Lost In Wisconsin

Everyone knows I suffer from depression.  Everyone knows I take meds to control it.  Everyone knows that I have my days where things get too much.  Because everyone has those days.  Medicated or not.

But right now, I am the most depressed I have been in five years.  It just hit me all at once yesterday, and it isn’t going away.  I’m not sleeping, I can’t eat, and everyone is striking the wrong nerve with me.  And, for the first time in a long time, I’m in a withdraw mode.

I don’t want to leave the house.  I don’t want to clean the house.  I don’t want to cook.  I don’t want to talk.  I don’t want to deal with all the crap that is going on.  And there’s lots of crap.

I usually don’t make a big deal out of the problems I have, mostly because I hate people who do that.  Everyone has problems, and there isn’t anything that I am going through that someone before me hasn’t dealt with themselves.  I don’t mind being there for people who do have problems.  Don’t get me wrong here.  I just don’t feel the need to have every problem I have put out there so that I can be the center of everyone’s world.  I’d rather just deal with it as best I can and try to move forward.  But I’m having a time right now.

I’m on the verge of tears.  I want people to talk to me and listen to me and be there for me and at the same time I want to be left the fuck alone.  I want to be the center of attention and I want to curl up in a ball and continue to be ignored.

Like I said.  It’s everything . . . and it’s nothing.

It’s being evicted from our building at the business in December and then being told two days later that they are also doubling the rent.

It’s trying to find a new building during the busy season.

It’s having my husband go from “Yay–A new building” to “Fuck it–let’s close the doors” in two seconds flat.

It’s having boys who don’t listen to me, and when they do it is to disrespect me.

It’s having my husband call every day at noon to ask me what is going on, and when I tell him things about me or the boys, having him say, “Whatever,” because he was referring to the business.

It’s having no money to get the things I want or need, and being made to feel like shit for spending it anyway.

It’s feeling so alone, and then having someone you thought you could confide in ‘one up’ you with their problems, thus dismissing mine.

It’s literally being a single parent, running a household and a business with absolutely no help, save financial, and being told I’m not doing enough.

It’s having a roommate–not a husband.

It’s loneliness.

It’s having my dad be the father figure to my children, because their father isn’t around.

It’s not wanting to be married to someone who is so emotionally detached . . . unless it is about the business.

It’s about money.

It’s not about money.
It’s not sleeping.

It’s not eating.

It’s being hungry and then eating and wanting to vomit.

It’s anxiety.

It’s stress.

It’s exhaustion.

I’m just done.  I so rarely get this way, and I want to reach out so someone, only to pull away because it’s clear I’m not going to be heard cuz there’s more important things going on.  I simply don’t matter to people.  At least that’s how I feel.

So, talk to me.  Or don’t.  Do I exist in your world?  No matter, because quite frankly, at this point, I’m not sure what’s gonna drag me out of this one.  I can’t remember how I get out of these funks.  But, I’m depressed, and don’t know how well I will do facing it alone.

So far . . . not so good.

My son won’t go to bed.  Not the younger one who might have a legitimate fear of some creepy crawly in his room, but the older one.  The one with the irrational fear of anything that moves, yet seems to be drawn to every scary show on television like a moth to a flame.  Which by the way, he is also afraid of.  (The moth, not the flame.)

It goes something like this.  After being told to go to bed for the past three hours, my son comes out of his room to announce to me that “he isn’t going to bed because there’s a huge bug in there and he won’t be alone with it.”

I proceed to ignore him, thinking he is stalling, as he turns on the Wii to play while he waits for me to inspect said insect infestation in his room.  Yes, one bug is now officially in infestation.

Then he lets out a little shriek.  “There’s one right now!!  Kill it Mom!  Seriously!  I have bites all over me from that thing, and I refuse to go to bed until you kill all the ones in my bedroom!”

I look over at what he’s referring to.  It’s a long, slender bug, about a half inch long.  It’s black.  And has wings.  It is in no way horrifying, nor does it warrant a trip to his room to kill the one that is in there.  He goes in the kitchen and announces there are tons in there, too, since I didn’t close the kitchen window.  He also made some comment about our house being infested with bugs and how can I live this way.

I inspect the bug further.  It is sitting still, doing nothing.

He still won’t go to bed.  So I go in his room and look for the alleged infestation in his room, armed with a magazine to kill all of them.  If anything moves in his room, it’s dead.  Because quite honestly, I just want my kid to go to bed.

Except there’s nothing.  So I leave and tell him to turn off his tv and his lights and get in bed.  To add emphasis, I turn off his light for him.

Immediately, it switches back on.  I hear the squirts of a hairspray bottle.  I go to look and he’s shooting the air with hairspray.  “It might freeze its wings if it flies through,” he states.

I take away the hair spray and turn off the lights again.

A few minutes later, my son emerges and skulks into the kitchen.  He returns to his room.  Now I hear long aerosol sprays, and my nostrils are filled with the rich scent of Deep Woods Off.

I return to his room.  He immediately drops the can, turns off the light, and says, “Fine, fine!”  I say that I still don’t see anything.  He says, “It’s over there somewhere,” pointing to his window.  Where I see nothing.

