Yeesh, I completely forgot:

The RSS feed in my last post will let you read my blog posts but you'll need to go here to add me to your friends page so I can keep up with you. Sorry, I don't know how I forgot to add that.

If you don't want to click through to add me then just click here.

I'm retiring this journal. I have a new blog at wunderkammen.com where I'll post everything from now on (and -- fingers crossed -- much more frequently).

The blog has an OpenID server which means I have a livejournal account through the blog, so I can still read my friends list and comment to your entries. This gives everyone a get out of jail free card. If you're not comfortable with my reading your journal anymore please don't feel obligated to add me back. Otherwise, you should see me on your profile page. I should have added everyone but if I missed you, let me know.

This journal has had a good three (four? I haven't checked) year run. I'm just in need of some more room to grow.

Wunderkammen LJ RSS Feed

Goodbye, Richard Pryor


I was introduced to you as the idea of funny incarnate. Mom would put on your tapes and I always thought you were more than a little sad, brilliant and funny. I loved your autobiography. You weren't perfect, and your life created more issues for you than healed them but I admired your tenacity. I'll miss you.

Stevie Wonder's "Happy Birthday" to myself a few minutes after midnight, just before I climb into bed and sleep before the daylight shows itself.

I don't have many expectations for how the day will go but I do have hopes. I'd like to bite deeply into happiness and munch until my heart's content with those who love me nearby.

I've been preparing to close this journal. The only thing left, really, is to let the paid time expire and I might not even wait that long. I feel like I should have retired this space long ago but I've been hanging on to it out of love for continuity. That and I really liked the name pomegranatekiss.

So I was going through my memories and found this old entry and then this one.

Posting them feels a bit like running past comic strips.

I have a crying jag + cold hangover. The heat from my microwaved buckwheat wrap feels amazing, however, and is going a long way towards making me comfortable. I've decided that I'm going to behave as though this is an official sick day for me and I'm changing into my sleeper, swallowing down a half-glass of orange juice (I have to be careful with extra Vitamin C in my diet because too much and I end up dealing with hemolysis), and going right back to bed.

I am obsessed with this sweater. I keep coming online just to stare at it. It doesn't help that this cold has left me too congested to sleep so now I'm the only one awake.

Oh, you beautiful sweater, how I'd take such good care of you. Come live with me. You would never sit in the back of my closet. I promise I'd cover up when it rains and I'd wrap you nicely after winter so you wouldn't get moth-bitten.

Yep. Back to staring.

I'm supposed to be working on a letter as homework for my Empowerment group tonight. I'd much rather lie back down under the covers where I won't be cold and write in my paper journal about anything else. Ooh, or I could put on my earphones and dance in the hallway. I could finish the laundry. I could stand at the door and wait for the pants I ordered to arrive.

Which is to say that, yes, I will get started. I just wanted to pretend for a moment that I wouldn't.

The funny thing is that it's very likely I'll be the only one who remembered to finish the assignment and who'll have to read this 'I loved you for these reasons but you abused me so we can't ever, ever be together again' letter aloud.

punkermama, your wedding was absolutely beautiful and I had a wonderful time. Thank you. I couldn't be more pleased that I got to watch you celebrate your love with all the people who love you both surrounding you.

May your partnership always be as loving as it was yesterday.

Pictures to come soon.

P.S. I loved seeing all of you who attended. I've missed you.

I never post much in the summer because remaining in this room for long periods of time is untenable. It's easily ten degrees warmer in here than it is outside and when it's been a week of one hundred and five degree weather... It's not going to happen.

And I could use to be here right about now. Not just because this is my main journal, I do have others, but because I could use friendship. It's really easy to see just how lonely and isolated my life has become these days. I've been hurt by livejournal recently. I want to know how everyone is and I keep up. I read my friends list from my mother's computer downstairs but I'm not comfortable with commenting while using it much less posting because it sits in just the right place to give everyone in the room with me access to what I'm typing, and I have a notoriously nosy family. So I sit quietly, fingers off of the keyboard instead.

There's so much I want to share. Things are changing. I'm working out the details of going back to school in the fall and finally finish up getting my degree. M's working, Mom's working, there's stability again. I'm finally free enough to get back to work on righting myself. I made a commitment to journal all of the catastrophic thoughts that display themselves as visualizations so intense I can taste, smell, and feel it all and then turn them into positive ones. I've realized that I'm trained to expect the worst, to function within it and to even thrive in it. It's time that I started thinking that bad things aren't around every corner for me. I'm safe now. I can leave this house. I can fulfill my dreams. Whatever strength I have should now be channeled into what I really want: building a happy, accepting existence.

