Random Acts

I swear to God there must have been a meeting today. After a couple days of researching, I decided to reserve a campsite at Lake Cuyamaca this weekend. My Fruit needs a break and I could use one, too. So, at 12:30 I made the decision to drive out there to reserve our site. It’s first come first serve and I have definitely been screwed that way before. When I used to camp at El Capitan, we would reserve months in advance and someone would go early in the morning to make sure we got a big spot overlooking the ocean. My first camping trip was there, and of all the grounds I’ve been to, I think it’s still my favorite spot. Aside from being small and much too close together, I like the spot I picked. It was harder than I thought to make a decision about it, and I almost moved the goddamn tent before I staked it down. (If it didn’t sleep seven, I might have) It took me an hour and a half to decide and get the tent up. The wind was getting pretty fierce when I left, but I think I staked it well enough that it’s not in the lake right now.
When I left at fourish, I got stuck behind asshat after asshat…all going to the same meeting, I guess. I was so aggravated that I missed my turn on the 79 and ended up in Ramona somewhere, desperately calling my Fruit for directions back home. On the way, I was stuck on a one lane road behind King Asshat the First and Buddy Asshat in their Daewoo. It turned out that after 15 miles of going just fast enough that I couldn’t pass and loud enough that he could hear me inform him repeatedly that, “It’s the long one on the right”, he was headed for the Wild Animal Park. Stupid Asshat. I would’ve been home half an hour ago if it weren’t for his riding the goddamn break all the way through the mountains. And if that alone weren’t annoying enough, Buddy Asshat would stick his hand out to slap the bushes as they went. It’s probably the closest he’ll ever get to touching bush, but I still wanted to drive a stake through his hand. I kept hoping something would come of his stupidity. Perhaps he’ll try smacking a lion in the park and be rendered unable to touch anything with his right hand again.
And, if it weren’t painfully obvious by now, I’m going to bleed tomorrow. I can feel it building up, and I fervently hope that I don’t have to crap on this trip because there’s no way I’m shitting in that disgusting port-a-potty in the parking lot. There’s a prefectly nice little spot to pee behind the tent, and I think that’s where all us girls are going to go. I can’t wait to see the look on Nut’s face when she realizes we’re peeing in the same spot. It’s her first camping trip. She’s much older than Mags was for hers, and I think her awareness of her surroundings will be that much more enjoyable to watch. Mags was probably a little too young when we took her. It was cold and rainy, and we ended up going to Walmart to get her some warm puppy clothes. God, she was a cute puppy.

I had just hung up the phone with my Fruit and continued working on our finances when I heard the familiar pitter patter of paws on the cedar chips outside. It always makes me smile when I hear them running around and playing…and this is exactly what I was doing when the “Oh shit” feeling hit me. I didn’t let them out. I didn’t even hear a scratch at the door or get a head on my lap as bribery. I knew immediately that my little curious george, Mr.D, had certainly gone outside. I threw on some shoes in a panic and started calling for him…worried that he’s not wearing his collar and afraid of him going in the street. Mr.T was perfectly content on his kitty condo, listening to the antics outside. I think he’s lost his interest in the outdoors because I used to take him everywhere with me when he was little…the park, the store, just for rides. Once out back, the girls came running up to greet me…followed slowly by Mr.D with that, “Please don’t take me in” look in his eyes. He was already covered in dirt, so I decided to let him explore. What was I so worried about, anyway? For the next ten minutes, he ate grass, rolled in dirt, covered the girl’s droppings and stuck his head down gopher holes before he finally sauntered back into the house. Once he realized I wasn’t going to make him go back in, he purred loud enough to be heard ten feet away and came by to nuzzle my legs every few minutes in appreciation. I don’t mind him being in the backyard…I just wish there was a way to ensure that he won’t venture beyond the confines of our fences. I’d be heartbroken if anything ever happened to him.
It was cute though…the little conspiracy that took place as I spoke to my Fruit and paid our bills. I don’t know who opened the door or how, but I didn’t hear it. I suspect, however, that is was reminiscent of a scene from a Sneaky Pie Brown mystery.

