ROAD TRIP (Part 4) Epilogue

Read PARTS 1, 2 and 3

Epilogue
So, what happened after that? I packed up. (Friend) heard me moving around and stumbled my way, slurring some crap about how sorry he was that he woke me up. Telling me I needed a good night hug. I gave him a polite Fuck You, packed up my clothes, got in the car and left. When I found a gas station, I filled up, cleaned out the car and plotted my route.

And here's where I made a huge mistake. I wasn't thinking clearly. I had more chemicals pumping through my body than should ever be in one person at one time. So, to counteract the diphenhydramine and the meclizine and the Klon and the doxylamine, I decided to take some caffeine. Lots of caffeine. Like a quad-shot Starbucks cappuccino, three No-Doz, a can of KMX and a bottle of Fuze Blueberry Grape. And a bottle of Mountain Dew ... and a can of Coke at the house before I left. Oh, and those four Excedrin Migraine I took to ease the headache from (friend)'s incessantly booming voice. I ingested somewhere between 1.5g and 2g total, in a very short amount of time, partly because the No-Doz was stronger than I realized.

Within half an hour, I knew something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Pull over, puke. Go one exit, pull over, puke. Buy a box of crackers, eat a couple, puke. This was getting bad. And about this time, the sleeping pills are starting to wear off, so my little heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. So what did I do? I stopped into McDonald's for a fruit and yogurt parfait and a Mountain Dew. I'd like to say it was hair of the dog, baby, but truth was I was just angry and stupid. In that order.

Well, Ms. One-Track Mind realizes she's got to take her EXR and Lamictal and vitamins or it's just going to get worse. Yes, I puked them up, too. I don't know what I was thinking.

I should take this moment to pimp Hefty HandySaks. According to their Web site, they have 101 on-the-go uses! One of them is being a great puke receptacle. And there are apparently 100 more uses, too. So, yeah, definitely worth the cash.

Anyway, at one point in Kentucky, I run my car from the middle lane of the interstate, across the right lane and the emergency lane and into the grass. Boy, I felt like an idiot. But beyond a couple of honks from other drivers, I was okay. I just knew I couldn't be on the road even long enough to get to Mef's house. So I took the next exit and pulled into Holiday Inn Express. I didn't even feel well enough to get my bags, so I just took my purse and keys and stumbled into the room. It was gorgeous (five frickin' pillows on the bed! That rocks!) ... and I'm sure I'd have enjoyed it if I wasn't there for the sole purpose of bowing to the porcelain god.

I was having cold sweats, but I managed to take a bath and lay down a bit. I think I slept about two hours. I still felt really sick when I woke up, so I showered, wrapped up in the blankets, turned on the TV and vegged out a bit. Paul and Jeremy were the best, offering to pick me up and drive me home. I cut a deal with Jeremy: I'd drive around the block and if I felt well enough, I'd try to make it home. So I drove around the block ... and straight onto the Interstate. I didn't even bother to check out of the room. (Paul took care of that later via phone.)

I made it home around 10 p.m. By that point, Paul had told Mom and Dad I was out of town, but they were cool with it. (However, Mom did ask if things were okay between Paul and me. I think she equated a road trip with Mattie as a sign I was having marital problems. ::grins::) It was nice to have some alone time with hubby. Yes, I already miss Matt, but he's having fun. And I'm recovering from the excitement.

I know I left a lot of blanks in my little travel journal, but it wasn't meant to be a play-by-play. I'm sore as heck today (from all the vomiting, I'd surmise), and my left arm hurts, too. Yes, I know why. Yes, it's a dumb reason. So, now, I sit back and wait for my real life friends to read this and wonder what the heck has gotten into me. Or maybe what the heck I've gotten myself into. Or maybe neither, or both. We'll see.

Comments are good, especially since I spent all my free time typing this up. Other than the whole caffeine incident, I don't think I handled things poorly, but I'm open to thoughts and reactions. Much love and peace.

P.S. He's got my spirit bears. I've got his rose quartz necklace AND his airtight transport jar AND all his incense from home. Did I come out on top or what?

ROAD TRIP (Part 3) Notes from the road 2

If you haven't read PARTS 1 and 2 yet, go there now.

Sunday, May 29, 7:54 a.m.
I can hardly hold a pen, which is quite evident from my handwriting I suppose. Can't sleep. Can't eat. Panicky. Need to get up and have Matt help me get a grip but if I get up, I'll get sick. Dammit. :( [Note: Sorry ... you'll have to imagine the handwriting.]

Sunday, May 29, 10:23 a.m.
Feel much better. Made a bottle of Jell-o juice and took a panoply (1mg Klon, 1000mg Vitamin C, 100mg B6, 50mg meclizine, 50mg Lamictal, 150mg EXR, 1000mcg B12, 400mcg folic). Made Matt get up and smoke. Then we talked about how he hit me and how I was sorry I fucked up.

I told him I'm not sure I'm going to make it through the month, that if anything happened to take care of Paul. [Note: I was being irrational. Ignore the tone of that.] I also told him that all I wanted was that sign of affection, that ... feeling of being safe and protected and loved. In other words, I want my friends to be extensions of me in a way -- just like HE said -- not that they aren't their own people, but that I want them to get inside the pages of my mind. Funny, I've got so much to say but the Klons are kicki [Note: That's where it ends. Seriously. I woke up with the pen in my hand and a big red pen mark on the side of my neck.]

Sunday, May 29, 9:16 p.m.
Leave it to Woody to snap me back to my senses. Matt and I drove into Indy around 2:30 p.m. to see Woody and one of his gaming buddies from IUPUI. We ended up at Claddagh, an Irish pub with a long but predictable list of taps. It's a chain, so they're not nearly as cool as Dressell's. I told Woody we had to make it to St. Louis this summer to see Jace in action. He's down, except he might have to go to a family reunion in Maryland.

Anyway, things with Matt -- the whole, like, six weeks he's been in Memphis -- have been awesome. The past couple of days with (friend) were cool, too, I guess. Matt's friends are Matt's friends for a reason. I shouldn't fear they'll accept me as is. Sigh. Years of Briarcrest made me paranoid.

But there's a huge part of me that's ready to go home, ready to spend time with Paul and my gaming buddies. They're family. Tonight, Woody asked if I was coming back (to gaming). I said, "You know I am!"

Matt and (friend) just popped in the guest room ... I tried to look busy. Hell, I AM busy. I'm sad he's going, but he's going to come back. I've been more social this past six weeks than I have been in a couple of years. Mattie P, Jeremy, Carrie, Abby, Andy ... I even called Woody all on my own. Small victories.

So why do I feel like this is so final, like I'm going to cry a long time and be sad and stuff? Maybe because I feel stronger and more social and I'm connecting that to Matt's time here. Maybe because I fear the quiet once I get home ...

Or maybe it's because I love him and want to take care of him. And because he loves me and takes care of me quietly, behind the scenes. This morning, I was sad and angry and tired of waiting for him to sober up. And we were out on the porch while (friend) was still asleep. I said something like, "I'm angry..." (about him hitting me), and he asked me why. And I said, "Because I thought you loved me more than that." And he turned me around and looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I can't believe you'd EVER doubt how much I love you." And I could tell he meant it.

He may be ... different ... but he has principles. Like respect. And honor. Trust. Understanding. And if anything ever happens to our friendship -- or to one of us -- and I look back at this journal one day and I question any of this, I only need this reminder: My husband trusts him enough to let him stay in my house, hold my hand, keep me company. He trusts us enough to let us road trip across five states while he stays home. And he trusts Matt not to hurt me emotionally. That's real, man. That's hardcore.

I figured this might be the last time I'd write before I come home, but now I'm thinking I'll write one more time. We'll see.