I love the idea of going to classes again, of working toward finally graduating. I can finally stop being afraid of turning corners. I can rework these old thoughts and finally learn to anticipate good things for myself. It's heartbreaking to think you may not have a friend in the world. I want to share my life with all of you.

Just not in this room. It's burning up here.

Thank you everyone. You've no idea the strength and comfort and smiles you've given me over the years.

Thanks.

/schmaltzy spiel

Goodbye, Alli.

You were funny and kind when I needed someone to be and I won't ever forget that. I'll miss you. I'm so sorry for your family's loss. There's not much else to say.

May all your questions be answered, finally.

This is the last time I'm posting about that flashback/abuse/therapy filter, really.

Apparently, somewhere between making the filter in XJournal and applying it through livejournal, all of my contacts were lost. So I've been writing to an empty filter. If you're interested in the entries written last night and opted-in, they're there and it's been fixed so you can see them now. Sorry.

I'm now using my "Flashbacks" filter, only I'm not sure I included everyone who wanted to be privy to those entries. So, if you want to see those entries and can't, let me know. I am warning you now that they deal with sexual violence.

That's all.

lnorigb, the package of clothes just came for Talkmonster. Can I just say that I have no idea how you're able to pack that way and I still consider it the most fantastic skill ever? You deserve the steamy encounter of your choice for as long as you can stand it with your love. The box actually made me break out into song. Oh, he needed these. Be sure that he'll be sending you a thank you note and drawing when he gets home.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Even from a distance it's impossible not to love you.

Goddamn, I love that you're my friend.

An incredible package arrived today from her_path_cast with presents for M,. Talkmonster and me inside. I received a gorgeous handmade Nepalese journal that she customized with scenic pictures throughout the pages. Talkmonster got a box purse she made for him with ladybugs, butterflies and other bugs I know he'll love when he gets home from visiting his dad. Inside was a note to him and insect stickers. I wanted to keep it! M. got a two books by Khalil Gibran and one by Hermann Hesse bound together with parcel string. They were perfect gifts.

Sweetness, I'm never going to be able to thank you enough for such considerate and lovely gifts. You have no idea how they brightened the day here. M. and I are both glowing and itching to throw our arms around you in gratitude. I'm so fortunate to have found you as a friend. Thank you, thank you, thank you from both of us.

I'm planning on using the journal for a found art project I've been thinking about lately and now feel inspired to start. Oh, and the smell of the journal! It's got that antique, sweet dark scent that makes my stomach grumble whenever I visit bookstores crammed with books floor to ceiling and reminds me of when I used to hide in my grandmother's closet and find notes hidden in her hat boxes. It thrills me.

You should expect mail this week. Thank you again!

Last night I laid in bed and thought of what those last moments of carrying you inside me were like. How you turned until the last moment before you settled in the birth canal, the contractions that had been coming so constantly that I had grown used to them intensifying until I thought you were going to come out without assistance, and finally how exhausted I was after I'd given birth and there you were exactly as I dreamed.

I showered by myself in an empty birthing room and found my bed across the hall. Since you came at fifteen minutes past midnight, everyone had been shooed home so that I could rest. I wasn't tired. I was shaky and anxious to be near you. I was afraid because now I was your mother and it felt like the job was too big for me. I'd just turned twenty-one a couple months before. I was overwhelmed with desire to be beside you, and clueless as to what to do when the testing they were doing in the nursery was finished and they brought you to me.

I kept buzzing the nurses and no one would answer me. It was three o'clock in the morning and the bed was uncomfortable no matter what angle I positioned myself into. I just wanted to touch you, to reassure myself that you existed because behind the blurry yellow florescent lights and the long echoing halls it started to feel like I'd dreamt the whole thing.

I climbed out of bed. I was going to find you.

The nurse laughed and said they'd been enjoying you in the nursery; they'd assumed that I'd have fallen asleep by then. Aren't you exhausted? It's late and pretty soon you won't have any rest at all.

I just want my baby, I said. And I wouldn't leave the hallway until I heard them putting you in the mobile bassinet to bring you to me.

You were so beautiful. Just cleared six pounds and your wrinkled face looked just like Memama's, which made me cry. I climbed into bed, pulled the covers over my legs, made sure that the bassinet was anchored to the metal rails and picked you up. Then I began to breathe. I stared at you for a while.

