Oh Ate Oh Ate Eleven

Yesterday, I got an email, from a car dealership. They'd set up a time for me to come in and interview for a sales position. I cannot see me selling cars. I dislike selling, anyway. I don't think anyone needs a new car. Buy a used car, if your own vehicle is beyond repair, or if you just have no car.

This morning, my little son rolled over and said this poem to me:
Mama's baby
Went to bed
Mama's baby
Knocked his head
Mama's baby
Went to school
Mama's baby
Had the tools
Then, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

I have had a splitting headache for three days. I am having asthma issues. The air is stagnant. My allergy meds make me feel like I've eaten glass. My body feels like a 125 lb. piece of shit.

Saturday, I went to Blowing Rock, to try and snap out of this funk, and to try and find some inspiration for creativity. It didn't work like I wanted it to, but it was better than staying in the house, being agitated. I just got a little more depressed up there, being around a crowd of over-privileged people, talking about things that really don't matter much like they're really important things. Perspective of the unemployed, depressed housewife. Anyway, I took some pictures on my walk through the park. They turned out okay.

I told myself I would start writing again, if only to journal down the bull crap in my head. You're reading it.

Saturday, during one of the 10 minute naps I took throughout the night, I dreamed that Ben Stiller took out an insurance policy on me for $300k. I was insulted. I awoke, saying, "I'm worth at least $500k!"

One of the other ten minute naps brought a dream that I was living in a house infested with fleas. They were everywhere. I haven't looked this up, yet, but seeing bloodsuckers everywhere has got to mean something.

I believe I have, at least temporarily, lost my ability to make my best friend smile. I also think maybe my days as a lover are past. I think I might be just a selfish bitch or something. This makes me sad - which makes me a miserable wretch, in addition to a selfish bitch.

The depression has come to a point where I can't even smile for my youngest son, as much as I should. I am doing something about this, but it's a slow process that doesn't include alcohol or drugs. If you're out there, and care, and are touched by my moods, please be patient with me. If you don't care, then why read this?

Love,
S

In the Beginning

In the beginning, there was a very small girl with long, straight, brown hair and very dark brown eyes. She loved to be outside and loved to be with her grandparents. She loved it when her dad carried her because of the way it felt when he took his steps. Her mother paid very little attention to her, except when absolutely necessary. She spent a lot of time playing alone, or with a neighbor boy. She loved to play in dirt. Any play involving the neighborhood girls was akward. Girls are mean. She had a dog who was her best friend. He was a shephard/boxer mix. She also had a cat who was less than friendly, but had a lot of kittens. She got to play with the kittens for a while, but then they were all adopted by strangers. She spent a lot of time watering the plants - maybe too much some times. She loved to play on the swing set. The neighborhood boy did not. He mainly wanted to play in the dirt and kill bugs and lizards. She also loved to run down her street and race the shadows of the clouds, and observe the "mirages" in the heat. People were merely incidental in her world, and not in any way a focus for her - except her grandmother, who doted on her, and actually called her her "Angel Baby." She loved music and would sing songs from the radio, like "If you Want it, Here it Is..." while swinging on the swingset. She wasn't much for wearing shoes or hairbows. Her mother would fix her hair in tight pony tails or pigs tails each morning, and she would remove them and just come in with wild, wavy hair in the evenings. Her mother would make her lay down with her in the afternoons for a nap, but she never napped. She just had to lie there quietly while her mother slept. If she tried to get up and explore, she would get in trouble if caught. She also used to like to hide in the laundry hamper. The familiar smell of the clothes was a comfort to her.