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Nov. 9th, 2011


I think I've figured out why I'm so sad

Last February, I had a Mirena inserted into my uterus. Mirena is a piece of plastic which doses out small amounts of hormones to prevent pregnancy. I also got it because my periods are heavy, with bad cramping. The Mirena did alleviate some of that. My periods are so light now that all I need is a pantyliner. Also, my cramps had subsided. But, I've been angry. Granted, my job sucks and I was passed on for two different jobs, one of those being a promotion. I've been crying regularly and overwhelmed with emotions, so much so, that talking to my boyfriend usually ends me in crying uncontrollably, where I can't stop. I thought I was just going through something. Now, I believe it is the Mirena and its hormones.

I had been on birth control for years and years. The last one was the NuvaRing. I had that for 2 years. I loved it but when I was having trouble breathing, I went to the emergency room. I had a pulmonary embolism which means I had blood clots start in my left leg and travel into my lungs. Kind of life threatening. So no more hormonal birth control for me. I tried a diaphragm, which was great until I couldn't get it out. So then I wanted a tubal ligation, but was talked into the Mirena. It sounded like a good idea at the time and I was really hoping that it would work. My friend at work had it for three months and fell into such a depression that she had it removed. I'm convinced that most of these feelings of anger, hopelessness and sadness are just the Mirena amplifying my feelings.

I'm having it removed and getting my tubes tied. I'm so done with all of this.

Oct. 7th, 2011

south park bella

Why am I so sad?

Things could be worse, right? Yet, it is easier for me to cry than laugh lately. I don't know why.

Losing my dog was difficult, very difficult. Losing my cat Emily was also difficult, yet, she was sick for some time and I had said my good byes to her. I loved her very much, but losing her on August 11, 2011 wasn't a surprise. She was sick and had a collapsed lung. No one lives that long with all that.

My job sucks. I know when I first started here, I was happy, really happy. I had gotten out of a bad place, especially in a bad economy. I expected I would move into a better position, I expected to be finishing up at least some part of my schooling by now. I've just barely started. Three years later, I hate my job, I hate what I do, not working in technology. When my boss left, I asked for her job, they gave it to someone a lot less qualified than me. I had been looking anyway, so I just continued to look and send off my resume. I've put in a transfer for another position here, but given that they didn't promote, I'm not getting my hopes up.

Not getting that promotion I think is what sent me into this downward spiral. The fall and holidays usually brings me depression and no doubt that's probably a part of this sadness. I was at my last long term job two years when talk of promotion started. I was groomed for a year and then promoted. Easy, right? I was in my mid-twenties, the youngest person in the department. People were impressed. I was even a little impressed. I am good at what I do. I work hard. I know my stuff.

I feel stuck at this shit job. It makes me tear up a little.

Then there is my living situation. I currently have a cute, little apartment in South Berkeley. I like my apartment and while it isn't the loft or my apartment in New York, it does well for what it is. My two cats live there. They are happy but they miss me. I'm rarely home. I haven't slept in my bed since the first week of September. I spend most of my time at my boyfriend's house. This is new for me. In every relationship I've been in, the relationship revolved around my home. That's not the case here. In a way it is good, because I remembered how much I hate when partners used to take over my space. I try to be very conscience of that. We sometimes talk of living together, which can't happen until his roommate moves out. I should be happy about this, right? Yet, again the whole teary eyed thing.

My boyfriend, at thirty, bought his home. A nice little suburban home he bought with the plan to "settle down" with his then fiance. That's the part I can't get past. He is disappointed that his plan didn't work out; when I think about it, there is this history that makes me feel left out, sad and unsure I want to live there with him. I know he doesn't want her back and I know that relationship is over, that's not my issue. I'm not sure what it is actually. I just hate that it wasn't me that he bought the house to live with. I hate that it wasn't me he wanted to marry. That's his past and I get that. If I live there, it feels wrong because it wasn't intended for me. I'm in another woman's place. What also upsets me is that the person he did that with didn't deserve that, nor the eight years they spent together. He made a home with someone who didn't deserve him and he really tried to make it work, until he found me. They were going to break up sooner or later. I think I may have prompted the sooner though. Maybe I'm just a jealous bitch, even jealous of the past.

