California sunrise via
I woke up this morning cold. Not just "annoyed that I had to get out of bed and abandon once and for all the chance that I might be able to sleep until the point where I actually feel rested" - that hasn't happened in a few months, and I don't see it in my near future. Like, freezing. Teeth-chattering.
(Yes yes, the former Boston/NYC-dweller in me is rolling her judgy little eyes. Whatever, my body is set to California now. I'm cold.)
I am not really an app person, and though my phone is full of all the apps in the world c/o my six-year-old, I couldn't tell you how to play any of the games on pain of death.
Video games, now - those I like, ever since I discovered the joys of Duck Hunt at the tender age of six (when parents all over the country simultaneously decided that it was a good idea to give their elementary schoolers pretend rifles and let them pretend-kill defenseless little birds). Kendrick and I had a brief (albeit rapturous) dalliance with Angry Birds back when we first started living together. I will happily play Super Mario with my son all night, every night because Super Mario is wonderful. And - just saying - I will take you DOWN in MarioKart (oh, yes I will). But when it comes to Candy Crush and Farmtown (or whatever it's called) or any of those other app-type games that I always see people posting about on Facebook?
Not really my thing. My phone is for looking at clothing I cannot afford to buy, watching Bachelor In Paradise from my bathtub, and accidentally and horrifyingly butt-dialing exes and frenemies.
current mood via.
In couples' counseling a couple of weeks ago, I started yelling. I went into the session determined - promising myself - that I wouldn't go there, that I'd follow the rules (use "I feel" language, try not to stick to my "personal narrative," et cetera auuuuuuugh), and that I'd be calm and clear and loving. That I'd talk less, and listen more.
And then, all of a sudden, I was in that place again: the angry place that I didn't know existed in me, but that I sure as hell know about now.
A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh. - Leonard Cohen
I wanted another baby.
It’s strange to be saying that out loud, because for a long time not even my own mother knew that I wanted a third child. A couple of my friends knew, but when we discussed it I never used the word “trying.” I danced around the subject. Oh, you know, we’ll see what happens.
Lots of things scare me. The possibility of not having enough work to pay the bills. The idea of my parents getting sick. Climate change. Spiders. Most of my fears are pretty general, though; they wake me up at night and start my heart pounding, but still, they don't inspire that immediate kind of terror that you see in movies (well, except for the spiders).
I'm ten thousand feet up in the air right now. My son is watching Thor in the row in front of me and my daughter is asleep on my lap, and my hands are shaking almost too badly to write this, because I don't know that I've ever been more scared in my life than I was just a few minutes ago.
I dream often of plane crashes. I'm pretty sure that they symbolize a fear of losing control, which means my subconscious really knows what it's doing. The dreams are always different, but one element stays the same: I'm looking out the window, and I feel a lift in my stomach, and then there's the sense of falling. Sometimes I crash in my dreams. Sometimes I board another plane, just trying to get home, and the next plane I'm on crashes, too.