Sunday, May 29, 11:52 p.m.
Freaking out. Gave Matt the rest of the Klons. I know, I know ... I might need those later and all ... LIKE NOW ... Okay, he gave me one back. Sigh.

Monday, May 30, 4:05 a.m.
Two chicks came over. They're loud and drunk. I hope my sleeping pills don't fuck up my driving because I'm out of here as soon as I figure out how to get home. I miss my hubby, my lifestyle, my Self. It's time to reclaim. More when I get home.

Continue with PART 4

ROAD TRIP (Part 2) Notes from the road 1

If you haven't read PART 1 yet, go there now.

Okay, let's hope I don't say anything too sensitive for Matt's tastes. I'll edit as much as I feel necessary. Ugh. Sick to my stomach thinking about the whole trip. Glad I saved a couple of Klons.

Saturday, May 28, 8:27 a.m.
I'm exhausted. At 6 p.m. last night, I started driving to (a city in) Indiana. At 3:30 a.m., we got here. Well, roughly here. To Matt's friend's house. At 6 a.m., I heard them start the car and leave. They just got home, as I was getting up to pee. I don't think I slept. Maybe snatches here and there.

I think there's a special kind of nausea that sets in when you're tired and kind of uncomfortable and away from home. I'm afraid to take anything because I might drive back today. A week ago, I wanted nothing more than to get away. Today, I want nothing more than to go home. I'd even made plans for Woody to drive down from Indianapolis to see me ... and I'll willingly cancel if it'd settle my brain a bit.

I can't imagine why in god's name I'm having an anxiety attack now. well, I have my theories. Matt's different around his friend. I feel ... hmm ... maybe like I'm intruding on a part of his life that I hadn't yet met. You know, "maybe she's pieces of me you've never seen." I'm worried he'll stay away. I'm worried this is it. I'm worried I fucked up in some way and I won't realize it until it's too late to fix and I'm swimming in my head looking for solutions.

Part of me wants to give it a shot. Kick back, try to relax. An overriding part of me wants to pack up and go without even brushing my teeth or getting any sleep. See why I don't want to take a Klon? I'd be too tired to drive.

Sigh. I think I'll write Matt a letter, pack up the spirit bear necklace and wait for him to fall asleep. I'd never be able to find the main road on my own. Don't panic, Kate. You can do this. Really.

Saturday, May 28, 7:55 p.m.
Klonopin. Vitamins B6, B12, C, niacin. Meclizine. Dymenhydrinate. Doxylamine. I've had a hell of a day. (Matt's friend) is at work; Matt won't wake up. I'd like to head up to Indy to see Woody tonight, but lord knows I'm not going alone. I'll figure something out.

Funny to be staying with two guys this wasted, especially since I moderate much better than them. Matt, jesus, he hurts me so bad when he's high. He hurts me even worse when he comes down. I don't let on because that would scare him. He's not coming back, is he, Kate? I keep asking myself that. I believe him when he says he'll come back if it's in his power, but I fear it won't be in his power.

[Note: I should mention here that he asked me to stay instead of driving home, which is why I didn't bring that up again.] I want to let him sleep it off, then go driving. I also want to talk, but he can be a wall. So I'm sprawled out on a futon in (friend)'s guest room, with work in front of me. I'm going to edit. On my vacation. Am I a loser or just dedicated?

Also, I'm going to write the damned forward for SASM. I'm feeling inspired. Oh, I should mention why I'm writing today (vs. typing, etc.). (Friend) has no computer, telephone, TV. [Note: Later located a TV and xbox with two games.] Entertainment options: Listen to vinyls (he's got an awesome selection of original vinyls -- S&G, Elton John, Talking Heads '77, Jimmy Cliff, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd -- he says he likes to spoil himself), blaze, sleep. ... Yay.

Sunday, May 29, 4:57 a.m.
So tired. So very very tired. Matt wouldn't go to Indy with me, even after I put on some makeup and plotted out the route. Very disappointing -- tomorrow's (well today now) the Indy 500, and I don't want to miss seeing Woody when I'm so close. So I'm going to brave the traffic and just ... go.

I need to have a little talk with Matt. Kind of hard -- no, very hard -- with (friend) around and not passed out. I never wrote the note I intended to write to Matt; I wasn't quite sure what to say or how to say it without sounding overbearing and crazy. He's taught me that it doesn't matter what other people think, and yet I still focus on that incessantly. Especially with my close friends -- it just complicates things.

Well, if I were to write said note, what would it say? It'd run the gamut of emotions: I'm proud of you. I'm angry at you and hurt by you. I regret everything and don't regret anything. I forgive you. Thank you for being here and being you. I love you more than you'll ever know. Be strong, but be vulnerable. Don't give up ever. Who would've thought little Casper Jone would be with me now? What just happened? What's going to happen? Will you take care of yourself? Will you let me...? Sleep washes over now -- [the writing runs off the page, but I think that was the end]


Continue with PARTS 3 and 4

ROAD TRIP (Part 1) Last things first

What a crazy weekend. I'll be posting notes about it today and tomorrow, as I get time. I kept a travelogue to transcribe, so that's forthcoming.

In a nutshell: I drove more than 1,000 miles. I slept less than eight hours total in four days. I ran my car off the road. I was so sick that I rented an $80 hotel room so I'd have a quiet place to puke for six hours (no drinking involved). I gave up my torch for a month. I met up with a friend who got my head on straight without even trying. I am so sore I can hardly move any body part without cringing.

But I'm home. I've learned a lot and I'm still alive. And with that incredibly short update, it's back to work with me. Tons to do. I'll fill in details later.

Here's to goodbye, tomorrow's gonna come too soon

Things to do before I leave:

• Go to the bank and deposit checks.
• Pack a change of clothes.
  
• Grab meds.
  
• Plot route.
• Find out if there's a Walgreen's where I'm going.
• Track down Monstee.
• Locate the pile of CDs that Dear Hubby burned for me.

Things to buy before I leave:

• Vitamins B6, C and niacin.
• Travel shampoo and conditioner.
• Emetrol, Dramamine, Bonine, No-Doz.
• New lipstick!
• Bottled water, Arizona tea, Jell-o.
• Everclear.
• AA batteries.
• Bags to puke in.

Things to bring:

• Digital camera.
• Necklace.
• Cell phone.
• Palm charger.
• Meds, meds, meds.
• Teddy bear.
• Carmex.
• Hat, scrunchy, hair clip.
• Pillow, blanket.
• Stuff to edit, red pens.
  
• Blank notebook.

Things to tell myself during my pep talk:

• Calm down.
• Psych up.
• Take your meds when you need them instead of putting it off for as long as possible.
• Don't have a chip on your shoulder.
• Don't point out the chips on other people's shoulders.
• Trust Matt when he said he'll come back.
  
• Learn to give up your Type A tendencies for a while.
• Keep your eyes on the road.
• Call your hubby, but not so often that you seem needy.
• Quit complaining about the hallucinations and the suicidal thoughts; no one cares about your personal problems.
• Be nice to Matt.
• Be nice to Matt's friend.
• Don't be so jealous, overprotective and possessive; let him go and be and do and fuck around because he's not yours.
• Sing loudly, but not when your passengers are trying to sleep.
• Meditate every night while you're gone to center yourself.
• Wear your seat belt and don't speed too much.
• Don't yell when you're angry.
• Don't cry when you're frustrated.
• Be strong.
• Don't panic; bring a towel.
• If you're not having fun, you can always go spend the night with Johnny. Or Zy and Steph. Or Dan and Bebe. Or Mef. Or, heck, you could come home.
• Your car will be fine, but have Saturn's number just in case.
• Don't force Matt to play the Alphabet Game, even though it's your favorite thing to do on the road.
• Don't be so sensitive.
• Smile more.
• Listen.
• Be. Enjoy.