I go back to the living room and once again return to this insect that has infested my entire home.

Firefly.  A freaking firefly.

I might have to hurt my son.

A few years ago, I got this camera.  It’s a Kodak EasyShare C330.  I love it.  It takes pictures, and they are very nice pictures.  But, I’m getting this feeling.

It’s the same feeling I had when I had AOL.  AOL, in its time, when you had to pay $30 a month for dialup, was a great system.  But, ask anyone.  It is designed for beginners.  Newbies.  People who are learning how to use the internet.  At some point, it is time to take off the training wheels and try to ride the two wheeler.  So, I moved on to Roadrunner, which cost a lot more, but didn’t require its own browser, and I didn’t feel like having it all spelled out for me anymore.  So I grew up.

Once I got bored with Internet Explorer and decided it sucked, I took off those training wheels and moved on to Firefox.  See, there’s always something around the corner, and as you learn and grow, you want to try new things.

Anyway, back to my awesome camera.  Now that I’ve mastered it, I want sharper macros.  I want to take a picture of that bee sitting on a flower that I can’t quite capture.  I want to be able to take a picture in a gymnasium without it coming out blurry or dark.  I’m ready for the training wheels to come off.

I want this baby.  I’m ready for my two wheeler.  And maybe this isn’t a two wheeler, but it is certainly a step up from my C330, and has awesome features.

Anybody ever experience the need to “graduate” from one technology to another?  I love it, even though it costs me money.

Me:  I want tips put on my toes.

Nail Tech:  You want pedicure?

Me:  No, I want tips on my toes.

Nail Tech:  OK.  Fifty dolla.

Me:  Fine.

During getting toes done.

Nail Tech:  You get pedicure, too?

Me:  No, this is all I want.

Nail tech:  You come back two week get fill done.

Me:  Smiles, OK.

Nail tech:  You get manicure after dis?

Me:  No, the toes will be fine.  I garden a lot and my nails would be gone by the end of the day.

Nail tech:  Get manicure, come back two week, I fix.

Me:  No thank you.

Nail tech:  You get pedicure afta dis?

Me:  This will be fine.

A little bit later . . .

Nail tech:  You want tips on finga nails, too?

Me:  No.  Gardening . . . remember?

Nail tech:  You get tips on finga nails, come back two week, get fill.  I fix good.

Me:  No thank you.

Nail tech:  You want flowa or flame on big toe?  I make pretty.

Me:  No thank you.

A little bit later . . .

Nail tech:  You want manicure afta dis?

Me:  NO THANK YOU.  But, come to think of it, how much is a flower on my big toe?

Nail tech:  Five dolla.

Me:  Yeah, do that then.

No more questions after that.  THANK GOD!!

The other day I pissed this bird off by climbing into her tree.  I am lucky my eyes weren’t pecked out.  She wasn’t pleased.

I tried to explain to her that I meant no harm, but she didn’t care.  She kept yelling and flitting and running around, shouting at me from other trees and even got her mate involved.

I can understand why.  But I couldn’t resist climbing my Mom’s apple tree for this.

She’s all better now.

My best friend and I crave this recipe quite a bit. We both have our own additions to it, but we love it no matter how it’s made.

Ingredients

1-16 oz package tri-color pasta

1-14.5 oz can of black olives

1 onion, chopped

1 tomato (with the recall, I used grape tomatoes)

1 cucumber, quartered and sliced

1 package pepperoni, cut in half

1 package sting cheese, cut into bite sized pieces

1 bottle Wishbone Italian salad dressing

Cook pasta according to instructions. Drain, run under cold water. Add to bowl with remaining ingredients. Mix well. Enjoy!

I didn’t think I’d cry over it. In fact, I was pretty sure that either way, I would be OK with the answer I got. Maybe it was because I was expecting that their information would be on file.

It wasn’t.

But, they are the lucky ones. They are siblings and they have each other. They were adopted together. Why would they feel a need to find anyone else when they have one another?

I called Kentucky today because it had been almost six weeks and I was impatient with not getting anything in the mail. When she got the files on my siblings and saw no consent form to give their information, she put my information into their files in case they come looking. It’s not fair. I get nothing.

Except a possible hint. Their names were probably changed. I think she was trying to tell me they were indeed changed. I mean, mine was. My name freaking sucked. I had hoped they would have the same names.

My brother would have memories of our Mom. He was at least six or seven when he was adopted. He would know she is nuts and not really want to know her. Did he even know about me?

So, I cry. Which is unexpected. But I really hoped I’d have some siblings by the end of this year. I guess that isn’t what’s in the plans for me.

If you know me, you know that I love squirrels.  I think they are so cute and active.  I feed them peanuts, and I have one that visits me regularly.  After five years, she still doesn’t trust me, which is probably for the best, but I really wanna pet her.

As with other years, she had babies.  But, I have to say this is her most active bunch yet.  There are five or six of them, and each one is cuter than the next.  Especially the one who plays in the wood chips and can’t figure out that its tail is behind him–not a sibling.  This brave fellow has wandered with Mom more than the rest . . . and finally made the trip across the yard.

I rewarded his efforts with a peanut, which he loved.  Ain’t he cute?