"I know your heart and I'm going to protect you. Hi, I'm your Mom."

Then I told you every secret I've ever learned that mattered to me. And I told you a few things that I thought you'd like to know. I whispered things that I know someday I'll have to repeat.

And I've looked at you today, such the little boy-man and still such pure sunshine and I've never been prouder of anything in my entire life. You have such open vulnerability and a fierce strength to protect it. You create your happiness and I get to watch you do it. I am in awe of the way you make your way and easily disregard anyone who would criticize it just like you didn't even notice the noise. I'm quietly learning by your example.

You are my best gift.

Happy Birthday, sweetest one. I'm watching to see what else you create.

Mimosas and Kisses We had a wonderful breakfast this morning with spinach, tomato and feta omelettes, hot muffins and whipped butter, orange juice, hot chocolate for me and coffee for him. It was topped off for me with Mimosas and taking this picture. I couldn't have enjoyed more. Such a good valentine, he is. (Click the pic to see it full-sized!) I hope your Valentine's Day brought you as many smiles. Candy hearts to you all.

I'm almost beginning to feel like a human being again. The chills and fever and feeling like I was drowning has finally started to wane. Now I'm just exhausted. As in, the bed is right next to the chair I'm currently sitting in and I'm not sure how I'm going to get there to sleep. On the other hand, the last of my antibiotics will be taken tomorrow (please, let me refrain from telling a rather graphic story about one lodging in my throat and spraying powder throughout my sinuses and the horrific pain that ensued). I'm glad to be done with them.

Today was wonderfully cheerful with both the men in my life together since their mutual trips.

Invitations for Talkmonster's Birthday party go out tomorrow along with Valentine cards. We'll do a little mini-celebration on Wednesday since that's the actual day big boy turns seven.

Now.. a trend I like taking part in:

( mmm... friends! )

My walking pneumonia was diagnosed not so walking a week ago. So, now I'm sitting here chewing my Nicorette gum trying to remember what it's like not to breathe water. It's forced a computer break since between this and intensive therapy I'm a little short on extra energy. I'm going to take some time while M. is out of town for the week and focus on myself. I need it.

I hope you're all well.

Talkmonster and I have been really sick since last Friday. He's been out of school the entire week and the doctor won't release him to go back until tomorrow at the earliest. He has a throat infection and a nasty cough. I have strep throat and another possible case of walking pneumonia. I started a steroid pack this morning and put a new inhaler to use.

I haven't been on the computer in days and I don't have the energy to begin to stay on now. I'm supposed to be in bed but someone will want lunch soon. Maybe afterwards I'll curl up and listen to Ani's new album or finally watch the episodes of The West Wing I've taped but not watched. I've caught up reading my friends page but I haven't commented to anyone. Sorry.

I'm off to warm up some soup.

What songs soothe you, make your heart burst with it's beauty, remind you why you like being alive? I had a hard session today that I'm still trying to digest. Everything we discussed is hitting me like a pile driver or sudden fever. I'm knotted and need to put together a new playlist.

I have four free songs from iTMS.
Suggestions?

From Freewill Astrology:

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): In the years before scientists finally figured
out the structure of DNA, physicist Erwin Schrödinger helped define the
parameters of the quest. He theorized that the chromosome contains
both the blueprint for life and the power to create what the blueprint
delineates. Within this mysterious powerhouse, in other words, is both the
"architect's plan and the builder's craft." I urge you to meditate on the
chromosome as a metaphor for the work you have ahead of you, Scorpio.
It's time for you to make or find something that will serve as both
architect's plan and builder's craft in the coming months.


Oof.

Monday was the anniversary of my baby's death. I couldn't bring myself to post here but I will soon. I am alive. I love my breath. I'm being careful with myself and those who love me.

This is what it feels like:

There's an undercurrent of extra electricity marking trails down the length of my skin. Just enough coursing to make me squirm, jump, feel unsettled in my seat. My breath comes forced but slow and my heart finds its normal beat but increases the pressure. I can feel it slamming forward and back again. I could cry but like that moment you think you're going to sneeze but can't, the moment won't come. I could sleep but my body swears I'm not really tired. Everything is soft filtered through the frame of my lashes; everything is etched out of granite in my direct line of sight. I can see the pores in the walls and they're shaking like I would be if I weren't still. Thoughts are running like condensed rivulets down the lining of my brain and overlapping, licking at those ribboned moments of peace and drowning them. There's nothing here to be afraid of, so I'm not frightened. I just want the clicking of the toy in the other room to stop because right now I'm absolutely positive that it's boring down into the joint of my jaw. Or is that my clenched teeth starting to complain?

