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Jeanne Dark |
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9:38 a.m. - 2009-05-08 Shush, you! I cannot imagine how farm wives and Catholics and deluded, fanatical Quiver-moms can do it. Raise a gang of kids. I mean the sleep issue is killing me. You think it will get better after a certain age, once they're weaned, out of diapers, in preschool...but no, the night waking continues. There's so much happening these days. All good. Just want a vacation. Think about what a boon it would be to have a hotel just for tired moms. Soundproof rooms, each customizable to your personal sleeping preference. Open windows? Check? Total darkness? Check. No phone, no weird appliances clicking on and off. a staffed desk to field your calls from home with strict instructions to wake you only in the event of an emergency (blood, loss of consciousness etc). Perfectly plumped pillows. 9:08 p.m. - 2009-04-30 I'd make oatmeal cookies but we have no raising, dried cranberries, coconut or walnuts, the things I usually add. I received two copies of my book today. Not sure how I feel yet, sort of anticlimatically stunned, dismissive, vaguely nauseous, mildly elated. No strong emotions. It will probably be more exciting to see one in the stores. Maybe I'm just in shock. I'm terrified that I will find an error, a gross typo, an omission. Really should work, but isn't it better for me to get a good night's rest now so as to better concentrate tomorrow?
2:46 p.m. - 2009-04-15 Refrigerator repairman, taxes, proof of residency at daughter's school dinner downtown with visiting relative at a chi-chi seafood place on the water which means I'll just share soup with LB and watch them eat. New puppy arriving on Saturday which means we have to clean and puppy-proof the whole house. Laundry needs doing, clothes need washing, and the book is like a sledgehammer pounding my head into my neck. Stayed up way too late too many nights and now I just want to sleep, sleep. Want to beg off dinner, esp. since I think cousin's wife is only seeing me at the behest of my cousin. And, worst of all, Ross has some Harajuku Lovers handbags on sale for $30 ($30!!!) and I have no money. Well, I have 80 meanly hoarded dollars to cover gas, groceries, extras, dog food and all other expenses until I get paid again in 10 days. Crap. Plus I have what feels like a hundred creative obligations and people wanting to partner with me for various projects. That's great actually, and I'll be able to start working on them when my stuff is done and out of my hands. In the meantime, a vacation would do very nicely, thank you. 8:40 a.m. - 2009-04-07
3:42 p.m. - 2009-03-26 Last night I had a sudden realization that I miss sleeping naked. I suppose if you don't do it every night, then it's startling when you do. Long ago I learned that nightgown/naked sleeping = an invitation to my bed partner. So now I wear flannel pjs because dammit I'm tired at the end of the day. And I get impatient, thinking "Bah, I've done that a thousand times. Must work now. Prefer to think." I return to fantasy-ville, some distant day when I can come home and have a drink and sack out on the couch like a 60 year old bachelor. sleep naked. eat my scrambled eggs in bed and all the other really silly things I don't do any more. Living in close proximity to other people also forces you to deal with all sorts of minor annoyances and to evaluate exactly just what sort of person you are. Nothing of note to say, life is fine and semi-splendid in its usual small ways. I have become so numb to the Chinese Water Torture experience of my finances, I no longer feel the squeeze of my ever-tightening belt. I have been thinking about taking my journaling offline because there are better and deeper things to say. I would love to be humourous and glib here, but I save it all up for other sources. Time is moving slowly today and I'm starving. We have no groceries at home. We are supposed to go to church on Easter but I don't want to go. Certainly my father thinks he's scoring some karmic points with Jesus for getting our heathen butts in the pews. I want a shirt to wear that day that says "It's not working." 11:18 a.m. - 2009-03-02 10:26 a.m. - 2009-02-19 Very slowly getting better, I've had crazy celebrity-studded dreams the past couple days, but I'm still tired and the inside of my head smells unpleasantly of cod liver oil. Luckily, work is not difficult so I can sit here in a trance for a bit, while waffling over my daily tasks. When I'm writing, I always feel that I'm digging myself deeper and deeper into some dark hole. At some point, I realize I haven't seen the sun for a while, and that it's time to turn around and come up for air. So I look forward to handing this project over and taking a break, feeling a new lightness in my brain, which grows heavier and heavier, like a waterlogged sponge pushed past capacity. I haven't had any fun in a really long time. Fun things happen, mind you. Been spending lots of time with family and had a lot of laughs recently but no good adventures. Maybe the shine dulls on life after a while because you've seen everything a hundred times. Watched a Rick Steves episode about Iran and now I'd really like to go. It looks beautiful, everyone seems very friendly and there are gorgeous mosques, palaces and parks to admire. Plus they have ice cream with saffron, rosewater and pistachios which is probably very ordinary to them but sounds exquisitely decadent and exotic to me. 9:07 a.m. - 2009-02-17 Have to fly to New Orleans next weekend for a conference and I'm not really looking forward to it. At least I got my own room, rather than having to share with my boss and her daughter. Eek. Boundaries! There is not enough time for sleeping or having a lie-in anymore. How I miss spending the whole weekend in bed, like some posh, aged socialite with a box