apparently the bad luck can last longer

Our car (that we're still making payments on), needs a new compressor to the tune of $1100 (a third of the value of the car that we are still making payments on). This car was a blessing when we bought it, but I'm over it. Completely.

It's become obvious to me that it's time to make a sacrifice to the car gods above to break the Dawson/Bonner car curse that we've got going on. Until then, I'll just wrack my brain for some kind of solution to get us out of this situation (as we also need to replace our back-up car after Chris' most recent accident).

It's like I was telling my mom this afternoon, when the only hope you have is winning the lottery, you are in pretty bad shape. But whatever. We've been here before and made it through, and as my mom has told me since the ripe age of 5, this too shall build my character. Which means I'm going to have hella character by the time my life comes to an end...

peeing on a stick for the LAST time

I woke up this morning convinced I was pregnant.  At some point upon awakening, I realized I was 5 days late.  And absolutely terrified.  During the recent trip to Baytown I had decided definitively that I did not want another child.   Chris had been pretty resolute on the subject, but I was still on the fence.  I kept feeling like we should have another child “just in case”.  Just in case something happened to Izzy, we needed an extra kidney, she became a crackhead, Republican or left home at 18 to become an actress in L.A.  Chris did not feel like this was reasonable cause to bring another human into this world, and after a week spent with 4 children, I came to agree with him.  So when I awoke with the knowledge that I was absolutely pregnant, I became a mess.

Suddenly all signs pointed to pregnancy (any woman who’s experienced this fear knows exactly where I’m coming from).  My overeating.  My crankiness.  The horrible luck we’ve had since June 1^st.  Of course I was pregnant.  Of fricken course.  I started thinking of my options.  As my mother has told me since the ripe age of 13, I had 3 options.  1.) Give birth and love that “bundle of joy”, while watching your dreams become even harder to attain; 2.)  Give that “bundle of joy” up for adoption and always wonder what happened; or 3.)  Kill that “bundle of joy” (those were never my mom’s exact words, she’s pro-choice afterall, but option 3 always resulted in a far longer explanation than I’m willing to go into at this time.) 

The first option was the most acceptable, of course, but also the most terrifying (especially since I realized if we couldn’t afford a pregnancy test, we probably couldn’t afford a pregnancy).  I immediately decided that I couldn’t give my child up.  After 9 months of dealing with it, you do become somewhat attached.  That left abortion.  I’m a supporter and all, but I’m also a 33 year-old married woman, not doing that bad in life.  It seemed a bit irresponsible.  I mean, it’s not like I have any life goals I’m trying to achieve that a child would keep me from.  Besides Europe.  And of course, that’s the first thing I thought when I realized I was pregnant.  “There goes my damn trip to Europe.  Again.  Mother fucker…”

So I worried and I stressed all day.  I’d go back and forth thinking, “no way I can have this child, I need to get to Europe before the Earth is destroyed in 2012.”  And then Izzy would be all cute and kissy and I’d think, “how in the world could I NOT bring another beautiful, genius child into the world.  We have great genes, obviously.”  I was on this ledge when Chris got home from work.

Now here was my original plan:  Father’s Day is on Sunday.  We’re broke and I thought this pregnancy scare would totally solve the gift problem.  I’d take a pregnancy test, and no matter what the outcome, I’d gift it to Chris.  “Surprise!!” Either way, right?  But we are too close and that always ruins surprises between us.  He was home for a total of 5 minutes before I blurted out, “I’m 5 days late.”  And within 7 minutes he was out the door on the way to Walgreens.  He was home 10 minutes later with a pregnancy test (I have an extra if anyone should need one…) 

While peeing on a stick I made several deals with God.  1.) If I’m not pregnant, I’ll become a better mother.  I’ll try harder.  I’ll control my frustrations better.  2.) If I’m not pregnant, I will immediately make an appointment for Chris to take care of this problem, once and for all.  (He’s a good guy like that.);  and 3.)  If I’m not pregnant, I will go to Europe next year come hell or high water.  I realized my deal with God was rather selfish, and I didn’t really offer Her much out of the deal, but I’m past the point of trying to pull things over on Her.

