Does anyone really imagine angels spend their days sitting around on pinheads?

I had a breakdown.

Like a broken fucking record.

I'm tired of saying it, and those around me are tired of hearing it.

And I'm just plain fucking tired.Tired all the time.

Drained.  And Weary.  And Weak. 

And I don't think I can do it.

Aaron wants me to have faith.  Says its as easy as deciding.  I've never had faith.  He says its time to start.  I don't think I can do it.  He tells me I can.  I've never believed in myself.  He tells me its time.

All I know for certain is that I'm scared.  Everyday.  And Cornered.  All the time.  And there's no way out of this, short of a miracle or a mortal sin.

I bet I'll be the life of the party come parent-teacher conferences :)

Another Installment of Meritricious Poetry!

I am a potato.

Of the couch variety.

I am a bones.

Of the lazy sort.

An ass.

Of the lard classification.

Inert.

At Rest.

Unmotivated.

Scratch That--

Motivated by sloth. 

By ease.

And whim.

I'm taking the path of least resistance.

I'm bending to the compulsion for total hedonism.

And reveling in my inaction.

If you'll excuse me, there's a hot bath and a glass of red waiting for me. 

And an orgasm after that.




You become a public school teacher...
and try to tell me you wouldn't do the same.


Happy wednesday, working folks.  Almost halfway through.

Home sick

Not homesick

In my home, having a sick day.

;)

Poem

Another sunday night.

Another bleak sunday night

no end in sight.

Only grim frustration

and overwhelming pressure

and this writer's block that grips like icy iron and steel.

Firm and unshakable.

Crushing me.

Cornering me.

Killing me.

Cursing me.

I've got nothing.

And a very real deadline of live bodies looming.

I've

got

nothing
...

Masturbatory Excercises!

It is early for a saturday.  I'm up because I'm waiting for the Peapod delivery.  I'm pretty much doe with regular shopping, and think I'll only do it out of necessity or as a fun little whim.  Today I decided to have it delivered early so that Aaron could help bring the groceries in!  And since he has to work later...  yeah... you get me. 

Leave me aone, I'm not even awake yet.

Do you like getting fucked?  Like, Really hard?  I love it to pieces. 

Sorry. 

Just on my mind, cuz, well... you know. 

I just did a couple hours ago.

Like, I love to have all kinds of sex, I do, I love so many different ways and styles and moods.  But sometimes a girl just wants to get shoved down (or against a wall, or over a counter or whatever) and fucked like an animal.

Ok, I'm prolly gunna wrap this up, as there is no rhyme or reason to my ramblings right now.  Just writing to write.  My boss tells me that "Writing with no purpose is bad writing." 

Fuck that, lady.  I think that's like saying "Sex with no purpose is bad sex".  Listen, just cuz I'm not doing it to produce a final product, doesn't mean I'm not having some awesome sex, lady!  Practice makes perfect! lolz.

I'm having fun.  Ok, ok, ok, todays little entry might better be considered diddling myself.  Not even full-out masturbation; just sorta idly playing with your lady parts while daydreaming or watching tv or something. 

So, apologies for the display.  But I just woke up and am waiting for groceries.

Deal with it.  :)

Life looks better this side of wednesday...

GAH!  (sound of me coming up for air)

So I know I made the pledge to write each day, but jesus if my day wasn't a big ball of miserable yesterday. 

I was feeling down, and blue, and fragile, and all sorts of negative.  Which is probably the best time to do some creative writing, to let some of that pent-up creativity out.  But I honestly couldn't keep my mind on anything other than worry and stress long enough to form cogent thoughts.

Today I was feeling much more pleasant and even-keel.

And aaron is bringing home Indian for dinner!  Yay!

And I will see my bestie this weekend, YAY!

And I will breathe and get through yet another week!

And I will do alot of correcting and grading over the weekend, but I will do it in the comfort of my own home and I will do it blissfully nude!  Haha! 

Happy friday everyone.  We've just about made it another week!  Ha-chaaaaaa!

~Beth

Me & Arnie, like twins!

Is this supposed to get easier?

Because it isn't getting any easier.

I'm not trying to be negative.  In fact, I'm trying to be as positive as sanely possible. 

But this is exhausting, exhausting and draining on so many levels. 

I'm invested up to the roots of my hair, invested and dedicated and drowning in it. 