Yet, I'd love to live with him. I want for us to build a life together. I want to take care of him. I want to see him every morning I open my eyes, even though lying next to him makes it difficult to get out of bed. Right now, more than anything, that's what I want. We may have a time frame now, which makes it real and scary. I really hope the cats get along. I really hope we can work on some of the issues I have with giving up the control of having "my space". I really hope I can build a financial cloud so that if it doesn't work out, I can easily go live on my own. I have these strong feelings on both sides: one, I really, really, really want to see us both living together, our three cats getting along, playing and being siblings and on the other hand, I don't want to give up the security of my space. I don't want to fill the void left behind by his ex. I don't want to be a replacement.

I don't like waiting. I want things now. Life is too short to wait. Yet, there is nothing I can do but wait: wait to see what happens with my transfer at work, wait to see if someone calls me for an interview, wait until my boyfriend and I have "living together" conversation. Do I tell him all of this? Do I tell him any of this? I've mentioned that I'm uncomfortable giving up my space, but that's all that's been said. I think he's far more concerned about the cats. I'm afraid that if the cats don't get along, we can't live together. His cat is more sensitive than mine are and I would feel so guilty if Beto was no longer Beto because my cats are pushy and demanding and much more outgoing than he. I guess I have to try and be patient and see what happens.

Jun. 13th, 2011


Four years ago today...

Well, I've been in California four years already. It has been a crazy four years. Up and down all the time. The worst part about it is that it has been nearly a year and a half since my little Nietzsche died. I miss her so much. What would have been her eleventh birthday was on May 10th. Have I said that I miss her so much? Her death was nearly the end of me.

Nietzsche was the one constant in my life, through several relationships, moves and depression. She was my home support when I was going through therapy. She stood by me when I felt alone and shared the stage with me when I didn't. She was my backbone and my support. I loved and cared for her as best I could. It didn't matter where I was, as long as she was there. When I ran off to NYC when my grandmother was dying, I felt far away from her and couldn't wait to get back home to see her. When I saw her, it meant I was home.

On the evening of November 11, 2009, Nietzsche was walking around and coughing. I thought she may have been getting a cold. I cuddled with her and fed her dinner. Everything seemed fine. She was happy. I went to bed. I woke up at 5am the next morning and she was breathing hard. We took her to the vet. My Nietzsche, my little baby that I've lived with, raised from ten weeks old, was in congestive heart failure. I called my ex, Nietzsche's "dad" to consult with him. After much thought and just looking at her, I could see he was dying. I decided to make it easy on her and put her to sleep.

At first, I was ok. I stayed home from work for a couple of days, finished the clove cigarettes I was stock piling in the freezer since they had become illegal the month before, and got my friends up to speed. "I took Nietzsche into the hospital at 5am this morning and we put her to sleep at 9am" I repeated call after call. It was easy to say.

That following Tuesday, I picked up her ashes. This little cherry wood box now contained my best friend, my child. It hit me, I could never feel close to her again. She was gone. No more fur, no more snorting, no more strange smells. My baby was really, really gone and she left behind dust. And me.

I do still irrationally blame myself for her death. She didn't like sleeping in bed with me since I was living in the loft. I now rarely slept with her. With school, I was barely home and not spending as much time with her as I wanted to. I was also living at home with 3 cats, a lizard and her. My attention was being spread pretty thin. She had a heart murmur, why wasn't I exercising her more, paying more attention to her food and making sure my now ex wasn't giving her fatty and salty food. Shoulda, woulda, coulda but didn't. The price I paid was a part of me.

It has been difficult without her. When I was in the emergency room and was told that they need to keep me because there was a chance I may stop breathing, I wished I could have something to live for. When I found myself single for the first time in California, I wished that I could at least have a little being in my life who lived for me, and I for her. It isn't the same dating someone who hasn't met her, who Nietzsche doesn't get to judge and let me know that this person gets her approval. Without her I do feel alone, at times. She was always my cheerleader and my biggest fan. She was what meant home to me.

I am trying to build a new life, without Nietzsche in it. I can never forget what she gave me, what she meant to me and how lucky I was to have her in my life. She came in so quickly and was taken away even quicker. I miss her more than words in the English language can describe. I hope one day I can heal from losing my best friend.
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May. 12th, 2011


3 months in and I still don't believe it.