I don't have anything to be nervous about, I know it. And just to be sure I start pulling down the charts in my head and run through the checklists one more time. Wait. When did my lip become so fascinating to my fingertips? Stop picking. Ok. The checklist. No. Stop. That's another bad way to go. That's going to give me something else to worry about because I'll stare and think and analyze until there's something to work over.

Hands down on the keyboard, feet planted beneath me and hardly breathing, I can actually feel the wind rushing past me as though I were on the edge of a cliff. My shoulder twitches and reminds me that I was typing not getting sucked into a feeling that has no basis in reality.

Breathe, stretch, shake, let it go.

Smiling, I run my hands over my head, pull one or two random curls to feel them snap and close my eyes. My lids are fluttering. My fingers are hitting the wrong keys. I think of the arias I was listening to earlier. Joan Sutherland. Should I put on my headphones again? Should I be journaling in my black/white journal? No, because I'm not having a panic attack. There is no trigger tonight. It's a rainy Sunday. I have everything I need. I've had embraces, there is no crisis.

My nails are painted deep red and on the thumbs are delicate little white flowers. They remind me of when I was a little girl and my mother gave me a package of nail decals which she'd apply carefully with a toothpick over my pastel tips and cover with a top coat so they'd stay.

I'm staring at my fingers as they hit the white keys with their red paint so I can try to pull together the strings of today and weave them into something that my brain can hold and understand. Right now it all wants to spiral inward inside me, tap into open pools of shame and concern until every strand has absorbed innumerable shades of color that, once presented, I find myself instantly pulled into my inner eye and lost, transfixed into living terror.

My session didn't begin well since I had a panic attack on the way there because we were late and then my therapist and I launched into a discussion about failure and paralysis. She has an assessment report due for my case next month and she wants to have me on the way to functionality by then. It's just happening too quickly for me. I can't catch my breath. We haven't talked about any of the things that I know I need to deal with and I'm afraid that I'll be shuffled off marked as 'problem solved' before we even touch them. And there will be one more time where I didn't have to come to grips with the events that led me here. My life has existed through a fog of abuse from the second I took breath. If I don't handle some of this, how can the nightmares fade?

I can be insightful. I may very well be intelligent. And I have been using those perceived tools to keep myself from the harm of my life since I could tie my shoes. Dig deeper. Push past the easy understanding that I am responsible or capable and notice that I'm bleeding down into my socks and my ends are frayed. I've bundled tissue after tissue in my lap and the siren calls of nights past beg for more.

She asked me why I wasn't using these tools that I clearly have, at least in retrospect, to get me on the path I need to be on. "You're so much further ahead than my other patients, you should be able to do this." Can I heal myself? Probably. But not until I can stop for a moment and acknowledge the wound, I'd guess.

At this point if my words could save me from the daymares and the irrational (?) fear, I wouldn't be begging for a place to sit.

The other day, I woke up from a nightmare so intricate and vivid that not even M. could make a dent in my panic. I'm held together by old rusty safety pins. The whole day ended up being clouded by the memories of invasion, force and helplessness to make it stop.

I lean hard on the moments of beauty I have. Long moments that loop one strong arm around the other with which I have a chain to steel myself for the rest. The arms that hold me and the susurrous tides of comfort found in corners and whatever moment arises. I can think and work to find the triggers, to understand the process, to undo 'wrong thinking', and yet it only happens after the fact. In the middle of the moment the pain is tangible, the reality is true because all those tucked in moments have been left little space for a home inside me. They haven't been integrated, they've been saved for later.

This is later.

My pace may not be the one expected of me, and after a conversation loaded to the brim with talk of failure and the acceptance of it as a part of change, there is going to have to be some understanding that I may not keep to schedule. I have decades' worth of held-back tears and survival mechanisms to dig through before I can get to productivity.

My mother called and listened to my tone, the stumbles and stammers, and said, "Don't you worry about this. They'll figure out that this is about what you can do and they'll work with that. This is what they're here for-- to help you. No one's quitting this. You can just let that fear go. No one's ignoring you anymore."

And then came M. and his embrace and I remembered where I was again.