of chocs, satin pillows and a bitty dog. 8:12 a.m. - 2009-02-01 That's one thing you don't realize when you choose your partner. That you'll have to incorporate someone else's strange habits into your life. I've been reading a lot about sibling relationships and birth order lately, and how we are shaped by our position in the family. I'm really annoyed to learn that so much of what I thought was uniquely me is really a product of my being the middle child. Middle child: black sheep, rebel, clown, the funny one, independent, detached, mediator etc. etc. I'm trying to work out a way to better deal with my sister with whom I've had this see-saw relationship since we were kids. She's the only person in my whole life who has stirred me into a fury, a blind rage, maybe 3-4 times. I've never been so angry at anyone else, ever. In fact, I'm so low-key, it seems like something that happened to someone else, not me. Anyway, I've been feeling a bit drained by our interactions and trying to figure out what to do to make things better because as it is, I've just been out of contact with her. Working on taking meaningful criticism about my writing has been something that I'm working on, obviously, but whenever I get comments back from my writer's group, I am annoyed. Yes, 'flipping' is correct when it's used as an expletive in place of 'fucking.' And people can click their tongues! And when someone who is brutish and speaks in slang and curse words is referred to as eloquent, it's sarcastic. So I vent a bit and get irate then go back and retool. I am becoming a little disenchanted with my writer's group and want to quit but I feel guilty for doing so because then you have three newbies out there on their own and it is the group that I created with my friend but she's moved away now and I'm ready to bail, too. Today is Pooperbowl Sunday, blah. I plan to clean the whole house, take the kids to the beach, make a dent in the 25,000 words that I have to write to finish my book. Good luck with that, right? Cranky because I just want to sit and work but there is too much else to do. I feel trapped in the house. I learned on Friday that the other people in my office who worked with me to put out our supplemental publication all received extra pay or paid vacation time, I got nothing. So I have to be well-armed when I go into my review next month and ask for a raise, and compensation for the additional publication, not in my original job description. It's that old curse again, when you are capable, people just give you more to do because they know you'll take care of it, no incentives necessary. A coworker came into my office (people are always coming into my office just to chat which I enjoy to degrees depending on who it is) and asked me some questions about the book. When I said that my long term goal was to be successful and make money, he gave me a hard time. "What's wrong with being middle class?" I was basically like, "fuck the middle class! I've been middle-class, I've been working-class and now I want to be wealthy." Obviously I realize that I may not get wealthy writing fiction, however, a sustained career, where I am consistently producing new material will certainly serve me better than anything else I'm currently doing. For my whole life I played this game about how it's not nice to talk about, crave or have an interest in money. Money is dirty. But I've also been borderline poor my whole adult life, and have no savings or security simply because I never earned enough and was not supposed to express an interest in managing what little I had. Obviously, this no longer works for me. It's some weird belief that I was raised with, probably some odd aspect of poverty and charity imposed by the church. So now I am going to be balls out about it. I'm nearly 40 years old and I want to have some damn fun. So there. 12:11 p.m. - 2009-01-26 LB was slightly more intrigued, but clearly not feeling the idea of having to possibly share a room, or lose his spot as the baby of the family. We can't afford another kid now, but I think that if we could, I would be ready to do it. Strange upheavals with the administration of my book, the publishing world, like so many other industries, is in chaos. But the second one proceeds, and how much easier it is now that I've been to boot camp and figured out how to pare down. I think I may even end up liking the second one better. LB and I weeded and trimmed bushes this weekend, He was so proud of himself for helping. He also peeled two apples for our pie. I finally figured out how to make a good pie crust and we ate the whole pie in less than 24 hours. Saturday, I made biscuits and turkey a la king with Thanksgiving leftovers, and pie. Everyone was hungry and it was something we hardly ever have and they actually thanked me for cooking. That was quite nice. I am a bit fascinated at the number of recipes in my head. This onefor example, I've only made twice before, maybe? How did I remember to make a roux and white gravy? Still having lots of dreams, I'm in 'dream phase' again. Series of lengthy dreams with repeated motifs. In one, I ate everything blueberry. Dreamed about being back at the theater with the dancing girls, in another, I was going to marry a woman. She was very ardent and held my hand, I kept thinking about how I was going to break it to DH. 10:46 a.m. - 2009-01-20 My boss wants to send me on a biz trip to attend a conference. I'm guessing this means she is happy with me since the previous person in my position had to pay her own way to attend these conferences. I have a review coming up next month. Last year's review was less a measure of my performance than an evaluation of which group activities I enjoyed most. Headachey because the kids have colds yet again. But still, this is a glorious day and I can't wait to go home tonight to watch complete inauguration coverage and savor every moment.