I never want to lose this feeling. I'm so completely and incredibly in love. I really believe that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this guy. I'm really hoping he doesn't turn into a jerk down the line. For the first time in my life, I hope one day he asks me to marry him. It is truly amazing. He makes me feel so loved and just incredible. I can't wait to look into his eyes again and be in his arms. ::sigh::

Apr. 5th, 2011

bumble nietzsche

Relationship change

Several years ago, I vented a big problem in my relationship with my then boyfriend. After getting much advice, and after he logged in LiveJournal as me and read that post, I tried to work on it with him and when it was clear that he couldn't work on it, I gave up. I thought that maybe it was all me and that my expectations were just too great. Three and a half years into that relationship and I knew I was done. I had moved to the other side of the bay in September and that distance had confirmed something for me: I was not a priority in his life. Our trip to New Orleans sealed the deal; I was through.

I was afraid of being single for the first time in California. After we broke up, I started having panic attacks. I felt so alone in California and now being single wasn't going to make it easier. I turned to a friend for support. He had just gotten out of an eight year relationship with his fiance the Tuesday before I became single. Prior, he and I would spend hours talking about our respective partners and what they lacked. We bonded on our own similarities and how similar our relationships were. It was uncanny how much we had in common. The night he became single, he came over to my apartment. We sat around and talked and the same on the night I became single. As the following week progressed, we spent every evening together. We decided to go to Vegas the next week to decompress from all the drama.

Eight days after becoming single, I found myself lying in bed in his arms and my mind completely blown. He was telling me that he doesn't want me to slip through his fingers yet doesn't want to impede upon my newly found freedom. I was shaking. He was telling me how he felt which completely matched exactly how I felt and how he wanted to wait until after Vegas to tell me these things but just couldn't wait. We agreed that it is fast and we agreed that we were jumping in and we agreed that it feels so incredibly right. We exchanged our first "I love you"s in New York last month. Dare I say that this relationship seems almost magical?

Yesterday was two months from that night. I'm madly in love with this guy and I'm so scared I'm going to fuck this up. There is an element to this relationship that feels like a first relationship and there is another component that feels this relationship is really grown up and serious. He makes me feel incredible and the way he looks at me makes me melt. I'm so scared that we are each others' rebound and this will end as quickly as it started. I guess being scared is healthy since this relationship is so important to me. I don't even like spending a night away from him. Waking up and seeing him next to me makes me feel incredibly lucky.

So, here I am: thirty-four years old and in another relationship. Only time will tell what our future will be. All I know is in two weeks, we are driving to Magic Mountain to ride some roller coasters. For the last two months, I've been having the time of my life.

Jan. 25th, 2011


Sorry, it has been another year

I've been saturated lately with Facebook, Twitter and Blogger. Last night I got some advice from a friend, "write all this shit down." I haven't been. Right now, I'm taking a break from school and getting myself in a huge heap of trouble. A lot has happened and a lot more may happen.

On September 29, 2009, my grandmother passed away. She was old and sick and had been sick for a long time. She smoked at least a pack of filter-less cigarettes every day. When hitting about fifty years of doing this, it is bound to cause some problems. She died of complications of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. She died at 5am, I arrived at JFK at 11pm the night before. My ex met me at JFK. I had problems with some flights and was supposed to get into JFK at 3pm. I had spent a good part of that day at San Francisco International Airport. I thought about how difficult it must be for people who move cross country and are actually close with their families, as I am not.

This may be difficult for some to understand, but before my grandmother died,  I hadn't seen her in about five years. I had created a much needed distance from myself and the people I share DNA with. I was in therapy and trying very hard to live a life that is mine. It was hard having people in my life who constantly demanded things from me and wanted to criticize everything I did. I needed to find myself.

I don't really know why it was so important for me to get back to Brooklyn before my grandmother died. Maybe I needed closure or maybe I was looking for something I've never really had: a sense of family and support. After my mother's tearful apology a year earlier, I felt as though I should try too. Try to mend a relationship that never really existed in the first place or try to find out what it feels like to have a mother.

I had always felt bad for my grandmother. She was intelligent, but had an eighth grade education. She was angry and bitter and I wonder about the decisions she made, what she thought about them and how her life ended up the way it did. She wasn't the baking cookies and hugs kind of grandmother, while she did express her love through food. She was an amazing cook, and I was grateful that I could get many of her recipes before she died. The best memories I have of her was when I was a child, making cornbread or tomato sauce. I think she was impressed how quickly I picked up cooking and how talented I was at it. I get that from my grandmother: I like to feed people I care about because it is a way to take care of them.

