In fifth grade, one of the books on our required reading list was The Hobbit. Most of my classmates grumbled and complained at it’s length, it’s use of “big” words, it’s somewhat complex back story. I couldn’t get enough of Tolkien’s writing. Everyone else skimmed the descriptive passages, I read them intensely, imagining each detail in my head. So when I was done with The Hobbit, I scoured our tiny school library for more Tolkien. Lo and behold, I found The Lord of the Rings.

I trotted up to the checkout desk laden with my treasure, placed it on the counter, and grinned like a monkey. Our school librarian looked at me over the top of her little glasses and smiled condescendingly.

“I think these are a bit above your age level, dear. Why don’t you try some C.S. Lewis?”

Not one to be turned away so easily, I made some smart ass comment. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know it shocked her, because I can remember her face looking like someone had smacked her. She shook her head, and slammed the books around a little, but I had won the battle, and I lugged the books home with me that day.

I didn’t sleep for the next three nights, and I really didn’t care. This was it, what I had been looking for in all those insipid short stories in our Literature books and that irritating Babysitters Club tripe. I didn’t want paragraphs of descriptions of horrid school dances, I wanted a tale of honor and glory and love and war. (Especially the war. I really liked that.) And so began my love affair with LOTR. For the next 3 years I had one or more of the books in my possession at all times, until in the fall of 8th grade, my librarian pointed out that someone else may want to read them, occasionally. So I begged and pleaded with my parents (who were utterly confused–what 13 year old girl wants books instead of clothes for Christmas?) and I hoped and hoped until on Christmas morning, I saw the package. It was rectangular and heavy, and I did a little dance because I knew what it was.

I still have those books, and I still read them. They are extremely well-loved, spines worn and separating and pages dog eared. Like the Velveteen Rabbit–if you love them enough, they become Real.

The mind is a dangerous place, my mind especially. Neurons form associative pathways based on past experiences, and it is extremely difficult to reprogram them. Add to the mix…well, we’ll call it background noise, and some days I feel like the top of my head is about to explode outwards in a shower of gore and fire. I am a person who takes medication to keep things manageable, and I make no apologies for this. There is a marked difference in my mood and tolerance for everyday stumbling blocks when I do not, so I have chosen to keep taking meds. Even still, I find myself ruminating on past life experiences more lately, and I think maybe it is time that I purge.

I know part of it has to do with the weather. It’s spring, and warm with a cool breeze, the kind of day I used to hope for when I was running in Baltimore. That way, you see, it’s not too hot or cold in the abandominium hideoouts where I and the other junkies liked to sit and hoard our meager scores. I miss sitting on scavenged milk crates, avoiding foul-smelling piles in the corners, and talking big with random people. I know it’s somehow disturbing that I miss the griminess, the feeling of being bad, the rush of my heart when a cop drove by (”Will he stop? Does he see me?”), and I want to leave it behind. It seems to dog me, waking and asleep. It would be so easy to slip back to that life of running and hiding and dealing with nothing.

So I guess I keep putting one foot in front of the other, having little community meetings in my head, and trying to concentrate on the good in my life now. Some days it’s just really fucking hard.

So I have been applying to everything and anything from Temporary Bathroom Sweeper to CIO and it is not fun. My work history for the past few years is spotty at best, and that -never- looks good on a resume. The problem is I just mostly have to hope they either don’t bring it up, or are satisfied with some kind of unspecified “medical reasons, but it’s all under control now, thanks!” sort of excuse. The whole addiction thing is something that gets a fat black line drawn through your name after a first interview. And frankly, it really isn’t anyone’s business.

At any rate, I have an interview tomorrow. It is at the same place where Badr works, so the commute would be fantastic. It’s not necessarily my dream job, and it is entry level, but I’ll take what I can get. Plus it seems to be a really nice place to work and they tend to promote from within.

So wish me luck, all 2 of you. :)

I was thinking about this a lot today because I had been having some symptoms of pregnancy, and while the pee-stick told me I was not, it brought up some stuff. I love kids. I love my own kid. I want more kids. But Badr and I are not at a point, financially, where having kids makes any kind of sense. I was still so sad when I got the – instead of the +.