9:23 p.m. - 2009-01-13 Tonight I said something offhanded about when LB is old, and then the subject turned around to my death, human mortality and such. LB was suddenly overcome with emotion. His face crumpled, tears filled his eyes and he lay his head on my shoulder, saying "I don't want you to die." So we talked about what death means, how the spirit, the unique piece of each of us that is full of love, carries on to heaven and rejoins lost relatives. How spirits communicate, how I will find him after I die and how I will always be close to him and how he can feel me in his heart. Then I said of course I wouldn't until he was an old man (and how I pray that it's true). Suddenly I saw, again, how we need this comfort, because it is bleak and soul-crushing to say, there's nothing else. It's over, bud. We talked about different ideas, life after death, reincarnation and how nobody really knows. Do spirits have hands, he asked. Can they talk? And more questions, at which point I referred him to my father, because granddaddy works in a church and he knows more about these things than me because he is older and wiser. Existential crisis averted! 9:28 a.m. - 2009-01-09 I explained to my son that cooking is science. We mix and mingle, mash and muddle, we transform. We perform magic and sleights of hand with common ingredients. There are forces at work there too. The way the yeast raises the dough. The way the elements of heat and water transform cold dough into warm, delicious bread. We put it into our bodies and again, its transformed. Again and again. So I see storytelling as transformation, quilting. Life is an endless series of magic tricks, assembling, disassembling. This constant energy of motion and change. Relying on this theory, I'm cut adrift, somewhat. I sense the world's urging: "Stay where you are, we've got it all sorted out." Maybe its the Prozac talking, or that in the absence of my stupid high-strung panic, I can fly again. Anyway, I'm looking for work and finding nothing. Maybe the jobs don't want me to find them. Maybe I need to trust that all my visionary soldiers are marching along, intent on their mission. Confident, capable, in charge. Or maybe sleeplessness, again. I swear to god, when I get rich I'm going to tunnel under our house and build a soundproof underground bunker, accessible only by means of Mission Impossible locks and traps. Really, it is murder to be woken up so often. I'm getting back into the writing rhythm, have finished two troublesome chapters and actually shifted my page count past 322, where it's been for the past six months. I should start promoting myself and building an online presence etc. which I think I should do by blogging, but I can't think of anything to say. Do people really care about my writing habits? Do they want to read a list of my favorite words or know what I eat for breakfast? Am I to talk of the whole thing only in glowing terms? It's weird, trying to figure out this public persona to present to the world. Realized the other day that this will be my last year in the 30s. Next year, I turn 40. I can hardly believe it. Aside from a few gray hairs and a general slackening of muscle tone, I'm still pretty much the same as I was 20 years ago. OK, there's a bit more bodily wear and tear than I'd like to admit to but still...shouldn't someone who is nearly 40 feel 40? Feel like a sophisticated adult? Also realized that if I ever wanted to have another child, this is my last shot. Not that I want to be pregnant at 39 or 40, and have my oldest and youngest 15 years apart, but it is sobering to think about. No more people of my blood, no more people who are that unique mix of DH and me, our beautiful squidgy babies. I wouldn't mind having another baby if I didn't have to carry it but I'm also glad to be done with small children. That said, I have to cut back on smooching on LB. He is so cute and cuddly but he's getting too big for his mother to be slobbering all over him all the time. It's just that I know my time is limited, that one day he'll be a big man and I won't be able to bite his big toes or rock him on my lap, so I'm just stocking up for the long winter of his adulthood. 