Editor buckles under stress. Details at ten.

I hate that I've been too busy to post every day. It's bad enough being mega-busy, but when I don't post, I feel like it's all piling up inside of me with no outlet ... like my mental in-box is overflowing, spilling useless details of my life all over the floor. ::grins::

Matt has a couple of job interviews today (you go, girl!), so most of last night was spent shopping for all the requisite interview clothes -- Rockports and socks and slacks and belt. Jeremy lent him a blazer; Paul lent him a tie; and Johnathan is driving him to the interviews. So nice to have friends I can rely on in a pinch. Oh, and so nice to have a hubby who let's me charge up his credit card with my buddy's new wardrobe!

Tomorrow, we leave town, just Matt and me. Of course, Matt's all about privacy, so nobody other than Paul knows where we're going. The problem is this: Because Matt doesn't know whether he's going to get one of these jobs, he may or may not be coming home with me on Monday. If he doesn't, I have to brave the 7+ hour drive alone -- something I'm not looking forward to doing. I checked out the route in hopes that I could find an AC buddy who'd lend me some couch space for the night, but I've come up empty-handed. Bummer.

If Matt doesn't come home, he'll likely be gone a month. It'll be like old times, just Paul and me -- which is nice. But with Paul working so much, the house is too quiet. It seems to loom all around me when I'm alone there, the ghosts of my childhood rising up to remind me of how far I come and how far I still have to go.

Well, I've got to put one paper to bed and get started on another, because I have a very early deadline tomorrow. I've got to get over to a press conference about some state legislators who have been arrested ... then write/edit/save the world before bedtime. If I have time before I leave town, I'll post again. If not, I'm always reachable by cell phone -- KatesInk@tmail.com. Peace.

Ziploc bags of humanity

Today is day six of Stacey's trip to Europe ... and I'm finally settling into her role. It's actually a blast from the past for me, just like my days at TDH in college. I spend all day sorting through press releases, reading the wire, writing and rewriting headlines, talking to reporters, choosing artwork, and -- of course -- honing stories into finely crafted works of art. :)

I really can't explain the rush it gives me. I tighten until a paragraph really pops. I reword phrases until they're smooth as butter. Writers can be an ungrateful lot -- authors more so than reporters -- but in the end, I've done my job if I've made them shine. That's all I can give, but I do it as best I can.

There are many days when I want to get out of the news business, possibly even giving up editing altogether. Why? Because there's no real power in my red pen (but don't tell the reporters that). Language isn't real; it's simply an agreement between two parties as to the nature of their environment. And Matt reminds me daily (usually when I correct him) that I am constrained by these rules, by the way things have to be. A comma here ... a capital letter there ... an exclamation point used only on the rarest occasion.

But it goes far beyond these semantics. Just like my current job duties, it goes back to my days at TDH, when I was taught to tuck my feelings into Ziploc bags and stuff them in my pocket. And I was one of the lucky ones -- I had the power to open those Ziploc bags and spill them onto the op-ed page when I felt like it. Not everyone has that opportunity.

Today, I received a press release from Andrea, one of the reporters I formerly managed Way Back When. I remember Andrea fondly -- a real whiz kid who knew how to sniff out a great story. Talented as all hell, too. More than once, I caught her crying in the newsroom after working on a story or talking to a source. I guess most people didn't get it, but I understood. There are times when it's absolutely overwhelming -- joy, sadness, anger, hurt. You sit on the sidelines, capitalizing on other people's lives ... then chew it up and spit it out at a fourth-grade reading level for a public that is only marginally interested. It's disheartening.

I found a commentary Andrea wrote while she was a Chips Quinn intern in Kentucky. "Caring is what separates a reporter from a mouthpiece," she says. "Write about what happened because it matters to someone."

That's exactly why I gave up writing years ago. What mattered to my sources mattered to me. I thought I'd be less emotionally involved on the rim, so that's where I went. But it's not much better there. A reporter might be deeply entrenched in telling the story of John Doe's murder. On the other hand, an editor reads about John Doe's murder AND Jane Doe's fatal car crash AND the governor's repeated infidelities AND the status of global war ... and a thousand other things that make you want to throw your hands up in the air and scream, "What the hell is wrong with this world?!"

I do care. I really do. Every day, the records of literally thousands of people pass by my desk. Some are going through happy times -- they're buying a house or getting married or starting a business. And some are going through bad times -- their house is in foreclosure or they've gone bankrupt or they're filing for divorce. It's easy to see it as just another day reading public records, but I try to remember that these are real people with real lives and real stories. I never want to get to the point where that's lost on me, where reading those names is just the means by which I get a paycheck.

Tomorrow morning, I'll come into the office. I'll open up my inbox and read through a half-dozen press releases from the Sheriff's Office about the overnight homicides. I'll glance through the public records, the court cases, the Associated Press and Reuters. Then I'll open up my Ziploc bag and tuck my feelings inside. Then I'll close up my bag and put it in my shirt pocket, right next to my red pen, so that humanity is close to my heart when I walk out this door and back into the real world.

Weekend shenanigans

Urgh. Monday morning. Breakfast is leftover lettuce wraps from Chili's and a liter of raspberry iced tea. Actually, right now I'm taking a 15-minute "me-break" from work, because my head's on fire and I'm waiting for the Excedrin Migraine and naproxen to kick in.

Before I go any further, I should give a Happy Birthday shout-out to my dear hubby, who's very overworked and stressed out. We're waiting until work dies down to celebrate. Hopefully we won't be waiting forever. :)

So why the soggy lettuce wraps for breakfast? Because Matt got wasted last night before we even made it to Chili's, and I was determined to get some food in him to try to counteract the alcohol a bit. It didn't work. Instead, he threw chicken on me, spilled ginger soy sauce all over the table, spit corn kernals at other tables, growled menacingly at anyone who got too close, and tried to give me the finger with his toes ... which meant he put his dirty feet dangerously close to our food. ::sigh:: So, I packed up the lettuce wraps (except the parts he threw at me) and brought them home.

We had the same conversations we always have when he's drunk: (1.) "How close can I stand to Paul before he gets weirded out?" (2.) "We are all just points of existence (blah blah blah) ..." and (3.) "Do you want to fight?" Except last night he actually punched me. Hard, in the neck, when I wasn't paying attention. It really hurt then, and it's still sore this morning. Of course, he remembers none of this, and apologized to Paul and me this morning. And, as always, I forgive him ... but my neck's killing me.

Sunday afternoon -- since Dear Hubby was stuck in the lab -- I drove Matt out to Old Poplar for a little R&R. I regret that I wasn't able to get my hands on one of these for the trip, because there's no way I'm hiking 165 acres on foot, especially since the new cows out there are very very friendly and make me a little nervous.

It was nice to get out of the city for a little while. The honeysuckle is blooming like crazy once you hit Williston and Somerville, and it smells amazing (read: It covers up the smell of the cow shit). Everything's in bloom -- rose bushes, tulip poplars, and tons of those little flowers you can put on salads. Oh, and the crabapples are coming along nicely, which means I should have a great batch of crabapple jam once harvest rolls around. ^_^

I'd forgotten how much I dig the place, so I'm going to make a point to go out there more often. And next time I'm going to take my acrylics ... and my sketch book ... and my poetry notebook. Oh, and my camera! I really missed having my camera yesterday, because we saw the funniest thing driving in. It went something like this:

Me: (slowing down the Vue) "Look at all the baby cows! They're so cute!"
Matt: "Mmhmm..."
Me: "And look at that one over there, nursing on its mo--" (stopping the car abruptly) "Uh, Matt, does that cow have horns?"
Matt: "Holy shit."