I immediately saw that the test was going to go in my favor (it rarely takes the full 2 minutes).  But because I’m not the nicest person in the world, I decided to let Chris sit on it for a little longer.  It was probably 8 or 9 minutes before I let him in on it.  I thought during that time we might have some serious talk on “what if’s”, but he seemed pretty unphased by the whole thing, so I let it go.  When met with the news of the test, I believe his words were “okay.”  (As if we didn’t already know he’s a man of few words.)

As it turns out, I’m not pregnant and I will be calling a doctor for Chris tomorrow (today as most read this).  I am relieved in a way that only a woman truly knows.  Europe is still on the books for next year and Izzy has the opportunity to grow up as a spoiled only child.  Life is good, hopefully our luck has turned and there’s going to be one less Dawson in the world (for which I’m sure many will be grateful.)  And seriously, if anyone needs a pregnancy test, tell them to call me.  Because I guarantee I will not be peeing on a stick again.

30DoW - off topic completely

I don't know what made me think I'd be able to write everyday.  Actually, I do.  I thought I'd be bored when I came to Baytown.  Oh how wrong I was.  I do plan on going back and writing on a few of the topics, as I'd really like to visit them and see what I can come up with.  But it's just not going to be happening this week.

Instead, I need to vent.  

I hate Baytown.  I hate every single fucking thing about this god-awful place in America.  I hate the environment (refineries, smokestacks and pollution galore), I hate the music they listen to (Nickelback and Guns 'N Roses on constant repeat at the swimming pool), I hate the people who live here (Neiman shopping bleach blond chicks with their blond-tipped buff boyfriends littering the pool with their beer cans and cigarette butts) and I hate the mentality (every small thing said creates a testosterone-driven fight).  I hate that this place makes me hate.

It's been no better behind closed doors.  It's an exact replica of what it was like when I lived here.  A passive-aggressive, bullying boyfriend.  A mom who makes excuses.  And children who are beat down by the pattern.  I did well the first few days.  I remained quiet, reminding myself that this wasn't my life or my problems.  I called Chris and my friends for support who walked me through what I should or shouldn't be saying.  But too much time spent in Baytown reverts me back to the Baytownian I once was.  And last night I reverted hardcore.  I begged, I pleaded, I screamed, I cried.  I lost.

I believe I've said it before but it bears repeating again.  I know what it feels like to be the offspring of an addict.  Addiction to dysfunction is just as real as an addiction to drugs or alcohol.  Except there isn't a 12-step available.  The manipulation, the excuses, the highs and the lows.  The feeling that maybe this time will be different so you allow yourself to get caught in the loop again.  And be disappointed again.  It's painful.  It's even more painful not to repeat the process in your own life because it takes so much work.  And the resentment.  Tons and tons of it on all sides.

My mother looked me square in the eye last night and said "I'm sorry I don't have things figured out like you do.  I'm sorry my life isn't perfect like yours.  I can't wait to see how well Izzy has adjusted to her oh-so-perfect life in 15 years.  How nice it must be to be you with all the answers."  Ouch.  Again with me and my perfect life.  Again with the guilt over my "high standards".  Again with the disdain over my inability to tolerate anger and dysfunction.  Again and again and again. 

Our parent's generation was coined the "Me Generation".  How right that description was.  

30DoW - Putting today in a bottle

My energy has been sapped lately, so instead of staying on topic I was going to write about Izzy's time capsule that we've been working on and have every intention of burying sometime this year on our ranch in East Texas.  But I just read Chris' blog and I am actually speechless on the matter. There is nothing I could say that could come even close to what he wrote.  So I will just stand behind that entry and leave it at that.

