I'm quoting my friend Karen here at work, because she heard the fight first hand:
"Zoe and Scarlett's fight was funny in that it sounded like 2 therapists having a tiff.
Zoe said, "I feel like you might be lying to me, you've lied to me before."
Scarlett shot back with a "Sometimes I lie for attention!"
Sadly my agruments at that age were: did too, did not."
I'm quoting my friend Karen here at work, because she heard the fight first hand:
While I do get premonitions when something bad is coming, it's almost never in regard to a certain person or situation. It's usually just a general feeling of unease that often builds in tension until the event. Sometimes there's a feeling of anticipation afterward that lets me know there's more to come. I can't do much with this feeling, except warn someone before I hand them the phone, if I hear a bad vibe from the person who's calling. I've done this more than once.
I've never had a feeling that anyone was going to die, either specified or unspecified. I can however, tell when the phone rings what the call is about, especially when it's death on the other end. This has been going on since the days of the rotary phone, so it's not caller i.d.-related.
I do have intuition regarding life expectancy for most the people in my immediate family. And most of them are going to die old. There was a time when I expected my stepbrother to kill my father, but they got past that, and it didn't happen. I still believe the intuition was fairly on target, and my brother just surpressed the urge until he got out of the house. I have no specific intuition regarding Scarlett's life expectancy but I do have an unreasonable amount of confidence regarding her general physical safety and well-being. I don't fret much over my child being hurt or seriously ill. I'd say it's just because I'm not a worrier, but that's not really true. I worry plenty, just not about that.
I do think that my own love for certain people seems to help them or shield them, or perhaps it just adds strength to their karma or something. I came to this realization just today - thus the post. Brent's so doom-n-gloom, and while I see his point about his genetic predisposition for poor health and even a heart attack or stroke at an early age, I also have the strong belief that these things will not happen to him. I acknowledge that I might be wrong, especially if he doesn't quit abusing himself. But it dawned on me today that it feels like my spirit watches over him somehow. He fights a lot of mental demons at night, and doesn't sleep well without liquor. But I feel him within my circle of protection all the same. It doesn't keep people from suffering, it just supports them.
Last night I had a nagging deep cough that kept jarring me awake as I'd drift off. I was up late and feeling wired, fretting that I'd never sleep. And suddenly the bottle filled my mind, backlit like Cybill Shepard when she was Moonlighting. I took a mouthful, and crawled back under the covers.
No more coughing.
When I awoke two hours later, I was overwhelmed at the wash of sweet pleasure I'd tried so hard to push out of my mind these last months. All was right in my world, my body was filled with peace, my thoughts were sweet and kind. As I laid back down after a restroom visit, I prayed "Lord please let me feel like this all the time" before I chastised myself for asking Jesus to give me drugs. I drifted back into oblivion, and although I was awakened perhaps twice more before morning, at each awakening I purred with contentment, wrapped in those warm narcotic arms.
The morning was good, and only in those last few minutes before I started the Grand Am did I grow impatient and growly with my daughter. After several second thoughts, I grabbed the bottle and brought it to work. Ostensibly for the cough, which hasn't materialized yet. It's strongest at night, when I'm exposed to the cats and when my sinuses are inclined to drain back instead of forward.
In truth, I'm configuring an excuse for another mouthful. I ache for that feeling that I can conquer the world - take yoga and walk a mile at lunch, eat a salad and quit drinking Diet Coke. I crave the relaxation of muscle and mind. I'm broken-hearted at my lack of joy now that the narcotic effect has waned.
If I can go months without it, how can I be an addict?
This is a bad week, money-wise. It's rent-due week, and my landlord hasn't yet called, so I'm toting around impossible amounts of cash in my wallet. I bet the landlord is on vaca for spring break. I'm SO glad I get paid again on Friday. I would not make it otherwise. I'm going to go home for lunch every day this week, I think. (That's a lie. I bet I go to McDonalds as soon as I finish this post.) EDIT: Oh yeah. Mom is looking in the paper for apartments for me. She found a trailer, but I'm afraid it might be too far in the wrong direction. Still, it's nice, since I'm not up to looking myself right now. I'm tellin' ya - first few days of surly, I think in pidgin English. Just. Can. Not. Process.
I have to try and tackle my house this week as well. A little at a time, every evening after work. I wish the need to straighten up would come to an end somehow. In my current state the idea of straightening up for the rest of ever makes me incredibly tired and sad. What a fucking drama queen.