I used to pride myself on being a good mother. It was one of the few things in my life, I would say to myself, that I had done right. Now that illusion is quite shattered, and while I really was a good mother for the first few years of Bear’s life, I certainly let him down in the end. I couldn’t even pull myself together enough to get to his 6th birthday party. I think that will haunt me forever, along with all the innumerable other missed school pick-ups, weekend get-togethers, etc. Not to mention I had my head stuck so far up my own ass I wasn’t even there emotionally.

It’s hard, sometimes, to come to grips with that. I abandoned my own child for my own selfish reasons, and while his father certainly picked up all the slack admirably, it left behind a huge scar, on my heart and his. I had THE TALK with him, explaining what had happened, and where I was for all those nights and months and years, and he handled it really well. I’m not sure how much of it really sank in, though, and I know it is a talk I will repeat probably more than once in the future.

It’s just… how do you make up for that?

And the answer is, of course, you can’t. And that’s hard for me to accept sometimes. I want to feel that if I am good, and do the right thing, and “act right”, somehow it will all disappear. But I know it won’t, and that makes me very, very sad.

Hell, that makes as much sense as the real reason, which is that I missed one day, and then I got all guilty-like, and avoided even looking at the computer for the next day, and then I felt even more guilty, and then I developed some variety of teen-age-esque defiant attitude about how if I didn’t want to write in my damn blog, I damn well didn’t have to. And then I felt guilty some more. And then I kind of forgot, cause I started playing the Sims 3 again, and GuildWars.

But guess what? I have something to actually write about now, so here I am. Bear came to stay with Badr and I for 2 weeks!! *dance* And it was awesome. We went to Quakecon, which was pretty sweet, and Bear basically melded with the Wolfenstein demo and there were free tshirts and general geekery all around. And we spent lots of time in the pool (that kid has an imagination on him, boy-howdy) and playing video games, and even managed a quick DnD session and a rodeo. It was wonderful, and I remembered why I had been doing all the stuff I have been doing over the past months.

Unfortunately, it had to end, mostly because he’s going into 6th grade on Monday. Middle school. I remember middle school. I definitely count as old now. :)

And then one day in 8th grade, the 3 nerdiest girls in the grade almost got suspended.

See, we were all a bit obsessed with Anne of Green Gables. Beautiful Prince Edward Island, being a smart girl who got teased, Anne’s wonderful friendship with Diana, and then… Gilbert Blythe. We all kinda fell for his attitude. At any rate, we would bring the books to school and read them aloud to each other (I told you!).

One day we were wandering around the school property (8th graders were allowed to walk anywhere on the school ground, cause we were that grown up) and we saw this stand of trees across a field about a half-mile wide. For some reason, we decided that it would be fine to head on over. So we trekked across the field, reassuring each other that there was no way we would be caught and we would definitely be back on time.

I’m still glad I went. Inside the stand of trees, which formed an almost perfect circle, was a little clearing. The ground was carpeted in violets. It was one of those places you think only exists in a book. As I went into the center, I saw something white, and upon closer inspection, realized that it was a bleached fox skull. No other bones, just the skull, like someone had placed it there just for us. We sat under a tree and got lost in our books. Some time later, someone looked up and noticed that the sun was no longer directly overhead, as it should have been at lunch time. Unfortunately, we did not go to a large school. We graduated in a class of 32. It wouldn’t be hard to notice that 3 of us were missing.

Let the panic begin!!

We went tear-assing out of there, running across the field. At the edge of the field stood the Vice Principal. Eeek. I seriously thought we were going to be thrown out. I am proud to report that I was the only one who did not cry like a little baby (no, really, I was a tough bitch even then…ahahahaha). We were marched into the Principal’s office and asked to explain ourselves. So, because other people were too busy sobbing, I explained. And I could tell from the look on the Principal’s face when I was done (I left nothing out, I even gushed about the fox skull) that we were in no trouble at all. I’m pretty certain she was trying not to laugh. After all that, she didn’t even call our parents.

We returned to class, and were treated like minor celebrities for the remainder of the afternoon.

Monty Python.

Now I will watch any sort of Britcom. Are You Being Served?, Fawlty Towers, AbFab, Mr. Bean, even Keeping Up Appearances. I love the slapstick elements, and I even mostly get the references and topical jokes. And if I don’t, rest assured I will figure them out by the next time the same show makes the exact same joke. And I will watch said show (or skit, as the case may be) over and over and over again. In a row. I will cackle like a hyena and poke the person sitting next to me to let them know when to laugh (because most people are half-asleep or surreptitiously checking email because they do not possess the refined palate that I do).