Instead, I'd like to relay my very eventful day.  Let this be a snapshot that goes into the time capsule, as it were.  For those who haven’t been following along, Izzy and I are staying with my Mom in Baytown, a town east of Houston where I grew up.  My mom and her boyfriend/ex-husband recently moved into an apartment together (much to my chagrin).  She just had what was supposed to be the last of 5 surgeries in a year (she found out yesterday she needed “just one more”), so Izzy and I came down to visit, along with my Aunt and 12-year-old cousin from Mississppi.  This, in addition to my mom’s boyfriend/ex-husband’s 2 grandkids, ages 9 and 13.  Oh, and two small yappy-ass dogs.  It’s an apartment-full to say the very least.

Now let me stop for a second and explain my usual day in Austin.  It always starts early, Izzy makes sure of that.  But if I’m honest, the day doesn’t actually start until around 10am.  That’s when we get out and about to do our activities (library, park, shopping, whatever).  We both eat lunch around noon, take a nap from 2-4:30, dinner at 6:30 and in bed by 8pm.  It’s routine, it’s structured, it’s quiet and more times than not, I’m in control.

Baytown, it should be mentioned, is the exact opposite of Austin.  It’s dirty, there are no trees, everyone is driving leased trucks or SUV’s, people think recycling involves tires only, in fact, the only thing green in this town are the stoplights.   And as it turns out, my visit here is becoming the mirror image of our lives in Austin.

I wake up at 7am to a 69-degree apartment.  There are people everywhere.  Floors, couches, and blowup mattresses.  This morning we went out to the pool for the first time by 10am.  Guns N’ Roses “Appetite for Destruction” was playing (on repeat) for at least 2 hours before we headed back in for lunch.  Making lunch was like an Excedrin commercial.  I was tripping over dogs and kids in the kitchen, the boyfriend/ex-husband was angry that I wasn’t paying enough attention to him, the TV is blaring Paula Dean, we eat and then back out to the pool.  Kids fighting, screaming, running, falling, coughing.  Dinner, rinse, repeat.  We come in for the last time around 9pm.  It’s an assembly line by now.  Pile the swim toys by the door (comprising of 3 large innertubes, 1 small swim ring, 1 pair of floaties, 3 boogie boards and 1 wagon carrying 3 pairs of goggles, 2 snorkels, 2 balls and a Backyardigan figurine), throw the towels and bathing suits over the banister on the patio (at which point my Mom always makes a comment about how the neighbors will judge) and stand in the shower assembly line.  By 10:30 everyone is showered and wanting “snacks”.  Which means more dogs and kids in the kitchen arguing about what everyone else is eating.  Then we watch a movie that everyone talks through until the toddler is curled up in a corner sucking her thumb actually begging for “nite-nite” (the 2 previous attempts do not work due to “snack” sugar highs).  By 2am the apartment finally hears silence.  By now, I have realized that silence is an actual sound.  In fact, after 3 days of the same routine chaos (with 2 more to go), it is the most beautiful sound in the world.

I realized at around 5pm today that I had become delirious.  A trip to the store needed to happen and I was the only one up for the job.  The two older kids wanted to come so we loaded up and went for it.  At one point they started fighting in the store and I lost my temper and yelled like a crazy lady.  I turned and saw myself in the pharmacy mirror and realized I had no makeup on, my clothes were a mess and I was standing in the grocery store at 5pm on a Friday in my hometown.  And I did not give a shit.  It was a major turning point for me.

It’s all been so truly insane, I had to get it all down here.  On the upside, we’ve spent so much time in the pool Izzy has learned to swim in 2 days time (with floaties, of course).  She was timid in the water on Wednesday, but by yesterday evening she figured out that she had better get in the game or she was going to have one lame ass time.  Now she gets “in the loop” of going in on one side of the pool, leisurely swimming through the chaos of kids to the other side, only to do it all again, and again and again (for hours in fact.)  I’ve enjoyed the time spent with my mom and aunt and the kids have been fabulous when they aren’t all arguing about the most mundane bullshit.  I am however now thanking God that I was an only child and have decided to share that gift with Izzy (seriously, I treasure silence far too much to have another child.  I think the decision has finally been made once and for all.)

