February 3rd, 2004


You Wish You Were This Overwhelmed... Not!

Dancing the Tango is a good way to illustrate how I feel about my life right now.

I didn't sleep all night, I stayed up organizing my gift card collection and only managed to get one and a half drawers done. This little project is taking so long to accomplish. I've been buying greeting cards and postcards for forever and I have this perfect piece of furniture to put them in. Sometimes I worry that it might have been made in some sad slave laborish way because it came from Cost Plus and was so cheap. It has lots and lots of drawers that are the perfect size for cards. So I stuffed it with them and they're all so jumbled up that when a holiday or a birthday comes around I wind up having to buy more cards because I don't ever have the time to mess with digging around in the drawers. I am in early Spring-Cleaning-Get-My-Damned-Life-Together-Mode and of course it doesn't help that my beloved Irma is going to uproot all of her four children and move to Boston at the end of the month. To say that I am panicking over the idea of having to try to find another person who will be as responsible, good, kind, and wonderful as Irma has been -- someone who will be able to take care of us and who will also love animals, including rats -- would be a serious understatement. I am not just panicking, I am freaking out.

I just have so much to deal with. So much that I neglected when I was wallowing around in my broken hearted overweight misery -- trapped in a heavy body that just wouldn't allow me to get up and get things done anymore. I don't mean to put myself or any other large-sized, lush, or zaftig person down, (I love big people, I really, really do, they're more sensitive and loving, deeper and more feelingful, well, at least that's my unfair and biased assessment of the situation based on a whole hell of a lot of personal experience, we'll just leave the angry fat person stereotype aside for the time being, I'm still working through that one), I'm grateful I had a coping mechanism or I don't know if I could have survived all of the loss and upheaval of the last several years, the serious change when I am so afraid of change.

I think that basically I'm a Punxsutawney Phil the frightened by his own shadow groundhog or a big baby bear who wants to be in permanent hibernation mode when it comes to pain and fear. But now that I am free of some of my physical chainage I see how much has been left undone and there is only me here to get it all done. I had Irma and sometimes I have Esther, I have a half Beau and Scott in his rare free time but mostly I feel like I'm all alone. Not that I have a right to feel sorry for myself here, I made these choices but I'm definitely afraid. Oh man I just got it, my super delayed New Year's Resolution. Last year's was all about change, this year will be about defeating fear and moving through it. Right on Miss Jacqui. Took you a while.

I have a whopping twenty thousand dollars worth of dentistry to deal with, well, if you listen to Dr. Famous Dentist to the Stars and the King of Extreme Makeovers Dorfman, but I've decided not to listen when he charges three times what everyone else does ($2,000.00 for a crown and $450.00 for a filling), and I'm going back to Dr. I Don't Use Silver Mercury and I'm a Little Bit Too New Agey For Jacqui But My Price Is Right Even Though My Teeth Aren't As Pretty or As Hollywood Silkman. Besides he's Persian and I'm nuts about anything or anyone Persian. Rock on
Shohreh Aghdashloo.

Anyway last night I stayed up working on cleaning out this piece of furniture. It's in my little walk in closet and I'm turning that into a dressing room. This was supposed to be my husband's closet before he ran off with the stripper and I think I never got it together and made it my own because I am deeply loyal in my own strange way and was so attached to him that it's taken me five years to begin to claim this closet as my own. Weird.

I let the cats pee in there and made a huge mess of it. I refused to put a door on it or really complete building it. It became this metaphor for my being stuckness, unable to let go of the past and unable to move forward. Anyway this piece of furniture is in there and I think it will be better served for jewelry and girly things, maybe, so I'm clearing out the cards. It blows me away how much crap a person, or I can accumulate, wow. So I stayed up most of the night watching TV and sorting cards. It was kind of fun but I'm paying for it now. I tried to go to sleep a couple of times but our new kitty kept playing with my fingers and mewing. Then I finally gave up and got up and played on line for a while and then went back to bed at eight-thirty this morning.

Now I have to go get my little monkey and take him to fix his cell phone (so he'll answer the damned thing when we call, twice last week he had me thinking he'd been kidnapped or had run off with the runaway kids in Santa Monica, something, anything that would terrify an overly dependent mother, when he wasn't where he was supposed to be when Irma went to pick him up after school), and his electric guitar, the black one with the skulls on it. How did I go from being the mother of this perfect little baby boy with the blonde hair and blue eyes who wore the cutest little baby outfits to this wild surly slumping boy with dyed black hair and a garage band? Oh I know, I raised him. I'm unconventional. I'm surly and wild. I go around naked all the time. I took him to Burning Man. I swear a lot. I'm lazy and slumping and I dye my hair wild colors, sometimes. Duh.