3:25 p.m. - 2009-01-04 its stir-crazy making, some 11 days at home with the same people, the repetitive duties of cooking and cleaning and fixing things or feelings or bodies. i try to work but the enormity of this convoluted book, with its snarl of plots and villains working at cross-purposes flummoxes me. i've been so absent from the story that its hard to find my way back, like hacking through an overgrown jungle. will i do well? the typical and classic writer's fears assail me. the pressure, the sophomore project, the 'curse' of the second project/book/album. there are a million distractions and annoyances, when one has to sit in the living room to write while the football game blares on the tv some 8 feet away and bodies large and small careen through my space. there was a lot of good fun had over the break but tomorrow we return to routine and vacation ends. I have to find a new job now. have to get back to it now, and stop fretting around. i have a new laptop, so i have no more excuses. the timer ticks down. I am partially paralyzed at the thought of the book coming out, a public stoning, or being pelted with spoiled fruits. it's silly, i know. and all the other writers have the same fears, the same experience, so there's really no reason to delay/avoid now. 3:25 p.m. - 2009-01-04 its stir-crazy making, some 11 days at home with the same people, the repetitive duties of cooking and cleaning and fixing things or feelings or bodies. i try to work but the enormity of this convoluted book, with its snarl of plots and villains working at cross-purposes flummoxes me. i've been so absent from the story that its hard to find my way back, like hacking through an overgrown jungle. will i do well? the typical and classic writer's fears assail me. the pressure, the sophomore project, the 'curse' of the second project/book/album. there are a million distractions and annoyances, when one has to sit in the living room to write while the football game blares on the tv some 8 feet away and bodies large and small careen through my space. there was a lot of good fun had over the break but tomorrow we return to routine and vacation ends. I have to find a new job now. have to get back to it now, and stop fretting around. i have a new laptop, so i have no more excuses. the timer ticks down. I am partially paralyzed at the thought of the book coming out, a public stoning, or being pelted with spoiled fruits. it's silly, i know. and all the other writers have the same fears, the same experience, so there's really no reason to delay/avoid now. 3:35 p.m. - 2008-12-23 I have quite an expansive view from my office window, and can watch these enormous clouds sail slowly across the sky. A layer of low gray clouds that move like ruminants ambling across a plain, above them a layer of thin, stretched out white clouds that look like fake Halloween spiderwebs and far above those, a pale blue sky. I am craving a cheeseburger like mad and making do with a banana which is a poor compromise, I can assure you. There so much going through my head and yet these are thoughts that seem like obligatory musings that are just revisiting me according to schedule. I'm obsessed lately with this idea of making my life bigger. But how? How do I broadcast myself, cast a wider net and catch some splendidness? I know how, it just seems like a lot of work. Have to get over my suburban apathy. Trying to muster enthusiasm for family visits, when I am still getting over the last one. Thinking about starting a new project next year. I have a first look clause in my publishing contract, and I'm not sure whether to write the third and final book in my series or to work on my quasi-memoir. Depends who starts talking to me first. Tonight I'm going fry up a mess of catfish and fall asleep in front of the TV after the kids are in bed. I have an urge to drink, but with all the medication shenanigans and colds it's probably not the best idea. I'd also like to wish myself into an alter universe where I could spend the evening having slow, exhausting, drawn out and depraved sex with someone who is just a little disturbed, with a precarious mental-emotional balance. The kind that leaves you feeling wrung out and vaguely ashamed the next morning. I'll probably bake cookies instead. 9:46 a.m. - 2008-12-19 I concur. Still, I can't help but think that amazing things are going to start happening soon. I've been proofing my galleys and one night I stayed up too late working, thinking, ok, just one more chapter! That must be a good sign, eh? Getting into the "one more" game with a book that I wrote and have read 50 times. I can still see the flaws but get pulled into it so I guess that either bodes well for my story-telling abilities or I am crazy in love with myself. It's sunny and cold today. I was excited to be able to see my breath this morning. Cannot wait for the weekend. The break. The new meds seem to be working, at last. My insane nervousness, like being trapped in a stalled car with the accelerator pressed to the floor, is abating. I'm not taking water pills though and so my face is minutely puffy. You can't tell by looking but on the inside I feel like Renee Zellweger. Actually got a few hours of sleep last night, bliss. Christmas shopping this weekend, groan. Finally put up our fake tree and decided to attempt homemade cinnamon rolls on Xmas morning. Each year I waffle a bit about Xmas. We aren't churchgoers, but this year I feel myself longing for a midnight mass, bell carolers, sweet, amber-communion wine. Bodies packed into a stuffy church, sleepy children nodding off against shoulders and on laps. But there won't be a crispy walk