And once I get back to the calm, green, quiet of Austin I am going to try to never complain again.  I know it’s a stretch, but I’ve never appreciated my life “before” as much as I do now.  I know there’s a lesson in here… I just hope to hell I don’t forget it.

again with the anxiety

I've been experiencing anxiety again these last few months.  Nothing so severe as when we were living in Baytown, but it's returned nonetheless.  I first noticed it after I had Izzy a couple of years ago.  But I was such a mess with postpartum, I couldn't tell up from down or black from white.  Eventually I stabilized, but a low level anxiety stayed with me.  Honestly, I noticed it more when I was high.  Sucks, seeing as how being high is supposed to relieve anxiety.  And for so long I really enjoyed getting high.  But eventually I got to the point where I couldn't even smoke without really freaking out.  So, I stopped smoking.

The anxiety abated, but again, only for a short while.  It came back full-force during a trip to East Texas.  Perhaps it was all the weird conversations.  Perhaps it was being away from Izzy. Perhaps it was the stone-cold silence upon going to bed.  Either way, it returned and has made itself a part of my regular routine.  So much so, I finally decided to seek medical help (that story to come).

Anxiety is defined as "a psychological and physiological state characterized by cognitive, somatic, emotional and behavioral components.  The components combine to create an unpleasant feeling that is typically associated with uneasiness, fear or worry."  And in my case, disturbing thoughts and images that get stuck in some crazy-ass loop and refuse to go away without some hardcore meditation and rhythmic breathing.  It always signals it's arrival by making me feel as if I'm going up on a fast elevator.  And then come the loops...

So I went to see a doctor.  I waited for an hour before being shown to my small room.  I waited for another hour before I started to experience said anxiety.  Small rooms for long periods of time can do that to an anxious person.  So the doc. finally comes in and I'm explaining my symptoms while giving a very detailed medical history (essential to her notebook computer she was constantly writing in).  I explain that I'm not a pill-popper.  I'm not a druggie.  I can deal with the anxiety, but it's just become so much work that I'd rather have a shortcut.  She suggests several alternative therapies (tapping on certain pressure points being one of them) as well as a 12-step program.  "Thanks," I say, "but I'm really short on time here.  I'm leaving town, will be in a high anxiety situation and really need some help.  I'll try all of that when I return" (knowing damn well that I won't be enrolling in any 12-step any time soon).  After refusing anti-depressants and turning down some "experimental medications", she finally gives me a prescription for Xanax.  Only 12 pills of the lowest dosage.  And a demand to return in 30 days.  Which of course, gave me anxiety.  (Only 12 pills?  Do I look like an addict?  What if it doesn't work?  What if it gets worse while I'm out of town?)  As Chris mentioned, I could have done it in less time and for far cheaper in certain areas of town.

I can imagine the pills will be gone by the end of my 2 week trip to Baytown.  A small apartment with 1 recovering mother, 1 passive-aggressive boyfriend, a small toddler, an outspoken aunt and 2 rambunctious kids is nothing if not anxiety soup.  Add to that a family reunion where I haven't seen anyone in 9 years.  Hello elevator ride.

In more encouraging news, I feel like I've finally sorted out what's causing the anxiety.  Like my last years in Baytown, I am somewhere I do not necessarily want to be.  I am handling situations I don't want to be handling.  I'm spending a lot of time committing myself to others.  My cup is running low, and has been for quite some time.  Starting in July, I'll be working to mend that.  But that is the surest relation to my anxiety now and my anxiety of 7 years ago.  And really, it makes perfect sense.  Our bodies have weird ways of managing stress and apparently mine is tired of managing it.  My mind is rebelling.  And it's time to put myself a priority.  Orrrr, I can push it until I finally get own intervention and 28 days of rehab (oh the joy!)