Except if it’s Monty Python. Cause then all bets are off. God help the person I con into watching MP with me. Not only do I say the lines along with the teevee, I have been known to “act” things out. Like doing Silly Walks all over the house while fighting to stay upright because I am laughing that hard. And not just the Parrot sketch or the Holy Grail. I know nearly everything they have done, including stuff that was just on the radio. And my obsession started early. Picture this, if you will…

It is a fine spring evening in Ellicott City, Maryland. People have come from near and far to be here, to witness what is to come. There is a sizzle of excitement in the air, an expectant chattering fills the dark hall. This, my friends, is the 7th and 8th Grade Talent Show. There is singing, and dancing, and even some magic graces the stage. But no one knew what treat lay in store, what glorious display they would be privileged to witness. Oh, they would talk for years to come!

Suddenly, the curtain goes up. Two 7th grade girls are standing on the stage, dressed in what looks like their fathers’ old clothes. Are they hobos? Is this some strange interpretive dance number? Oh! They begin speaking! In a bad British accent. About books. Wait, what the f is going on here? Are they trying not to laugh? What is funny? Oh, they are…angry at each other? Now they are just standing there. Oh, thank god, I think it’s over.

*crickets chirping*

Finally, mercifully, someone began to clap.

Hey, we thought everyone liked obscure Monty Python. To this day, I can still remember being on that stage trying to a) talk like a man, b) talk with a British accent, and c) not laugh my ass off. Glorious.

I’m not the type to sit around all day stuffing donuts and bon-bons into my piehole, either. I eat a normal amount: coffee and possibly some cereal or toast for breakfast, soup or a sandwich for lunch, and a dinner that’s heavy on the veggies, with some meat and either brown rice or pasta. I very rarely snack, and when I do it’s more likely to be cherry tomatoes dipped in ranch dressing than a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. I mean, to be sure, I’m pretty sedentary, but that’s not a huge change from the norm or anything.

So what gives? At first, I was convinced it was due to the pretty potent psych meds I was on. Most of them, unfortunately, have the side effect of weight gain, and I was on high doses of 2 of them. But I’ve been off the meds for 5 months now (another issue–no insurance means the meds would cost ~$600 out of pocket–who has that kind of money?) and there’s no change. I mean, I have stopped gaining, but after a 60lb gain in 6 months, you think I would slide down the charts a little. At this point I’m more than a little worried that there’s something larger going on, because I have also been having some trouble with my lady bits. Again, no specialist until insurance. What a f-ed up health system we have.

At any rate, I have begun (well, restarted, I was on a roll for about 3 weeks til I saw something shiny and wandered off) going to the gym for ~1hr a day. Nothing fancy, just 30 mins on the elliptical and 30 mins on the treadmill. I know, some of you are probably laughing right now (”She calls that a workout? HA!”), but as I keep telling myself, it’s better than nothing.

Right??

I have realized lately, however, that my knowledge of all things technical stopped evolving somewhere around 2004. I mean, I can take care of my own machine, do basic maintenance, I know how to download and install *ahem* somewhat illicit software, and I play lots of video games. But when it comes to doing something like editing a .php file, or fixing a damn WP stylesheet? Can’t do it without scouring teh internets.

The really sad part is that this used to motivate me to disappear and devour every iota of information I could find regarding a topic. Now I’m more likely to ask someone else to do it. I mean, I give the obligatory show-me-what-you-did-so-I-can-do-it-myself-next-time speech, but really? I don’t care much. What is happening to me? Is it that I’m getting old? Lazy? Becoming a Luddite?

/whimper

I love Baltimore. It’s diverse, sometimes bizarre, often dirty or dilapidated, and it’s damn interesting. I love the people on the sidewalk at 3:45 am on a Tuesday. I love the grimy panhandlers accosting me at every streetlight–hell, I used to know some of them pretty well. I love the way you can feel the life throbbing through the streets. I love the neighborhood grocery stores and corner bars that have no problem with you paying for a half-pint of rotgut vodka and a pack of generic smokes with dimes, nickels, and/or pennies. I love the smell of the Harbor, an olfactory punch in the gut. I love how you can go from ghetto to tourist area to working poor in a few blocks.

There’s nothing pretentious about Baltimore. It doesn’t (despite attempts from the City Council) pretend to be something it’s not. It’s real. And I miss it.