I'm taxed emotionally, I'm tapped intellectually, I'm stretched-thin creatively, and physically?  Forget it.

In the immortal words of former president Bush:  "It's hard work!"

I realize I'm not running a country, I'm not performing open heart surgery, I'm not reinventing the wheel or curing cancer.  I realize that this is a small little battle in the scope of things.  But jeez.  I'm so completely consumed with becoming a teacher that I don't know which end is up anymore.





A very special thanks to the ones who love me through it all; who keep trying to get together despite the litany of 'sorry, but I cants...' that I keep giving them.  Really, really and trully, Its not you, its me. For serious.


And a very very extra special thanks to my amazing god-like husband for the earth-shattering he gives me on a regular basis.  For the transcendence, the bliss, the ticket to paradise he delivers with panache and aplomb on the regular.

I am a lucky, lucky, lucky young woman.

Oh, and thanks to him for all the emotional support and continued patience and enduring understanding.  That's nice too. lol.

Meanwhiles, this is me:
  YUP

Ridonk

So I got paid an unreasonable sum of dollah bills to play theatre games with grown ups today.  What kind of life is this?  Also, I am getting paid cash monies to babysit a yardsale tomorrow. 

Amen to all the income, as I was pretty broke.

Siriusly.  Paid to play theatre games.  Wild.

Also, I won a mullet in the faculty lottery on friday!  Woohoo!  Like, a full-on mullet wig.  It is pretty special.  I intend to wear it at school from time to time.  Go Eagles!

Aaron performed some very funny improv with it on today.  Funny-slash-terrifying because he was so good at the white trash impersonation.  He finally had to take it off, as he felt that it might have an adverse effect on him, like the symbiote suit from spiderman!  He then proceeded to do some fancy ballet moves to counteract the over-macho meat-head character personae.

I love him.

Fall is upon us and I adore the Autumn, but I feel like I am way, way too busy to enjoy it!!  I'm still trying to keep my head above water here with the teaching, and very worried about surviving the year.  I have so much to do and never enough time to do it all! 

Gunna chill with the hubs.  Have some zucchini pizza, watch some mysterysciencetheatre3000, and keep the rest of the worry at bay for a few hours more!

Love!

Keep Talkin' Happy Talk...

After much deliberation (ok, I freaked-the-fuck-out), I have made the decision to scale back the medications that I am taking, to include only the ones that would not deform potential fetuses.  That seemed like the holistic, organic, naturalistic approach.  "Oh, this deforms babies?  No thanks you, then.  I'll pass."

I spoke to my therapist and to the RN who is in charge of prescribing, and they were very supportive, which i honestly wasn't expecting.  I was all geared up for a battle!  I was ready to defend my rights, make my case, and it kinda took the wind outta my sails when they were like:  Yeah, if I were you i would make the same decision.

So I'm going back to basics.  Back to just the thyroid medicine, and we're gunna see how that goes.  But I'm also going to look into the age-old treatment for mood disorder:  Diet & Excersize!  What a concept! lol.  But now instead of looking at it as "I should..."  I will have to look at it as "I HAVE to..."

Of course last night I had a bowl of stuffing for dinner.  Not a stellar choice.  But a very, very, very delicious and comforting one!

Work is getting more challenging every day.  And I didn't think that was possible.  I'm there now, as I type this, and I'm wishing I were curled up in bed with a tea and a good book.

Instead I've gotta shlepp downstairs to wait my turn at the copy machine.  Eck. 

And I have a super-dee-duper busy weekend ahead of me!  I am doing two seminars at a conference about teaching drama!  Imagine that?1  Me, teaching other teachers.  Yikes. 

And on Sunday there's this big town wide yard sale that Aaron's running, so that's where I'll be.  Meanwhile I'm drowning under piles of papers that need to be corrected, grading that needs to get done, and lesson plans yet unplanned!

All this while going OFF the drugs.  Wish me luck folks.  At this point happy thoughts are about as likely to work as vitamins and st. john's wort!

So i'm 28!

I feel good.

I am crazy busy. 

I overslept this morning.  Like for real.  It was wild.  We woke up at 7:30 and it was pandemonium when we realized how late it was!  Aaron goes:  "Is it daylight savings?!?!?"  Lol.  nope.  We're just assholes.

But I'm another year older. 

See you soon!