I wish I had a heating pad. I must force myself to buy one next good payday, because very soon Scarlett will be needing one as well.
I'm wishing an awful lot. That's never good.
My therapist seems to think that my inability to trust any man with whom I am in a relationship is a problem. Frankly, I don't see it at such. Not at all. Why should I ever completely trust anyone with my heart? When have I ever not been disappointed? He wants to address it again at our next visit. It's not like I don't eventually trust, I merely go through a long period during which I check up on any activity I view as suspicious. My therapist is very good at veiling his opinions, but he has trouble hiding this one from me. There's a touch of incredulity in his voice and face when we talk about what it takes to convince me that a man is trustworthy. Okay, so I require years and a series of sound proofs before I begin to relax, before I stop double-checking every questionable phone call or absence. What woman over 40 doesn't have trust issues?
Our psychiatrist recommended a therapist for Scarlett. Her office called today to try and fit me into a cancellation, but I still have $220+ on my family deductible (surprise to me!) so I couldn't afford the visit. I'll see her next month, then Scarlett will see her the following week. I like that they want to see me first to get an idea what issues I feel need to be addressed. I think I'll like this therapist.
Okay, I just re-read that paragraph about my own therapist. I realized that I've been trying to get some sort of "read" on his opinions ever since I first met him. He is indeed VERY good at hiding them, and I'm glad, because that's crucial if a therapist hopes to be impartial and effective. And it amuses me to think that I've finally gotten some reaction from him, especially over something as simple as my trust issues. It also amuses me that I'm becoming more aware of my efforts to "read" people. I must have very strong shields, because I don't pick up emotion from people unless I make an effort. I don't know, maybe that means that I'm less empathic than I first thought. No, I don't think so. I've worked very hard to hide myself from people, and I've just done a good job, that's all. Brent laughed at me this weekend when I said something about being empathic. He's so fucking clueless sometimes. Tres' pathetique.
In final news, the head of the government department where I work had her baby this weekend. She named her Savannah Rene. I'm so fucking pissed. I was going to name my next child Savannah Rose. Yeah right, like I'm going to have a "next child". But if I do, dammit, I'm namin' her that anyway. I PICKED THAT NAME FIRST! grrr
I am sitting here wondering why, with an oral fixation like mine, I have never developed an affinity for suckers. (Lollipops, to those of you who are more refined. And also :-P) I have decided its because they are too small. I don't WANT a tiny stick that I can barely feel tucked in my mouth. The paper starts to peel long before I've finished the candy, because I worry that stick to death while I'm sucking on the sweet at the end. I will eat one, if I have a craving for the flavor, but I don't like them. I would much rather suck on the mouth of a Coke bottle, my knuckle, or my lip, anything with a bit of substance. How frustrating is that?
Without Depakote, I morph from kitten to wildcat to snarling mad unidentified creature and back again within a month. Its frightening, and exhilarating, because I know that this is the real me, the true personalities buried within my soul. Yet I hear echoes of concern inside me, worried that I'll scar my child or lose my job or worse. I can shake those off with amazing disdain, Scarlett O'Hara is alive and well inside me, and I won't think about that right now. I'll think about that tomorrow. Suddenly its tomorrow!, and its not been thought about, its almost-too-late, it's scramble to save it at the last minute and cover my ass hurryHurryHURRY!!!
I need to be grounded. I know what it takes to ground me, and if Todd doesn't get out in January then I'm going to have to find it somewhere else because I HAVE GOT TO HAVE IT! I will fly off the face of this earth if I don't get tethered soon.
There is a vicious NEED that overwhelms me at times, a need for full hot flesh beneath my palms. I have a craving to feel it in my mouth, the thought of the heat between my lips, the feel of a pulse against my tongue making my mouth water and my heart race. Suddenly I can't breathe right and I can't see properly, and my muscles are tensed, ready to pounce. If I find myself like this at work I can go to Steve's office and get a little relief. I should pay him for the privilege of massaging his shoulders, or just laying my forehead against my arm as it rests across the back of his chair. He leans his head back until its touching mine and just sits there patiently, letting me soak him in for a moment. This is quite effective when Brent has teased me intensely. Or when through no fault of his own I am overwhelmed with the urge to lock his office door and push his chair against his desk so he can't get away, hands on the arm rests, my face inches away from that delicious insouciant temptation, panting until the ache to kiss him becomes overwhelming and I take that step, cross that line from harmless verbal sparring to physical assault.
Nope. No picnic.