over starchy snow afterward, in cold so intense that it freezes the insides of your nostrils. I wanted to move to LA but more and more I feel compelled to go back home. Xmas is also a weird time because my mother died, Christ, I can't even remember anymore. it's been 19 years. Was it Dec. 19th? Today? Yesterday? Tomorrow? And because she confessed to having been molested under a Christmas tree and said she always hated Christmas and only celebrated for us kids. What torture! How awful to think of her year after year, hiding her feelings, suffering quietly, pretending. And that always worms its way into my head at some point. Anyway, that's all over now. 11:55 a.m. - 2008-12-16 We had a big weekend, holiday party and night out in a hotel that was a comp from work. It was ok, but not crazy fun. I got about 3 hours sleep. Had comp tix to see the Nutcracker and they left 2 tix for me instead of 4. The box office was in disarray and the manager gave me a very dirty look and thrust tickets at me. Everyone was hostile. I spent the first half of the play thinking of snappy comebacks that would have leveled that snooty woman. Came home and retreated to bed, leaving DH in charge. He came through with Chinese takeout. LB came down with a bug and spent all Sunday night puking. You know the drill, moms. Puke, change clothes, sheets, clean up, back to bed. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. No sleep. Staggered to work for a couple hours and came home to find my book galleys. Now that I expect the Fed Ex man it's not nearly as exciting anymore. I have a big bad headache now and am home with LB, who is not eating but no longer puking, thank goodness. But being home has the added benefit of missing the office Xmas party and gift exchange, an event I've been dreading. It's not the fun drinks variety, but the enforced gaiety and games and posing for endless photos. We need money. I can't seem to muster the energy to concentrate on more freelancing or job searching. It's just the books and the constant suppression of thinking about them. I know that next year will probably proceed much as this one has, but of course, a part of me thinks that I will wake up on the day the book is released and the sky will be a different color. Some literary ambassador will appear on my doorstep with a bouquet, the phone will ring, sycophants will gush. Cash will mysteriously multiply, rabbit-like, in my pockets and bank account. And the tantalizing carrot of that vision prevents me from really focusing on some other career. I just finished reading Sting's bio, "Broken Music." He writes that he has been propelled by some enduring desire and belief in himself, to keep pushing forward. That he wanted his words, his songs and music out there in the world. If I substituted "stories" for music, they would be my sentiments too. Is wanting something badly, to the exclusion of everything else, enough? Can wanting and will overpower objections and obstacles?
3:20 p.m. - 2008-12-12 Our room is small, almost claustrophobic sometimes. I used to love nestling into small spaces, now I feel as though I can't breathe unless the wind is rushing against my face. It's the end of the year, the hibernation season. I want to hunker down in my tatty old sweater, indulge in a bit of writerly nuttiness, spike my tea with whiskey and mutter to myself. I don't have time to do real art projects, I'm not sure why I never have any time, since the days do get filled up, clearly there is much time to be had. So instead, I do them in my head. Lately, I am collecting pine cones, little seedy and leafy things to make mobiles from these thin, cut branches we have. I attach a shiny red ribbon to the cones with hot glue, then tie the ribbon to the branch with a nice bow. Maybe there are soft bells too. In my head, they are hanging from our porch eaves and very attractive to the birds. I imagine that I take much pleasure in looking out at them.
I have restaurant regret. Today was a perfect example. Ordered all the wrong things, spent too much and suffered a crisis of consumer confidence after. Why buy soup and sandwich separately? Why not the combo? And why smoked turkey and clam chowder, which I can have any old time, instead of the tortilla soup with avocado, a side of fruit and the intriguing ginger bagel? Why, god, why? Ooh! I did get my cover art for the book and it's lovely. Lots of compliments on it. I had imagined something very dark and gory but this really suits so I'm pleased. I love this time of year, the way the sunlight strikes at slanted angles and colors everything with deeper tones of gray, blue and gold. I dreamt of snow last night too, going into the mountains and finding pools and patches of snow, a hollow lined with tinkling blue icicles. People were playing there and I backtracked, noting street names as I left so I could find my way back.
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