Yeah, umm, this "cow" had something hanging ... and it wasn't udders. Too frickin funny. Anyway, my break is over ... time to get back to work. Peace. :)

The most amazing backrub ever

Two of my coworkers -- Lance (a reporter) and Stacey (his boss) -- are gone for the next three-ish weeks to Europe. Right now, they're asleep in some fancy hotel in Italy.

Yes, I'm jealous. But I'm even more frustrated, because I'm filling in for Stacey while she's gone. We've hired an amazing temp named Sue to handle my regular job duties, but unfortunately Sue isn't trained to do everything I do. I brought home a huge stack of work-related stuff on Thursday and didn't touch it. I brought home the same stack -- doubled -- on Friday, but I haven't even started going through it.

Yesterday, I was sitting on the couch nearly in tears because of the shear amount of stuff I needed to do this weekend. Matt came over and started rubbing my shoulders. Okay, focus, Kate, I told myself. Unfortunately, my brain is directly attached to my shoulders ... so it tends to shut down at the mere prospect of a backrub.

I put down my bag and let him rub my back. I stopped crying. It felt awesomely awesome, like rub-out-a-week's-worth-of-stress awesome. I put down my big stack of work papers ... and haven't touched them since.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, because I really want another backrub, dammit, and Matt's downstairs reading a book. I'm trying to find a way to coerce him into giving me another one. If that fails, I guess I'll just have to ask. But that's so ... uncreative. ::grins::

As long as I'm posting, I should tell you that I beat his pants off at Monopoly tonight. Well, that's not entirely true. His pants stayed on, but only barely, because they're 10 sizes too big and he broke all the belt loops when he went to Florida.

Hmmmm ... of course! I'll go sew his belt loops back on, and he'll have to give me a backrub. Well ... at least it's worth a try! I'll let you know if it works. ^_^ Peace.

So this is 25, huh?

Friends, Romans, countrymen: Thanks for the well wishes, the gifts (Carrie -- two packages came today with no note ... I know it was you, girl.), and all the love. I've been really self-pitying recently, and unnecessarily at that. You guys remind me that I've got plenty about which to be happy.

That said, I'm trying to recover from Matt throwing The Little Green Book across the room. I'm mortified. I think he's drunk, or just mean. Either way, I'm going to go try to relax by watching a very special movie (Mmmmmm).

Love and joy, folks.

Red Truck Man and the drive to work

I haven't yet mentioned Red Truck Man, so I figure it's about time. I don't know his name, so I will just refer to him by the nice, big, red truck he drives. RTM parks in the same parking lot I do. I don't know where he works ... just the general direction he walks when he gets out of his truck.

Okay, the freaky-weird thing is that RTM and I get to work at the same time pretty much every day. We leave work at pretty much the same time every day. (By this, I mean at least three times in a five-day work week.) If I were more suspicious, I'd think he was following me. As it is, he probably thinks I am following him. ::grins::

So this morning, I look in my rear-view mirror on the interstate, and lo and behold!, RTM is right behind me in his shiny red truck. Wild. I wonder how long he was back there before I noticed him.

As usual, the Memphis interstate system was slowed to a crawl by ever-present construction. One particular exit is shut down with no warning ... there are just concrete barriers where a road once stood. If you're a particularly astute driver, you'll notice the tiny orange signs posted one exit early announcing a detour. If you're a normal driver, you'll miss the signs and be forced to drive way past your destination to get to the next exit.

Here's where I run into a daily conundrum. If I plan to get off at the first exit, I must navigate ghetto-fabulous projects for a couple of miles before I get to work. If I plan to get off at the second exit, I must sit in a half-mile bottleneck before traffic speeds up.

So this morning, I notice RTM signaling to get off at the ghetto-fabulous exit ... and I say to myself, "Self! I'm going to go the other way and see who gets to work faster!" So I braved the super-slow half-mile feeling pretty proud of myself. I even made it to work in record time! And as I'm pulling into the parking lot, I notice RTM has beaten me to work so badly that he's had time to park, pay the cash box and walk to wherever it is he goes. Bummer.

Now to something completely different...

Matt's home. Yay! Hope he stays for a while, but I'm trying to be philosophical about it: "There is no future, there is no past, I live this moment as my last..." etc. I made him give back my spirit bear necklace, but I haven't had time to clear or recharge it from any negative energy he might have picked up from his crazy traveling companions.

Last night, I had dinner with Betsy, a high school buddy I hadn't seen in a few years. It was nice -- lots of talk about who was married, who was divorced, who dropped out of college ... crap like that. Anna (another high school buddy who couldn't make it last night) is supposed to meet Betsy and me for sushi at Sekisui sometime this week. The one Downtown is much closer to my office, but I'll probably drag them to the one in Midtown. That location has a stream that runs through the restaurant past all the tables. And in the stream is this parade of boats, each with a plate of sushi/sashimi on its back. So customers wait for a nummy-looking plate to float by, then they grab it and chow down. Fun, huh? I should sneak in a camera and get pictures so I can show you what it's all about. :) I may even drag Matt to meet them -- he'd scare the crap out of them, and everybody needs that once in a while.

Chances are I'll post later. I'm waiting on a package at the house, so after I (carefully) rip it open, I'll have to gush a bit. ^_^ Peace, guys.

10 Brand Names You Can't Live Without

Time for more random musings. Seems like my fingers won't sit still today. I've posted once, finished all my editing (and worked a bit ahead), wrote a longwinded e-mail to M., and filled out paperwork for the potential new company health plan. It's days like this, days when my fingers are ahead of my brain, that I long to sit at the piano for hours, pounding out intricate Czerny runs or Bach Inventions. My brain goes on autopilot, and my fingers just fly forever, never tiring and rarely tripping over themselves. I live for that feeling.

Um, I should mention here that I hate Hate HATE Czerny, because I've never liked music that I find boring and difficult. But it's just right for days like today. Otherwise, his studies are a necessary evil, and one I should've begun years before I did. Consider yourself enlightened.

Okay. Ten minutes before 5 p.m. I think it's time for a nice Tuesday meme, courtesy of Yano.

10 Brand Names You Can't Live Without

1. Pentel EnerGel 1.0 Pens in Red (my editing pen of choice)
2. Almay Luxury Finish Loose Powder in Translucent (superpale by choice)
3. Scent by Spirit tea (any flavor really, though Earl Grey is my fave)
4. Associated Press (yes, it's a brand)
5. Reuters (also a brand, kthx)
6. MAC lipsticks (fave colors: Spanish Fly and Smoove)
7. Q-tip brand swabs (tried others, hated others, gone back to QT)
8. Birkenstocks (I'm addicted, and it's Len's fault)
9. Danger hiptop (phone sucks, but it's otherwise rockalicious)
   
10. Timex Ironman watches (just like my Daddy)

Ooh. That was harder than I thought, mainly because I had to narrow it down so much. Bummer.

Oh -- thought I'd share a quote I found online:

"You can tell that it's infatuation when you think that he's as sexy as Paul Newman, as athletic as Pete Rose, as selfless and dedicated as Ralph Nader, as smart as John Kenneth Galbraith and as funny as Don Rickles. You can be reasonably sure that it's love when you realize he's actually about as sexy as Don Rickles, as athletic as Ralph Nader, as smart as Pete Rose, as funny as John Kenneth Galbraith and doesn't resemble Paul Newman in any way--but you'll stick with him anyway." --Judith Viorst

Not that it applies to Paul. He's smart, funny, sexy ... perfect in every way ... except that he's as messy as me and procrastinates worse than anyone I know.