I don’t know what happened, but I haven’t been able to get myself motivated these last few weeks. I tried to kickstart myself by going to the gym in the morning and sticking to a schedule, but I just haven’t been able to do it. I feel like I’m walking around in a daze…going into rooms and forgetting why, looking in the wrong cupboards for ordinary things…getting in the truck to go out and forgetting why…coming back in the house annoyed. Maybe it’s the pills. I really don’t think zoloft is what I need. I’ve been supplementing my low dosage with St.John’s Wort, which worked really well for a while but all it seems to do is keep me calmer than usual.
My Fruit is finally almost done with her studying…which means I’ll get her all to myself soon. I have tried to be as supportive as possible, but I’m not sure how well I’ve done. I miss her, and there’s really no denying that.
I have been spending parts of my mornings working on my creative projects. This morning, I picked up an oil painting I abandoned months ago and went on a quest for the photo I was copying from. I did some acrylic the other day, but there is really nothing compared to oil. I guess as far as art is concerned, it will always be my first love. The paint is so smooth and creamy…it blends beautifully and the art of mixing colors alone can keep me enthralled for hours. Acrylic dries too quickly for that…and even though I want to try the slow drying medium for it, I doubt it will have quite the same affect. Going through my Dick Blick catalog, I found an oil medium to speed drying…and it struck me that nobody is ever really happy with what they have. I know oil takes a long time to dry, but that’s one of it’s charms as far as I’m concerned. I did a little oil pastel yesterday, but I tried it on a canvas board that was really too gritty for it. They say you can use them on canvas, but I doubt it will look good on anything but smooth paper…unless you gesso the hell out of it. I was searching through photos from our trip to see Fruit’s family, and I can’t seem to find one that’s good for painting. I wanted to surprise her with my next large canvas piece being one of those photos, but it looks like that isn’t going to work out too well. I probably shouldn’t surprise her until I’m any good anyway. Like anything else lately, I feel like my heart is in it, but my best intentions fail to produce anything worthwhile.

My Fruit left for work a couple hours ago looking as deliciously sexy as she did when we went out on dates. It feels so far away now…the time before we had the girls…before the mortgage and joint bills…before we could fart loudly and not be mortified. I always support her work…her need to spend long hours and odd days…but, I can’t help being disappointed this time with all the time she’s been busy and away. I miss my wife…and I must be crazy to let that sexy woman drive away on a Saturday morning while I stay home with the kids. I told myself that I’m going to go out…that I’m going to do some painting and sewing and all the things I feel too guilty to do during the week with everything else that needs doing. Yet, here I am at 11 o’clock on a Saturday…still wearing a towel from my shower and putting off going to the gym because we might just get some alone time there…if we go.
On top of that, I’ve been feeling exceptionally fat and unsexy…and when I think of perhaps going to see friends, I look in the mirror and hope I don’t run into anybody. I’ve been trying to cook healthier food and get healthier snacks, but some part of me just won’t comply. I would love to know what it feels like to not have my thighs so well acquainted…and yet it feels so unattainable that my will is weak. Even when I was skinny I was fat. Even when I was my target weight, said thighs rubbed freely and my ass was still large…which always attracted the most unnerving attention.
Maybe I will go anyway. Fruit will have to study when she gets home…and we can say we’ll go to the gym tomorrow…and I’ll take my pills in a few minutes and forget that I’m sadly missing my wife.