From what I've heard, my grandmother was married twice. I don't know anything about her first husband. Her second husband was my grandfather, another person I know very little about. She left him and got pregnant but I don't know how that all happened either. Growing up, my grandmother always had men around. It seemed normal to me, but now looking back, I always wonder, what was it about my grandmother that she had so many men around. Was she a product of a strict role she was supposed to play yet didn't fit into that mold? Sound like anyone we know?

Later in life, especially after my uncle, her son, died from a drug overdose, she was never the same. It seemed like she was just waiting to die. I didn't feel sad for her passing, but sorry for her. Sorry that she wanted to die and sorry that she didn't feel as fulfilled with her life as she should have. I hope in some ways to be like her and other ways, not be like her. I hope not to die alone and unhappy. I hope to be surrounded by people who want to be there for me, not out of obligation.

Apr. 12th, 2010


Um, hello?

Sorry I've neglected LJ. Sorry. My grandmother died. My dog died. I ended up in the hospital and if I didn't go to the hospital when I did, I would have died. School is keeping me busy. New Orleans was awesome as always. I almost have my first degree and am almost halfway to the main degree. More, later.

Oh, and I can't wait to leave my job soon.

Jul. 6th, 2009


Quote of the Day

"If you're anything like me, the Fourth of July wouldn't be complete without a little sheet cake covered in Xanthan and Guar Gums, Sorbitan Monostearate, and Hydrogenated Coconut and Palm Kernel Oil. Or you might know it as Cool-Whip. Delicious! Our favorite non-freezing treat shares ingredients with hemorrhoid cream and sexual lubricants. More useful than you thought, huh? Eat up."

-Lindsay Mannering, Huffington Post.

Jun. 29th, 2009


(no subject)

I am sitting at my desk at work eating a peanut butter granola bar. I have accepted that I'm going to have to quit smoking, but not of my own choice, which absolutely sucks. Without the availability of the cigarettes that I enjoy, what is the point anymore. The joy is gone. Dave made me paranoid about no longer being able to enjoy smoking. The thrill is totally gone.

I had come down with some kind of flu-something. That with a combination of cramps, disabled me for most of the weekend. I felt like my organs were going to make a guest appearance yesterday when I went bike riding with Dave, but alas I managed to keep my organs to myself, yet again. My throat is still scratchy and my ears are still clogged but I'm feeling better. I was hoping to ride my bike to work today, but I don't feel like I've gotten enough practice. I have this image of me, trying to ride down Mission street, only to fall and have my head crushed by the 14 bus. I've seen way too many Cronenberg movies.

If I eat one of these two bars in this wrapper, I will feel like I accomplished something. Granola isn't my favorite.

I have to drive the Bug on the Bay Bridge on Friday. Now, the Bay Bridge freaks me out anyway, so I don't have a whole lot going for me, especially since the Bug does not have a passenger mirror. I own a passenger mirror, but haven't installed it yet. Where those people in the 70s nuts, driving with no passenger mirrors? WTF?

I do love this little car though, but will it make it over the Bay Bridge? I guess we will find out on Friday.

There isn't much else to say. I'm performing on Friday and Dave is performing on Saturday. The places where my teeth used to be still hurt, actually even more than they did when I first had my teeth removed. I need to get new teeth soon. I'm still very lucky to have such an awesome boyfriend. I'm very, very lucky. (Right now, he may think I'm ticked off since there is clay and plaster all over my apartment, but the reality is that I'm just relieved that the new puppet mold came out ok and don't really care about the messiness of my apartment, because the contractor is coming to make more of a mess on Wednesday anyway.)

I'm looking forward to another long weekend. We've been talking about getting a pool, but in concept it seems like a good idea, but in reality, who knows if it is. We'll see.

Jun. 11th, 2009


(no subject)

Two years ago today, I was busy getting hit by a house on a flat bed truck and staring down bikers in Indiana. I kept telling myself, "I'll never do this again." My car was near death the entire time, and I just hoped that she'd make it to San Francisco sans passenger window and eventually spark plug wires.

Two years later, I have forgotten how boring and flat Nevada and Nebraska was; Nebraska's only exception to the flat, grayness was the tornado that poured about two gallons of water into my car, on me and the cats. Nietzsche managed to get out of that one almost completely dry. My sense of adventure was thrilling but the actual driving was boring. The drive itself was memorable, other than the house and tornado and Gita, my then car, dying on the Bay Bridge.

The exciting story after the jump.Collapse )

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