Anyway I have to get going I have boxes of things to open that I couldn't afford to buy from HSN and I've got to pick up the monkey.

Look all I really care about is that I'm a good Mother to my dear son, a good wifeling/girlfriend to my lover and partner Scott, a good daughter to my Mom -- and Lord knows this is hard to do with all the financial strings we have going between us, a good caregiver to my animal friends, a good friend to my friends, a good boss, a good business woman, a good block captain to my neighbors, a working actor and artist, a user of my gifts, someone who is able to effectively channel her muse into art... Shit! That's a lot and I haven't even warmed up. Hunh.

When am I going to fit in co-designing a website, moving all of my stuff back into the garage, advertising for and hiring a new assistant, organizing and cleaning my office, calling the gal from The Art Deco Society to get going on Mom and Granny's Spring fashion show, giving Susan her Christmas present, calling all of my friends, visiting all of your journals, making collages, getting back to my knitting, waxing my pubes, listing things for sale on eBay and moving into my new case at Wertz Brothers Antique Mall, to say nothing of losing more weight, exercising, getting a full lower body, thigh and boob lift, taking pictures and finding a new agent and getting acting work again, sigh, big huge freaking out, maybe I should find a permanent online supply of Valium, sigh. Okay I'll modify all of this to; all I really care about is being able to stay awake and healthy enough to be able to still want to have sex with my man tonight. And I have to fix Beau's damned cell phone and skull head guitar. I'll deal with tomorrow tomorrow Miss Scarlet. How's that?

Love you,

PS: And I didn't even try to describe my dreams to you... babies, I've been dreaming about babies, sex, men's shirts, playing with monkeys, circus acrobats, wearing beautiful clothes, big rocks and the ocean.

This one is for Beau even though he won't get it until it's all over.

(no subject)

This is what Sparkle looks like but with slightly crossed eyes.

So I come home tonight after lugging Beau around on errands; it turns out his cell phone isn't working because he dropped both it and the charger it was plugged into, into a bowl full of cereal, (Verizon doesn't replace phones that are dropped into cereal or toilets as it turns out and we have to order a replacement from the insurance company I was wise enough to take out a policy with), then we waited for ages while cute young boys seriously took their time fiddling around with tiny little wrenches and guitar strings at West LA Music Center, a scuzzy old man, reeking of the beer he had cleverly transferred to a diet coke can, asked me if I wanted to buy a vibrator, a vibrator, (I told him I was covered on that front), and Beau yanked at my brand new hard won vintage crystal necklace, breaking the delicate little sterling chain and scattered dozens of pretty faceted crystal beads all over the floor, we walk in the door and within minutes Beau is whining and complaining and calling Esther and Irma hurtful and offensive names for having dared to clean his room, I pop two Tylenol and sit down on my bed to face my weird little cheese and crackers dinner and the fear and panic that I may be all done losing weight and climbing my way back up to three hundred plus pounds when my beloved Sparkle Kitty walks over to me and throws up a stomach full of blood all over my lap.

In all my years of caring for cats I've never had one of my little friends throw up blood like this. Blood and blood clots. It was so scary. I scooped him up and ran for the car and zoomed over to the emergency animal hospital, pausing just long enough to tell Beau off for being such a jerk about his room. Anyway it doesn't look like he swallowed anything dangerous and they think he may just be having a really strong reaction to the antibiotics he was taking. I'll call to get the results of his blood tests as soon as I finish posting this. Eight hundred dollars and one set of x-rays later I'm finally back home trying to catch up on my eBay auctions and e-mail. Fuck. I am so having a cup of tea. Who knew that at this late age I would finally take comfort in tea? Thank God, India, China, Britain and Atra for small comforts. Plus there's a show about Ostriches on, I get to watch that.

Needless to say there weren't a lot of people making love over here at my house tonight, unless you count the rats. Scott had a sore throat and since he has to perform tomorrow night, he bowed out. Just as well since he would have wound up accompanying me to the vet.

Oh and I can't figure out how to get all of the shows on HBO to stop speaking in Spanish. I tried to watch Sex and the City last night and the whole thing took on this weird Latin slant because "someone" switched the language settings on my TV and none of us can figure out how to switch them back. Oh well, it's pretty funny listening to Carrie and the girls speaking Spanish. You should hear how weird Baryshnikov sounds, kind of like Phil Hendrie saying, "La la la la la la la."

Please will you say a prayer or send some positive energy for my sweet super special toy fetching cross eyed shy black Oriental Short Hair Kitty Sparkle? I love him so much.