I was amazingly not in my usual foul mood by the time I got to the checkout line at costco. The usually barrage of slow moving jackasses seemed a bit less than usual and my patience was possibly a bit moreso. I was standing behind a blond woman in her gym clothes, although I doubt she had actually donned them for that purpose. One of the checker helper people walked up to her almost immediately to check her basket out ahead of time. I’ve noticed this on many occasions and no matter how large or small my purchases, I’ve never received such assistance. This time it was a man who couldn’t possibly have been any taller than 4′10″. We made eye contact after and he said, you have too much. I smiled and said, “I see how it is”. He glanced back at the ass of the woman in front of me and said quietly to me, “When you’re my height, there’s no such thing as a butterface.” Right on, little man.
The other woman checking out in front of Butterface had two young children in her cart and seemed incredibly disturbed that an old man was doing a little jig for their amusement. He was really into it, and I thought it was adorable. The kids were clapping for him and he was laughing as he noticed the look on the woman’s face. Apparently, they were strangers. He announced, “I’m sorry you don’t like my dancing madam, but there is no better job in this life than grandpa.” I was hoping for an encore, but he disappeared into the crowd. If I get old, I would love nothing more than to be like that quirky old man…wandering around Costco, dancing for giggles. It, of course, sparked a flashback to one of my high school plays. We would have the old people from the “Motion Picture Hospital” come to the Sunday matinee, and such hilarity would ensue that we scrapped the tradition come senior year. Something seemed to be in the air during the matinee of “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying”. During the first act, and older gentleman with an oxygen tank wandered up to the stage and yelled, “Where the hell’s the pisser, Mack?” Amazingly, the lead didn’t break character…hell, we all did backstage. My favorite part, however, happened during the second act. It was the final scene…a huge musical/dancing ensemble in which half the cast was dancing through the crowd. (Thank God I wasn’t in that one). A little old woman in her best flower moomoo slipped into the line of cast going up the stairs and danced her heart out before the orderlies could “accompany her back to her seat”. She really should’ve gotten last bow, because she stole show that day. For us castmembers, anyway. That had to be at least ten years ago, and I can still see the smile on her face as she took centerstage.
I’m just rambling again…procrastinating…blaming my pills on my lack of motivation even though I thankfully got my refill yesterday. It’s such a relief not to be so raw.

It was another bad weekend…and I’m sure much of it is because I’m out of zoloft again. I’ve been supplementing with St.John’s Wort to decrease the effects, but it’s not quite muffling me the way I had hoped now that the zoloft is gone. I felt sick to my stomach yesterday and had to sleep upstairs for a few hours to get my head to stop aching and my chest to stop churning. Now I’m just a little dizzy…holding my breath for three more days when the pharmacy will give me my damned refill. I need a new doctor…and I could probably use a new Jennifer, too.
Twice in the past two days I’ve awakened with my hands on fire because I had been clenching them so tightly in my sleep. I don’t even remember what I was dreaming, but I had to practically pry my fingers out of their painful state. I know this isn’t right. I know the incessant lump in my throat isn’t supposed to be there. I know it will all go away as soon as I take just a few more…and the sadness will cease like it had never been there…and I will resent myself for the way I am when I’m not in my altered state. My Fruit asked me if I love myself the other day. If she’d asked me when we met, I might have said yes. Asking me this time, I was struggling to figure out just what that old adage means. How do you love yourself? My instinct was to shrug and say, “I like me ok.” Really, what are you gonna do? You can’t escape yourself. Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind being someone else for a while…maybe I should take up acting again. I guess I’ve just gotten used to myself. Is that bad? When do you love yourself too much? Are you supposed to love yourself but not be in love with yourself?
I ripped up my snaps today. I had been hoping to avoid it for the longest time, but, it finally laid into me yesterday. I can’t garden worth a crap. Before we had our house, I dreamed of making my fruit a beautiful garden with plants from her home. I spent countless hours, hundreds of work breaks looking up Ginger Thomas, Plumbago, Mango trees and soursops. Most wouldn’t grow here, so I found nurseries that had similar species…trumpet vines and the like. I bought lily bulbs to grow in the front yard…to surprise her with fragrant blooms out of nowhere. Now only one of those six bulbs made it to bloom…and that bloom hasn’t yet unfurled and has already lost petals…eated by bugs and trampled by dogs. Looking outside just makes me sad now…and I hope I won’t regret pulling my snaps. I bought some hardy, low maintenance perrenials at Lowe’s today to replace the waste of good intentions that was supposed to be a beautiful garden. I guess I just don’t have it in me. I can’t keep anything alive outside, and I don’t even know if I could inside because the goddamn cat eats everything I try to grow. I just don’t have it in me anymore…and maybe I was just fooling myself to think I ever did.