But I love him to death anyway. ^_^

Spin Around

Okay, the post title is a pun ... Spin Around because I have a bad case of the spins (a.k.a. brain shocks) from the drug changes. But I'm down to 150mg Effexor ... and I've been on the Lamictal for a week without a rash (and without doing the hypoallergenic thing suggested at Crazy Meds) ... so I'm pretty proud of myself. Well, except I can't keep down food. But, hey, it's a small sacrifice.

If you've never done the discontinuation thing, you have no idea what it's like. This is the fourth time I've been through it, so it feels like old hat. Effexor is by far the worst discontinuation I've been through. Celexa was the best, but I wasn't on it very long. The Zoloft was very similar to the Effexor, but with fewer physical symptoms -- but the same ol' night terrors, the racing thoughts, the lack of concentration, etc.

In an ironic twist, I overbooked myself tonight. Kind of funny for a girl who rarely leaves the house. But I was feeling pretty damn confident last night, so I IM'd a high school friend I haven't seen since my wedding. She was surprised (perhaps because I cut contact with almost everyone I knew for three years?) ... but agreed to meet me for dinner tonight.

Then I found out Matt was going to be Greyhounding in (yes, I did just create a verb form for riding a Greyhound!) around the same time as my dinner. Oops! And -- being the genius I am -- I forgot to get a phone number for my dinner date, so I can't cancel. So, Matt's coming in later and I'm going to try not to have an anxiety attack about the whole thing. ::grins::

I'm glad he's coming home. ^_^ Except this isn't home, I guess. But I don't know what else to call it. Point is, I'm glad he's coming back.

Two days 'til the big 2-5. And I don't even get to celebrate because my boss leaves town that day and I take over her job for the next three weeks. Of course I love the added responsibility, but I hate not being able to shoot the shit on my birthday. And to top it off, Paul's working 14- to 16-hour days, seven days a week, for the next couple of weeks. He promised we'd celebrate when that's all over. Maybe we'll go bowling so I can prove my prowess to both the men in my house. ^_^

More later ... I've gotta get out the door right now.

Monday, already?!

::Yawns:: It really can't be Monday morning. I woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. Paul was out like a light, Matt wasn't answering his phone, nobody was on AIM, and #arsclan was dead as a doornail. So I cleaned out my purse, watched the local news, watched the national news, thought about painting my toenails, and finally curled up on the couch under a sheet Matt left there last week.

But waking up early had its advantages. Instead of coming straight to work, I detoured to the grocery store to buy some BF juice for lunch. Then I drove into work the long route, jamming to an old Sheryl Crow CD. Um, I've intimated to Paul that I really fear being taped singing in my car -- like that show on MTV that I can't remember the name of. I mean, I really get into my music. Hey, my eyes are on the road. It's not my fault if the dancing distracts the other drivers! :)

Gah, I wish I had my digital camera at work today. I parked next to a car that was literally held together by duct tape. Too funny. It didn't have any windows, the airbag had been deployed ... and like I said, there was duct tape everywhere. Maybe I can snag a camera from the editorial department after deadline today so I can share it with you guys.

Ooh. Talked to Matt this morning. Yay! Another reason why it was worth getting up early -- I managed to catch his phone call. ^_^

Well, I've got tons of work to do and not much worth saying ... so I'm outties for now. Be good, be safe, don't do anything I wouldn't do. (This coming from the chica who scored way lower on the 1,500-question purity test than she expected -- right around 50%. And that link is not work-safe. In fact, depending on your preferences, it might not be brain-safe. You've been warned.) Peace.

Sharing a hotdog with Death

Okay, so I'm drinking Matt's Dead Guy Ale and talking to Carrie (ahem ... never stop dreaming, sweetheart).

Anyway, she wanted to see the painting before she went to bed. It's not finished. I mean, it's typical for me to keep going back and adding or changing or whatever. That's why I love acrylics. Not that I paint very often, so it's kind of a moot point.

Um, it's Death. With my tattoo-to-be at the top. (Hey, say tattoo-to-be five times fast ::grins::) Hmm ... and she's playing a piano, although you can't really tell that unless you, too, play a piano, because that's like the typical piano posture. Consider her my muse.




So, I get a little nervous about posting anything here that might meet with disapproval. I don't know why. I'm trying to get over it. But, yeah. I don't paint much. Just needed an outlet today. So please don't tell me it sucks. ::grins::

Now, back to my beer. Oh, and an Abita after that. Peace.

Girl's Day In

It's been a long time since I've had a girls' night out. A looong time, like college. And it doesn't look like I'll be having a girls' night out again any time soon, seeing as how all my local friends are (1.) male, and (2.) not available for hanging out.

So girls' night out has become girl's day in: Just me ... at home ... shootin' the shit. I'm actually looking forward to it.

I've got a stack of videos (Grease, Top Gun, The Breakfast Club, etc.), the phone number for pizza delivery, several bottles of acrylics AND a blank canvas or two, a remote control and an empty tank of gas. Oh, and two cases of hand-selected beer that Matt forfeited when he left town. ::grins:: I hope he's back for my birthday. That'd mean a lot to me.

Speaking of my birthday, I'd like Crumb and The Chase. I know, that's like two ends of a spectrum there. But they both start with C. And they both have five letters. Oh! And they both came out the same year, too! Crumb certainly rattled around my skull for a while. It isn't for everyone, but I find it rather inspiring. And, of course, I'm a Devil Girl kind of gal ... so that doesn't hurt either. ^_^

Okay, off to shower, mix up some paints and crack open a beer. Peace.

A stay-in-bed kind of day

I went to bed at 8 p.m. last night. I got out of bed about 7:30 p.m. tonight. I mean, I took a couple of bathroom breaks and got a glass of water ... but I really didn't feel like doing anything.

So, this is what they mean by rapid cycling, huh? Yesterday, I called up all my friends -- even those I haven't seen in months -- trying to find somebody spontaneous enough to go on a road trip with me. Today, I stayed in bed for like 24 hours. When I couldn't sleep, I wrote. I thought about drawing some of the hallucinations, but I didn't feel like walking across the house to get my sketch book. ::sighs::

I'm listening to Ben Folds. Now it's Better Than Ezra. Now it's Billy Joel.

Oy. Phone's ringing. It's Carrie. I'm screening my calls. Sorry, dear. I just can't talk tonight.

I've decided I'm getting a tattoo of the Eye of Horus with an om symbol in the iris. For protection. And introspection. And, hell, because I want to. Got it down between two places: Trilogy and Underground Art. Any locals want to opine on either?

I usually wait a couple of days for my poetry to "cure" before I post it. Easier that way to fix the things that sound weird. But I feel in the mood to share ... so I'll post one of the three I wrote today. Or maybe two. Who the hell knows.

Sand and Stone
The man I have chosen
is a desolate beach,
and tonight I am the sea
rolling past the craggy cove
and aiming for the windswept dunes.
He breathes me in
and tells me he is an island;
I breathe him in
and tell him he is the shore --
and already the tide is coming in
to wash away these transgressions,
already, he has given me a footing
and I have begun to erode
his self-built walls.
Perhaps, tomorrow, I will be the beach
and he, the ocean ...
Or he, an albatross, and I, a boat --
Or perhaps we will both be strangers
washed upon the bleached-white sands,
marooned from civilization
and sharing cracked coconuts to survive.

Loom
If only the night were not so silent
And the air not so still and stale,
I would spin in barefoot circles
On my front lawn,
My arms stretched out for miles,
My hair kissed by the moonlit sky.
But instead, I'll tuck myself
onto this sagging sofa
Under a blanket of knitted memories --
My toes warmed by treehouse-spent summers,
My legs folded into autumn bus rides home,
And most of 2001 draped over my shoulders
the way your arms once did
When skeins of yarn lay at our feet
Like so many possibilities.

Okay, folks. My piano calls. Too bad I messed up one of my fingers bowling the other night. (I won anyway.) It hurts like heck, and yet I still feel drawn to play. Peace out.