The Amazing Spider-Baby

Ok,

So I'm on this regimen of pills that I swear, you'd look at and think I was on chemo or an HIV cycle, fro chrissakes.  I mean, something SERIOUS.  I'm just a little blue now and then and I've got fucking 5 or six different prescriptions and all the various rules and regulations that go along with that many goddam pills.
This pill has to be taken in the AM before breakfast.
This pill needs to be taken in the AM with breakfast.
Take ONE of these pills in the AM with breakfast, and the other one and a half before bed.
Take this pill with food, but not breakfast.
Take this pill and that pill at night.  And the latter nonly id you feel like you might have trouble sleeping.

Jesus H, right?

And if you don't know, I was on kind of an all-natural kick before this all went down.  I wanted chemicals as far away from my body as possible.  I was a burt's bees consumer, a free-range egg buyer, an organic milk drinker.  I'd be that asshole in the supermarket checking the back of any and all products to make sure I wasn't buying partially-hydrogenated crap and high-fructose corn syrup.  Seriously.  Geave up meat largely because of the insane chemicals, bought unbleached flour, buy as natural as possible as allowed by the fucking fda.

And her I am dependent on a slew of chemical concoctions to make me balanced and well and less-than-suicidal.

Well.

At first I told myself: Suck it up.  Mental illness is a real illness.  You take your thyroid pill and don't blink, because the medical doctor told you you need it.  So take these pills the therapists are telling you you need.

However.

The other day, sitting in the Nurse's office at my Therapy place (the nurse is the one who prescribes the drugs), I decide to get all 'educated consumer' on her, and say:

"This isn't an immediate concern, I simply want to be informed;  Out of curiosity, what would happen with taking all these pills should I get pregnant?  Again, it isn't an immediate concern, but in the next few--"

"If you're thinking about getting pregnant you have to stop taking these pills immediately." she says, her face grim.

"Oh... really?"  I ask, trying to look perfectly blase about it.  Trying to look only mildly curious.

"Yes."  She replies firmly.  "Mood stabilizers are not safe for fetuses."  She tells me.  and further elaborates:  "In fact, if you were to get pregnant while on these pills you would have to get an abortion."

Ho.Ly.Fuck.

"Holy God."  I say, before I can act cool.

"Yes."  She agress.  "It's incredibly important that oyu not get pregnant while on these drugs."  She thinks for a moment.  "What we recommend is that whatever birthcontrol you use now, that you double up.  So if you're on the pill, you should also use condoms..."

Eeek.  So if we practice the pull-out method?

I follow up with some practical questions about coming off the medication in anticipation of trying to conceive, with questions about how people are medicated while pregnant if mood stabilizers are off the table, and then I take the prescription for more thalidamide, thank her, and depart cool as a cucumber.

But all the way home all I can imagine (of course, have we met?) are worst-case scenarios. 

I am not pro-life, politically, but I am awfully romantic, and the thought of aborting a child concieved with the man I love makes me sick, guilty, and miserable.  I've wanted a child (chilren) with him for more than a decade, and it is touch-and-go already with whether we will even be able to have any (i mean, nearly 15 years of the pull out method and nary a pregnancy? ummmm...).  So to think that I might conceive and then have to abort because of some mood stabilizers that would turn my fetus into a monster? 

Yeah.  that visit did a number on me. 

So aaron comes home to find me on the couch, all numb and comatose-like, and asks what's going on.

I tell him.

He isn't as perturbed.

Which, of course, vexes me.

"Look,"  He says, "You're getting all worked up about a hypothetical situation that is incredibly unlikely to happen."  He reminds me that we've never concieved, so why do I all of a sudden think that we will now?

"Because that's how life works!" I tell him, doom-and-gloom.

"No."  He tell me.  "That's the way people who don't understand odds THINK that life works."

He is certain in his law of averages, and I am certain in my superstition.

I know, I KNOW, it would kill me to have to get an abortion at this point in my life. 

An then, oh god forbid, what if something should go wrong and we can't ever have children and that was my one chance????  (yeah, this is how my brain works.  I'm my very own soap opera plot line)  How could I live with myself?

I couldn't.

So now I'm thinking very seriously about going in to my appointment this week and letting them know that I'm not comfortable with this approach to my treatment.  That I'm interested in trying a less toxic approach to leveling me out.  Maybe just therapy with the thyroid pills and see what happens.

