed I was in a hotel suite. My parents and sister were there. There had been some sort of battle and John and I had retrieved these three nearly newborn infants. Somehow, either John had killed their parents in the battle or something like that. My mother asked what we were going to do with them and we were going to give them to some social service agency. We were getting ready to leave the area the next day as the battle/war in this area was done and we needed to move on. The babies are in some sort of co-sleeper attached to the bed. I'm getting onto the bed to crawl over to comfort one of the babies and thinking I didn't want to give them up, the poor little things. Meanwhile, I'm also realizing that someone (my mother, I think) has tried to clean some sort of grease spots on the comforter to the bed with some nasty chemical and has poured so much on that the pillow and comforter are soaked through in spots and unusable. I'm mad and demanding to know WTF she was thinking.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
I dreamed I was watching the Olympics - ice hockey I think. I was sitting with / dating maybe? the guy from The Cutting Edge. A player collapsed on the ice so there was a break in the action and I wandered out into the hall.
I'm now in a dorm suite with an Asian man. He's participating in some sort of mathematics/science portion of the Olympics and is going to go compete in a little while. He's showing me a song he's written and we're realizing we're interested in one another. We're sitting fairly closely and my knee is touching his leg. He backs off suddenly and I worry that I've breached some sort of cultural taboo. I start to worry about his parents' acceptance of me as we've sort of decided to be together.
His girlfriend comes out of the other room to tell him it's time to dress and it occurs to me that both of us will have to break off our relationships. We're all headed out into the hallway/stairwell when they carry the fallen hockey player by. It's an old-fashioned stretcher - canvas with a wood pole on either side. It's carried by a person I don't really see on the back and the doctor/CDC guy from the beginning of XF:FTF. The player is dark-skinned and wearing a black parka, the fur-lined hood of which is mostly pulled over his face.
We go down a floor into a corridor that I somehow know is the music building from my college but it's got science labs in it now (and doesn't look anything like the music building from my college). The walls are cement block and the doors are like metal fire doors. A scientist comes screaming out of the elevator - his eyes are all oily and black (more XF stuff there) and he's crazed with fear. He grabs my arm and his fingernails dig in, leaving oily black dents. I break free and start scrubbing at my arm while he runs wildly down the hall. Most of the black comes off. I dart into one of the offices so that he can't find me. It's a weird warren and has some sort of furnace in it - looks like someone converted a boiler room into an office. There's some sort of notice about using fire to suppress intruders printed on a light blue piece of copy paper and posted above the furnace but it warns you need some sort of protective something that I don't have. I can hear the scientist running back up the hallway, trying doors, anything to get the black out of him. I round the corner in the office (it's L-shaped) and quick throw the lock. I think I'm safe but it seems it's the lunatic's office and he has the key. He heard me throw the lock so he knows there's someone in there and unlocks the door.
I run by him as he opens the door. He's carrying a butcher knife and keeps stabbing at me as we run. I'm screaming at the security guard at the end of the hallway by the elevator that the scientist has gone crazy and is trying to kill me.
I'm now in a dorm suite with an Asian man. He's participating in some sort of mathematics/science portion of the Olympics and is going to go compete in a little while. He's showing me a song he's written and we're realizing we're interested in one another. We're sitting fairly closely and my knee is touching his leg. He backs off suddenly and I worry that I've breached some sort of cultural taboo. I start to worry about his parents' acceptance of me as we've sort of decided to be together.
His girlfriend comes out of the other room to tell him it's time to dress and it occurs to me that both of us will have to break off our relationships. We're all headed out into the hallway/stairwell when they carry the fallen hockey player by. It's an old-fashioned stretcher - canvas with a wood pole on either side. It's carried by a person I don't really see on the back and the doctor/CDC guy from the beginning of XF:FTF. The player is dark-skinned and wearing a black parka, the fur-lined hood of which is mostly pulled over his face.
We go down a floor into a corridor that I somehow know is the music building from my college but it's got science labs in it now (and doesn't look anything like the music building from my college). The walls are cement block and the doors are like metal fire doors. A scientist comes screaming out of the elevator - his eyes are all oily and black (more XF stuff there) and he's crazed with fear. He grabs my arm and his fingernails dig in, leaving oily black dents. I break free and start scrubbing at my arm while he runs wildly down the hall. Most of the black comes off. I dart into one of the offices so that he can't find me. It's a weird warren and has some sort of furnace in it - looks like someone converted a boiler room into an office. There's some sort of notice about using fire to suppress intruders printed on a light blue piece of copy paper and posted above the furnace but it warns you need some sort of protective something that I don't have. I can hear the scientist running back up the hallway, trying doors, anything to get the black out of him. I round the corner in the office (it's L-shaped) and quick throw the lock. I think I'm safe but it seems it's the lunatic's office and he has the key. He heard me throw the lock so he knows there's someone in there and unlocks the door.
I run by him as he opens the door. He's carrying a butcher knife and keeps stabbing at me as we run. I'm screaming at the security guard at the end of the hallway by the elevator that the scientist has gone crazy and is trying to kill me.
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