"What an excellent day for an exorcism"

Matt's on the road. I can't say why or where or even when he'll be back ... I don't want to put him in jeopardy. But it came as a surprise -- I had half an hour to get the torch and Dremel and glass wrapped up, in his bag, and out the door.

Needless to say, it was the half-hour from hell ... besides getting him ready, I had to fix my hair, put on makeup, find shoes ... and take my meds. I scrambled to find all my pills, but couldn't find anything to drink.

Come on, come on, I'm late for work! And I've gotta take care of Matt, too!

All I could find was the bottle of juice I was having for lunch today -- Bolthouse Farms Green Goodness. Now, this juice has no fillers (no sugar, no preservatives, etc.). Just apples, kiwis, mangos, bananas, dragonfruit ... and wheatgrass, spirulina, spinach and blue-green algae. This is what it looks like:


It tastes really good ... but it looks like pea soup. Ugh.

Anyway, between the stress and the pills and the pea-green drink, I managed to gag, spewing green stuff and pills all over myself, the table, the floor, Matt's shoes ... ::grins::

I feel like the girl from The Exorcist.

::Sighs:: I can't not worry about Matt. He feels like family these days. And he packed up and left on his one-month anniversary here. I know he'll be back, but that doesn't make it any less lonely around Casa de Katea.

So in the parking lot outside my office, I gave him one of my most important possessions: my spirit bear necklace. I made it during a very hard time in my life, and it contains various gemstones for their healing properties:

• Jasper for grounding and to calm nerves;
• Unakite for clarity and logic -- and to gently remove emotional blocks;
• Agate to improve self-esteem and attune to nature;
• Jade for self-confidence, eternal love, and dream guidance; and
• Hematite for grounding, prioritization and dispelling negativity.

The shapes I used -- rods and hexagons, mostly -- were chosen because they promote protection. Plus, there are 13 spirit bears -- large ones to represent self-reliance and strength; small ones to represent feminine nurturing and the return to one's core.

Heh. Already I feel naked without it. But he'll keep it safe, and it'll protect him the way it protected me.

Lordy, he's already called me twice for directions. Goofball. How am I supposed to not worry when he doesn't even know where he's going?

Urgh. I should've warned him to lick off the last few drops of Green Goodness that landed on the necklace. Well, he'll recognize the smell soon enough. ::grins::

Letter to My Boss

Well, the DMV was already packed at 8:30 a.m. Line out the door and around the corner. Frustrating for sure! I may try to run out to one of the other locations sometime today. I would have gone while I was off work ... but I only get to see my best friend once every two or three years, and the DMV just didn't fit into my plans. ::grins:: I won't leave you hanging -- if I need to come back and finish up queries (or whatever), I will. The main point is to get the damn thing renewed before you guys leave town.

I had a shrink appointment this week. They've added bipolar disorder to my panoply of anxiety disorders. Sigh, sigh. I am doped up on an anti-convulsant/anti-psychotic ... along with my mood regulator and my anxiety pills. Honestly, I feel like I'm losing my grip ... not because of the disorder, but because the meds really mess with my mind. It's bad enough that the shrink asked me if I'd like to be hospitalized. Obviously, I declined. But, seriously, I didn't think I'd end up taking drugs for active psychoses and worrying about whether I was going to end up in a hospital.

I don't want to burden you with all the crappy details of my mental health ... but I think it's in your best interest to know things like this -- med changes and what not. If I start acting weird -- in any way -- call Paul's cell at (xxx) xxx-xxxx. He'll know what to do. I'm having mild hallucinations, which sounds far worse than it is. It's not interfering with work or anything, just being annoying. But I'd hate to freak out and not have somebody here know what's going on. :)

And, hey, one word of advice as a friend, not a coworker: Be careful if your doc wants to start you on one of these drugs that messes with your brain chemistry. They're really not worth the hassle. This started as a mild case of depression in 2001, and now I feel like a totally different person. I hate it! Can't turn back the hands of time, but I can at least serve as a warning. :-P

Hmm ... anything else? I guess not. Let me know what your day holds today and tomorrow, and I'll try to schedule the DMV around that. Chances are I'll drive to the one in Millington ... or maybe the one in Hickory Ridge Mall ... instead of going back to the one on Summer.

And if there's anything else I can do for ya, let me know. I want your pre-Europe days to be as hassle-free as possible. :)

K

---end transmission---end transmission---
Kate Simone
Copy Editor, The Daily News
ksimone@memphisdailynews.com
Phone:(xxx)xxx-xxxx, Fax: (xxx)xxx-xxxx
"Verbatim et litteratim, veritas vos liberabit."

Couple of random things

Just wanted to point out a couple of random things. Today's my first day back at work, so I don't have a lot of time to post. Got plenty to say, however, so I'll make sure to fill in the blanks later.

1. If you haven't yet checked out Monstee's Cave, there's a great entry today about tea, prompted by the picture of my tea shelf. Oh my god, it's too funny. You'll see what I mean. :)
2. This morning, I was kind of bummed out because Carrie's back home. So I started up Launchcast, hoping some tunes would chill me out. And the first song that played was Queen's "We Are The Champions" -- which commands the title of "our silly song." Anyway, hearing it as the first song when I turned on the radio was like validation of some sort. It was nice.
3. Carrie guessed the name from my May 7 post ... but she didn't divulge the answer. Just to recap:

   Third: A wee contest. Paul is named after his dad. If we ever have a boy, he'd like him to be Paul the Third. (I sure as heck don't know why ... seems awfully confusing to me.) However, I've had a cool name picked out for years (like since high school). If you can guess what boy's name I'd pick for the-kid-I'm-not-yet-ready-to-have, I'll send you a case of Abita root beer.
   
   Here are some hints:
   

• The first name is five letters and starts with T.
  
• The middle name is seven letters and starts with W.
  
• According to the Oxygen Babynamer, the first name is Danish and the second name is German. Both have Greek roots.
• Both are the first names of scientists.
• New hint: One scientist is involved with NASA.
• New hint: One name is a character in the Star Wars books -- or so I'm told.
  

4. New diagnosis: Rapid-cycling BPD (along with the various anxiety disorders, etc.). Tapering off the Effexor and onto an anti-convulsant/anti-psychotic. Yippee. I think I'm having a strange reaction to the new drug, but I'm going to give it a couple of days to see whether I was overreacting or whether it really is the drug. I'll post more about all this later.
   
5. I'm play SQL Goddess at work today ... and tonight I pick up my galleys of the monthly magazine I edit. You know how women who live together often sync up their monthly menstrual cycle? Well, my cycle syncs with proofing the magazine. I kind of feel sorry for the editor, because I'm bitchy every time I pick up my proofs. Oh well.

Tea, anyone?

I love tea. Love it, love it, love it. Black, oolong, green, white ... flavored, scented, single estate, blended ... you name it.

I just didn't realize how much tea I have. It's something like 80 different types, not accounting for multiple boxes/bags/tins of the same flavor.

I bought a tea shelf this weekend, and Carrie and I organized it alphabetically. ::grins:: Here's what it looks like:



So ... is it overkill? Am I obsessed? Just wondering...

The Fourth Time (from the Little Green Book)

Carrie leaves town tomorrow. It's so hard watching the hours grow short. I'm very lucky to have a friendship that has lasted across the years and the miles. I know that leaving her at the airport isn't really a goodbye ... it's just a temporary farewell until we meet up again.

That doesn't make it much easier.

There are so many things that we share -- the people and music and memories that have lasted through the years. I hope she knows I love her dearly, and that I hope there's a time when the distance isn't so far between us. She's my sister -- not by blood, but by choice.