But I can't help wondering if my irish catholic is rearing it's irrational, stubborn head.  Immune to therapy and all that.  I mean, if this was, say, an issue with my kidneys, would I be balking at taking medicine?  Is this really about thalidomide babies, or is it because I haven't really convinced myself that mental illness is really a medical issue and not self-indulgent bullshit?

And will my ADD medicine mutate my babies too?  Sigh.

The only bright spot about this was this discourse:

"What, so you think somehow magically we're going to have sex tonight and get pregnant??"

"No, I'm concerned that we already are!"

"We never have before!"

"Yeah, but there was cum everywhere last night!"

"There's always cum everywhere..."

"What if a sperm crawled up my leg and swam up to my egg?!?!"

"Listen, if a sperm did that, then he is super sperm, and he can withstand the toxic chemicals.  He'll be all set."

"And maybe even shoot web?!?!?"

"Yeah.  We'll have a superhero baby."

"Yeah!! . . . . . . . . . .But not if we abort him!"

"Jesus...." *Aggravated sigh**

Broke, Broke

Yeah.  How'd that happen?  I've got about $10.00 in the bank.  And that's after overdrafting and transferring money from my savings to cover the red.  It just isn't fun to get the ole "I'm sorry, it says you've been declined" speech at dunkin-fuckin-donuts at 6am.

Thank christ I had taken out cash, and was able to cover my morning caffeine fix, and didn't have to drive away in abject shame. 

But yeah.  Broke. 

It was a confluence of things; lotta automatic bill payments combined with my spending spree at the market bucket, combined with my binge spending at panera, combined with the online clearance event at Lane Bryant, combined with spending at least a hundred on gas for to and fro connecticut and holyoke to look at dinosaur footprints (yes, I'm being dead serious here), combined with this and that and the other.  In short, I wasn't careful, and now I'm broke for another week, until my next paycheck.  boy oh boy, how long a week can look when one is tired and hungry and po as shit.

In other news, lol, this is my birthday weekend.  Maybe someone who loves me will take me out to eat somewhere awesomesauce. 

And I look really good in this new shirt I got from the lanebryant clearance sale!

But the bummer is that I was sooooo looking forward to the savers columbus day sale!!  Now no 50% off sale for me :(  frowny face emoticon.

28.  incidentally.  is how old I will be.

stay tuned, folks, because my next entry will be about how any babies I conceive will be thalidomide monsters! 

Did I mention I have ADD? True Story...

My Therapist describes suicide as homicide turned inward.

This tickled me.

Because usually when I'm feeling like killing myself I'm not in an angry place, but rather a hopeless one.  But she says there's anger there.  Crime of passion.

I couldn't help the smile that stole accross my face.  Then, naturally, realizing that such behavior was grossly inappropriate, I felt compelled to explain my mirth.

"There's an old movie, from the sixties--" I say, feeling very much as though I'm a snarky character in an Aaron Sorkin show.  "--its a spoof on detective, on mystery books, Neil Simon, its a great little piece--"  I say, wondering if I've been watching too much West Wing, and wishing Mr. Sorkin would please write again after the abysmal led balloon of Studio 60.  "Anyway, there's this great line;  They go:  "This is the room where Mrs. Twain murdered herself, all those years ago..."  My therapist looks bemused, but, being a well trained and exceptionally good therapist, holds her tongue and lets me ride this thought train to the station.  "So the other guy goes:  'Don't you mean suicide?'"  I chuckle, remembering the next line:  "And he replies: 'Oh, no; it was murder alright.  Mrs. Twain hated herself very much."

To the woman's credit she took it in good humor and even continued on unruffled, as if I hadn't just poked fun at a thing she makes her living curing.  

And maybe, just maybe the next time I feel like offing myself I'll think of Neil Simon's droll tongue-in-cheek wit and Obiwan Kenobi as the blind butler from one of my childhood favorites Murder by Death.

Yeah...I was a weird kid...

And then, as Julie Fucking Andrews once sang: "Then I won't feeeeeeeeeeeeeel soooo baaaaaaaad!!!!"

Ms. Reardon Learns A Lesson in Brevity

Aaron hates Ernest Hemingway, and is fond of retelling the anecdote about Old Man and the Sea;  He asserts that Old Man and the Sea would be perfect--IF-- and its a big 'if', IF it had been a short story.  See, as Aaron tells it, Hemingway had a great short story on his hands in this man-vs-fish/man-vs-himself allegory.  But the deal is this:  Hemingway got paid by the word.  So apparently he stretched what should have been a 30 to 35 page story into one triple that length.