Despite being extremely exhausted last night, I couldn’t get myself to fall asleep. All the sounds of the night felt like they were suffocating me…the distant barking of dogs, wind blowing, cats running up stairs, Fruit snoring, the voices in my head, the rapid beating of my heart. After an hour of this, I went downstairs to take two trazadone…and the time it took for them to kick in felt like eternity. All I wanted was to sleep…to fast forward to the hope of a better day…and at 6:30, I think that hope has already diminished. I’m tired and raw.
The thoughts racing through my head before sleep mercifully came invoked a riot of memory dreams to torment me throughout the night. In the most dominant one, I was a teenager again…about seventeen or eighteen. I was emotionally calloused and withdrawn, standing just inside my room looking through my mother as she yelled at me. Her anger toward me was incessant, and she took any opportunity she could conjure to unleash her fury. The subject was always the same…as were the hightlights. I was an ungrateful little bitch…I didn’t care about anybody but myself…I put my friends on pedestals…I wore my gayness on my sleeve…I was stupid and would never amount to anything…and why, oh why couldn’t I be more like my brother? I was proud of myself for finally being able to escape my body at will. I had developed such intense apathy that I didn’t even cry anymore…a condition which took years of therapy to recover from…and when the tears finally came, I couldn’t quell them any longer. Fruit says that one can control their tears. I know for the most part that’s true…but, I think I’ve lost the ability. I am no longer apathetic…and my callouses have been worn down to raw flesh.
I awakened suddenly when Nut came up close to me and talked in that wookie way about her. I can still hear the wimper echoing in my head…and the look on her face, sock in mouth, when I opened my eyes. I’m still achey and so exhausted that I couldn’t fall back asleep. My girls are finally settling at my feet as I drink my second cup of coffee and ponder what I will do with my day. I guess anything to keep busy will be more than sufficient. If I fall asleep, the danger of being tormented by my latest bout of recurring dreams will threaten. Besides that, I have too much work to do anyway. I have a meeting tomorrow with a hospice out here…and piles of papers to sort through…coupons to clip…thoughts to suffocate out of my head.

I reluctantly went shopping this morning because there were good sales and I blew a belt on the vacuum yesterday. I obsessively vacuum three times a week and will be upset with myself if I lose momentum. I got what I could at Winco and realized around three that the belts I bought were too small. Luckily I’m only out a buck and a quarter, but it meant driving down to Walgreens, then Vons, then Albertsons and finally Stater Brothers. I was incredibly annoyed that each of the first three either didn’t have belts at all or had an abundance of the wrong ones. I now know who has the cheapest Y bags, but that didn’t help me on my mission. As I approached Stater Bros, just east of home, the black, ominous clouds in the distance were looming closer than I’d seen them all day. I had a hard time believing that we’d be in for another freak storm like yesterday, and figured I’d be home before anything could fall from the sky. Five minutes in the store and I came out to a frightening display of fury. The wind was blowing so hard that I had to hold my shirt down, and I could see field workers bracing the chicken wire fence across the parking lots with their bodies as we began getting pelted with hale. The temperature dropped fifteen degrees in the five minutes I was in the store, and I have to admit that I was relieved once in the hugeness of Fruit’s truck. The sudden change was frightening and became even more troublesome when I heard angry buzzing coming from the bag on the seat next to me. I didn’t know what it was, nor did I want to. I did know, however, that it was bigger than a fly and I did not want it to get loose in the truck. The frantic buzzing started to grate on my nerves, and I could imagine that I’d be furious as well if I had been blown into a plastic bag at forty miles an hour. I started talking to the insect, then yelling at it to shut up, that we’re almost home. When I realized how insane I was acting, I turned up the stereo and tried to pretend that I hadn’t spent the majority of the ride home reasoning with an unwelcome hitchhiker as I rode through the storm.
It’s still raining outside, and the random rumblings of thunder bellow from time to time…but I think the kids are used to it now…even if my nerves are a little shot from what should have been a quick ride to the store to pick up a goddamn vacuum belt. I have quite a bit of work to do in the house still. Most of my day has been shot from shopping…and for some reason, I’m exhausted today…and the last thing I want to do now is put on the vacuum belt and clean the downstairs.