I wrote a poem a few years ago when Carrie left Memphis to go back to Florida. My writing has come a long way since then ... but the thoughts haven't changed. It's time everybody else out there realizes what a special chica she is. :)

The Fourth Time
It isn't as if the door has never closed before --
We part, we cry, I break down inside,
A chunk of my soul shuts down for a while
Hates herself for a while
Alone.
And summers pass with angry breeze,
The heat and the loneliness wash over me
As the ocean slaps against your back porch
Erasing timid footprints
In my mind.
And for all the times I should have gone,
For all the times I broke your heart,
Pieces fall like angry rain
(The sun will come another day --
it's crying).
I hide, I run, I scream again,
Afraid of the human sea again --
But I'm glad I finally told you
How it felt after all this time.
I'm shocked, I'm in pain;
I think I'm dreaming of the beach again,
And bonds we never sever
However far we try to run.
And I can truly say
It's Classic --
Every time we're together,
The languidness is comforting
As if you'd never left.
And tomorrow we will drink
Warm cups of friendship and coffee
And we will grow up inside
But never grow apart ...
The bond inexplicable but strong
As the door closes again.

I love ya, girl.

Random Writings from Long Ago (Part I)

Found a huge stash of stuff Mom saved from ... forever ago. Thought I'd share some things. Mistakes are sic. God, this is like awesome. Maybe high school wasn't as bad as I remember it being. ^_^

Christmas note -- postmarked Dec. 28, 1991
Kate,
Hi!! How are you? I mis you soooooo much! I have another best friend, Allison, but you are my #1 best friend. I was thinking that maybe you could come down here but that is a definate MAYBE!
I also have a boyfriend. His name is Jayant Taleraja (Indian). I play basketball, the piano, and the flute. Well, I miss you! I'll write later. Love, Kendall (phone number here)
P.S. I'll send you a picture later.

Undated -- circa 1995:
Dear Kate,
Hi! What's up. Well I'm at home. I don't have anything to do. Have you finished your poster yet? In math Bennett said that he had to finish his. I did mine this weekend. Are you going to the Band contest this weekend? I hope I can go. Are you going to dress up for homecomming? I really don't want to. do you? Well I'm running out of room. Bye. -Milk-

Stuck in the December 1997 section of my daily planner:
what happens when I can't cry anymore? i am so cold... so cold i cannot feel. and i am worried. frightened. and those tears are locked behind the same barrier that keeps the lump in my throat and the knots in my stomach. my hands tremble non-stop... my heart skips and pounds in fear. my head is spinning and everything in my eyes grows dim. i am scared. and still young. i try to sort through my thoughts but i fail. i cannot eat. or sleep. i do not consider rationale or cynicism. i just feel a cold dull pain in a heaving pounding chest that reminds me of my fear. and i still cannot cry. DUH SILLY ... IT'S BECAUSE YOUR DREAM IS DEAD.

I have no idea to whom this belongs. It's in with my personal items. It's a fold-out folio of 14 pictures of the Great Smoky Mountains with this inscription:
Shaun, Are you having lots of fun? Aren't they the BEST grandparents? We miss you! Wish you could see the otters (maybe they're Beavers)! Nita & Robert miss you, too! I'm bringing you something COOL ... think about a hypodermic needle. :-) Pray we get the perfect agent to list our house! Miss ya! Love, Mommy

Heh. This is a total mindfuck. I love it.

I'll share a couple of other things later.

I'll Be Waiting (part II)

You're home. You're safe. You're walletless.

Thanks, M., for calming me down last night, even after everyone else had left and gone to bed. You had it nailed when you said he was on one beach and I was on another. Let's hope the sea doesn't swallow my world up when I'm not looking.

I'll Be Waiting

I'll Be Waiting even if it kills me ... because if it kills me, at least you'll know that you were worth the sacrifice.

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.

-K-

"I dream in color, I live in black and white..."

Three things:

First: I would just like to say that I totally rock at UNO. I was kicking butt and taking names, so eat it, Carrie, Paul and Matt. ::grins::

Second: To the person who introduced me to Roger Clyne's music way-back-when ... thank you. You know who you are. Tonight: I Feel Alright.

Third: A wee contest. Paul is named after his dad. If we ever have a boy, he'd like him to be Paul the Third. (I sure as heck don't know why ... seems awfully confusing to me.) However, I've had a cool name picked out for years (like since high school). If you can guess what boy's name I'd pick for the-kid-I'm-not-yet-ready-to-have, I'll send you a case of Abita root beer.

Here are some hints:

• The first name is five letters and starts with T.
  
• The middle name is seven letters and starts with W.
  
• According to the Oxygen Babynamer, the first name is Danish and the second name is German. Both have Greek roots.
• Both are the first names of scientists.

Start guessing ... I'll post more hints later. :)

"Our existence deforms the universe" (Part 2)

Okay, I went driving. Apparently, Carrie and Matt got worried. Blech. That's not what I wanted to happen.

I don't really want to talk about it. We'll just say I went to a special place. And I had one more place to go, but I decided to come home before they went apoplectic. (They called like 10 times in an hour. Blech again.)

I don't want to be home. I want to be back at the places to which I can never go back. I, too, want to stomp terra.

Okay, off to dope up and try to get some sleep. Or not. I really want to play Uno and go bowling. But sleep will do.

"Our existence deforms the universe"

"Our existence deforms the universe. That's responsibility." -- Delirium

Tonight it was just me and Delirium for a little while, just me and the silence and that was a good thing and maybe it was what I needed all along. And I read and I read and then I drew a nice picture with butterflies and fish and then Carrie laughed and I threw it across the room. And then I cried and she got defensive and I felt a little lost and that was that.

I think I'm going to have Delirium tattoed over my heart. A Delirium fairy, with butterfly wings and a fish on a string. And one green eye and one blue eye and multicolored dreads and maybe even the Borghal Rantipole peeking around the corner. Why? Because that's what it feels like all the time these days, like Delirium is flitting above my shoulder, the way someone else once did a long time ago when things seemed normal and my world was not upside down, when Delirium was still Delight. Before the fall.

Maybe Jeremy and Matt were right when they agreed. I don't want to talk about it. It made me feel like shit. Maybe they were right and all this time I've just been tricking myself into believing that I've got it all figured out and that someday I'll save myself from all this and the world will be okay again. And maybe they knew something I didn't, something that would have saved me from me if I knew what I needed to save and why I needed to save it.

I want to share a hotdog with Death. I want to share a hotdog and maybe a taxi ride because she's nothing but a friend these days and I have nothing to fear, right? Maybe that hotdog will be the last and there was nothing really wrong with Didi's heart and one day could last forever.

Or maybe I'm crazy.

I feel like I've lost those last little semblances of things that mattered, like all that stands between me and the fall are mere trinkets of things that shouldn't matter but do ... that shouldn't hold me the way I let them. And maybe one of these days I'll feel like I can come back from The Summer From Hell unscathed, putting all this behind me.

Maybe I won't need the drugs anymore. Maybe I'll sleep again. Maybe I'll take the car out for a drive and never come back. Or at least for a very long time, until my thoughts are sorted out and my heart is back in my hands and not hovering over my shoulder in the arms of a fairy who lost everything and only remembers that somewhere there are fish and one time she had a dog.

That's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going driving. With levity even. I think I'll say it over and over again until it makes sense in my head, like maybe Lonewolf had it all figured out and that it's all loneliness and levity, even when you're surrounded by people and walls go up and a part of you dies. A very integral part of you.

And if I didn't think that this mattered, if I really treated this like a diary like it was supposed to be, then I'd say things like, "I just wanted the damn answers," and "How did I end up here?" and "Oh God I need help." But people always get scared, like I can't take care of myself because sometimes I really can't, but I think I can tonight -- if somebody holds me down and tranquilizes me and gets my brain back into gear.