Interestingly, though, Hemingway actually has a reputation in literature (other than being a fall-down drunk) for his economy of words.  He examplifies the very American, very masculine, very closed-mouthed modern writing aesthetic.  He isn't flowery, he isn't (generally) long winded.  He says what he needs to say, rather bluntly, and doesn't tend to elaborate past endurance (hem-hem, Mr. Tolkein...), or fluff it up like a big name hollywood star with a tiny dick and a nude scene coming up (hem-hem, Mr. Bacon...).

I tend to be the long-winded type.  Maybe you've noticed?  I use ten words where five would've done fine.  I go off on tangents and focus on minutia and keep writing when I should just press that punctuation key...

And Aaron, the Hemingway hater, shared a really interesting little anecdote with me the other night over margaritas and bean dip (how appropriate to the man's legacy...).  It's worth mentioning that I've been with Aaron for more than half my life at this point, so I've become well aquainted with many, if not most, of his factoids, trivia, and anecdotes.  When he began this one, about Hemingway, I sorta had to resist rolling my eyes.  But it turned a corner I really didn't see coming, and made a real impact on me.

It goes like this:  Hemingway, known for his economy of language--almost to the point of farce--was challenged by a literary critic to write an entire story in no more than ten words.

Hemingway responds, with likely swagger, that he could do better; he didn't need more than six.  And here's the story, which contains in its nearly zen-like simplicity, a full story arc;, a solid beginning, middle, and end; It tell an entire story.  And a good one, at that.  It has intrigue, depth, and impact.  I'd like to share it with you, and leave it at that.

Here's what Hemingway wrote:

For Sale:

Baby Shoes.

Never worn.

Ms. Reardon takes a sick day...

Yeah.  You'd think a four day weekend would be long enough to get my shit in order.  Turns out it isn't.  So I stayed up quite literally all night sunday, trying desperately to get everything done, and at 5 AM finally decided that not only had I failed to accomplish all that I needed to accomplish, but also that I was so fucking tires that I was dizzy, nauseated, shaking, and pretty fucking bananas.  Hell of a way to start a schoolday, right?  So I took my first ever professional teacher sick day. 

I slept from about 7:30 ish (when Aaron left for work) until 11:30ish, then got right up and back to work.  I popped some excedrine, had several coffees, got myself all jittery and full of vim and completed several more tasks on the ole to-do list. 
And even took the time to make "meat"ball subs for din-din.

Did I think seriously about quitting my job?  You bet.

Do I regret taking a sick day?  Nope.

I went to school today feeling better rested, better prepared, and better equipped to handle my job.  I was even in better spirits than usual.

A co-worker asked after my health and confessed that she'd hoped I was out because of suffering MORNING SICKNESS!  Then departed the teacher's room saying "You're BLUSHING, Ms. Reardon!!"

Nay, friends, no babe on the way, no bun in the proverbial oven.  Good lord, could you imagine me trying to deal with THAT kind of bombshell in my first year of teaching?  Heavens to betsy.

Anyway, as I've stated before--I don't think I'll ever get ahead.  Right now I'm fighting the good fight to just MANAGE all the paperwork and the lesson planning and yadda yadda, just trying to make sure I don't fall too too far behind.

I only get so many sick days a term. 

Gotta make em last... I mean, what if I actually get sick?!  And I mean more than the mental/emotional sick I'm dealing with.

Speaking of, my therapist wants me to take an ADD test.  Good golly.

Alright.  I really do NOT have time for blogging, or anything pleasureable (well... I fucking MAKE time for a few certain pleasurable things.  If I didn't I'd surely go postal...).  But I don't want to stop writing!  So I'm going to try to make a comitment to some kind of writing EVERY DAY.  And I mean more than the stupid little notes I write to my students, or the 'context clue sentences' for their daily vocabulary and shit. 

A creative paragraph a day.  Does that sound fair?  I ask my students to do the same for their journals.  So, please look forward to the Ms. Reardon daily journal experiment.  Maybe I'll even respond to the prompts I give my students!

Ok, I gotta run.  This is borrowed time.

~Ms. reardon

Oh, and if anyone asks?  I had a stomach bug...