I should take a Klonopin. All the excitement is a little too much for me to bear. I think I'm going to be sick.

Goodbye.

Yet another houseguest ::grins::

Tomorrow morning, I roll out of bed, pull my hair into a still-unwashed ponytail, slap on a little makeup and drive to the airport to pick up my best friend, Carrie. She hasn't been to Memphis since my wedding nearly three years ago. (And it's been embarrassingly long since I've visited her in Florida ... don't remind me.)

It's been strange (but cool) sharing the house with Matt; it should be stranger (but cooler) sharing the house with Matt and Carrie. I hope they get along okay -- they differ quite a bit in their outlook on life. And they've got to duke it out for who gets to sleep on the bed and who has to have the futon. Actually, it's a very comfy futon. But whatever.

The great thing about Carrie is that every time she comes home (this is her home -- always will be), it's like she and I pick up right where we left off. No pretense. Just mugs of coffee and tea, lots of music and plenty of pinball machines. :) I think that's the measure of a true friend -- how well the years melt away, making things once again right as rain.

I've avoided posting about me the past few days ... I mean about how I'm feeling. It shouldn't be hard to tell. My writing is as jumbled as my thoughts, tangled and messy.

I might as well just come out and say the suicidal thoughts are much stronger and more often these days. I'm not going to go into specifics because somebody will get stupidheaded and try to have me committed. And it's not like that. Monday, I have a (short) shrink appointment, to which I'll probably drag both Matt and Carrie. I may even let Matt talk to Dr. Boyd because Matt's well-educated on drugs and stubborn enough to not let Boyd push me around.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm bipolar, cycling through extreme anxiety and extreme depression. It's not for me to decide.

I quit therapy a couple of weeks ago. I wasn't getting anything out of it. The depression got worse after that. I dreamed that Miriam was coming to kill me ... and that my sink was full of maggots (don't know how that fits in). The nightmares are there whether I'm depressed or anxious, kind of like an old friend ready to greet me when I sleep. I wake up exhausted. I've started taking sleeping pills again.

I just want to get it all figured out before I lose it for good. Or maybe losing my mind will help me figure it all out. Who knows? Fortunately, I can bury all this drama when needed to come across as Normal Kate: Shy, well-written, anal-retentive, smart, level-headed, meticulous. I just can't bury it too long, or the cracks start to show. Oh well.

And now, off to get lunch.

May 7: Free Comic Book Day

When I was six or seven years old, I received my first comic book: a hand-me-down 4-color issue of Walt Disney's Donald Duck. I was mystified. It was like a comic strip, but longer! And funny, too! But, alas, comic books weren't "scholarly reading," so my selection was limited to my cousin Jay's decade-old collection.

As a preteen, my cousin Ashley (the closest thing I had to a sister in those days) would slip me her old copies of Betty & Veronica. My parents thought B&V was too racy, so I hid them in the bottom of my socks drawer. I loved sweet, innocent Betty ... but I related much better to sneaky, moody Veronica.

Then, in college, I found Sandman -- the first comic that turned my world upside-down and touched me deep within. I felt such strong emotions for Sandman: I laughed at Matthew's antics; I cried when Wanda died; I longed to be just like Thessaly; I had a crush on beautiful, caring Death. The Endless were like family -- who hasn't met Delirium walking her butterflies and fishies during twilight on a Tuesday?

So I took a master's level class about graphic novels, where I was introduced to other groundbreakers: The Dark Knight Returns, Black Orchid, Watchmen and Maus (among others). The class -- which was taught by the head of the English department -- was one part art, one part history, one part psychology. It was difficult but fun; I learned a lot.

This Saturday, May 7, is Free Comic Book Day at comic book stores nationwide. Here's why you should go:

• If you've never picked up a comic book, you need to get over the misconceptions. There's a lot more out there than Superman and Wolverine -- truly something for everyone. Me? I like the feminine one-uppage of Girl Genius and the off-the-wall antics of Lenore.
• If you haven't read a comic book since you were a child, grow up! New titles crop up every month, and many are for adults. The Japanese recognize that anime and manga are perfectly acceptable media for adult content ... it's time Americans catch up.
• If you are already a comics reader, support your local comic book store. Stop by on FCBD and pick up your exclusive Batman HeroClix and FCBD minimate. And, for god's sake, bring a friend. That's what this is all about.
• If you're a parent (or have young friends), introduce them to comics now. There are a ton of great titles out there for younger readers ... and we need to teach children that comics can be deeper than Garfield or Peanuts. Really.
• And (most importantly), if you love your First Amendment rights, show your support for artists and comics fans. Do your homework by reading up on the Comics Code Authority and the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. Video gamers: This should be of particular importance to you, because games are on the brink of censorship now. Every time CBLDF takes on a case, it's likely to set precedence for other entertainment media, such as video games. Speak up and be heard.
  

I suppose I come off as a rabid fangirl -- which I'm not -- but I do think it's important to support and protect the many faces of graphic art: funny or frightening ... juvenile or mature ... educational or entertaining.

Saturday, I'll be at Comics & Collectibles in Memphis. Hope to see some of you local folks there.

And, please, I'd love for you guys to post comments about your first/best/favorite comic book experiences. Favorite artists, titles and characters ... even words of wisdom you've learned from a thought balloon. Now get to it.

Escape by the seat of his pants

This morning, I had an interview with Bob Williams, a local developer building condos at the corner of Main Street and General Washburn's Escape Alley in downtown Memphis.

Now, I've passed by General Washburn's Escape Alley several times -- especially when I lived downtown on the bluffs -- but I'd never had the time (or a reason) to look up its history. This morning, I had no choice: I had to get exact street information to my map designer ASAP. So I started poking around.

From what I can piece together from this site and this site, General Washburn was a Civil War leader who brought Union troops to Memphis in 1864. Nathan Bedford Forrest retaliated, leading over 2,000 Confederate troops here. Washburn and a few other men fled under the cover of darkness -- with Washburn in his nightshirt. Forrest then captured Washburn's pants, which he kept until the two reached a truce much later.

Poor guy. I mean, I've lived through my share of embarrassing moments ... but I've never had a street named after the location where my sworn enemy stole my pants. :-P

A letter from Paul's computer

Dear Paul --

This is your computer speaking. You know, Paul, we've gone through so many great times together. Remember how you used me to surf the Internet late into the night when you couldn't sleep? Or the long hours we spent playing video games while you were in college? I even remember a time when you'd skip class to spend more time with me. Oh, those were the days!

What has happened to our relationship? It's like you take your darling computer for granted these days. You never upgrade me anymore, never lovingly poke around my innards like you used to do.

A couple of months ago, I realized I had to get your attention. I had to remind you of the love we once shared. I thought you'd start to take better care of me when you noticed the leaky capacitors on my motherboard. It was a cry for help! But you just RMAed the motherboard and stuck it back in me without so much as a loving pat on my power switch.

So I tried a little harder. First, I blew out my CD burner last month. And when that didn't get your attention, I killed my 80 gig hard drive last week. It was self-mutilation, for god's sake, but instead of seeing how much I needed you, you just became angry.

You kept pushing me to process faster and perform better. Yesterday, I'd had the final straw -- I was going to make you notice, even if it killed me. So I borked my 40 gig and 60 gig hard drives. I was desperate! I figured you'd be upset about possibly losing your media collection ... but I never realized you'd be so livid about jeopardizing your doctorate research. Who knew?

I love you, Paul, but I'm warning you: If you ignore me, you face a fate worse than a thousand BSODs. Don't forsake me any longer.

Sincerely,
Your computer

P.S. Could you also please put the sides back on my case? I feel naked, and it's humiliating.