Writing in the Corner

Sometimes, when you are feeling angry, really angry, bone deep, frustrated, want to smash some windows angry, an orgasm releases a LOT of tension and is very cathartic.

Of course, orgasms are good in their own right.

Two weeks ago I went to my 30 year high school reunion. It was a really neat experience for a number of reasons.

I have always (always) compared myself to others and come up lacking. There were always people who were smarter or prettier or thinner or more popular or more sensible or any number of things. This was particularly the case when I was young, and I’ve only started to get over it in the last few years. Going to the reunion helped a light bulb go off - we’re ALL older. I’m not the only one who has gray hair and and gained a lot of weight. Everybody has had ups and down over the last 30 years, and those of us who attended all seemed to have the same perspective: we’re here, we’re older, but we’re alive. Let’s party! All that high school sturm und drang was then. This is now. We’re grownups.

Another neat thing was seeing again some people who I was really close to - who I loved - and who I’ve lost track with over the years. Seeing them happy and successful was such a rush. Gordon is on his second career, teaching business at a Dallas high school. Joel is a minister in Buffalo.

And then there was Bettina. One of the main reasons I’ve put off writing this for so long was because I didn’t want this to be all schmaltzy and stuff, and I didn’t know how to write about connecting with Bettina again without going all squishy. Bettina and I were really, really good friends in 7th and 8th grade. Best friends, really. We passed notes in classes and did theatre stuff and ate lunch together and slept over at each others houses and spent hours on the phone. Hours. But I made a new friend the summer between 8th and 9th grade, and Bettina and I had a kind of falling out (over a boy, if I recall correctly) and we really weren’t friends much at all in high school. I have felt pretty crappy about that occasionally, because I wasn’t a very good friend to her. Kind of shallow and immature.

Leading up to the reunion, we found that we have a lot of things in common. We are both in very, very happy marriages after being divorced from (different) losers named Jeff. We are both feminists. We’ve both recovered from high school and regained our balance and become successful people. Far from envying her success, I celebrate it. I feel like it’s my success too. Not to take away from what she accomplished (which is quite a lot) but that I empathize with her journey and recognize her achievements and what it took to make them.

All these years later, I have my friend back. And I’ve forgiven myself for being shallow and immature when I was fourteen.

I had a really bad day on Sunday, and it kicked me into a depressive episode. While down in the depress-y muck, not sure how I got there (no med problems…) or how to get out of it, I started my period. A whole week earlier than I expected, not because it was early, but because I can’t count.

I think my mental health (which is much better now, thank you) is in a state that I can only take one hit at a time. Probably because I’m still mourning Peggy, and I think that has my resistance down. PMS is one hit. I can handle one hit. But a 2nd hit? Knocks me down flat.

Dear Hairy Thunderer of the Old Testament who Smites People when they Practice Birth Control or Touch the Ark of the Covenant:

If you could try to limit the hits to one at a time, I’d be very grateful.

Sincerely,

Ann, who has one hit in process now…

Seraphine over at Zelophehad’s Daughters, had a great post today. I was going to comment there but decided to just put it on my own blog. This is not the first time I have blogged about this topic, nor will it be the last.

Seraphine’s post brought tears to my eyes. I know exactly how she feels. My personal “thing I just can’t do” is lose weight. I am morbidly obese (I weigh double what a woman my size should weigh) and I have been failing at dieting since I was in my mid 20’s, when I joined the LDS church and quit taking street drugs (speed) to stay thin (the only thing that has ever worked).

I have given up trying, or thinking about trying, or setting any kind of goals about losing weight, because every single time I have done so, for over twenty years, I’ve failed, and arguably made the problem worse. Last year at this time, I was feeling pretty confident and encouraged and tried some stuff and managed to take off about 15 pounds. It’s all back, plus ten for hubris.

Just the thought of trying and failing again is enough to bring up all the feelings of self-loathing that aggravated my now-in-remission depression.

I like Seraphine’s idea of just trying to think of myself as a good person, and to focus on the things that are going well. But this is a time of year for commitments! and resolve! and that makes it hard not to return to this topic, again.

I’ll be glad when it’s February and everybody else has forgotten their resolutions.

Last Wednesday, the kid was up all night puking. Last night was my turn. I haven’t felt this crappy for a really really long time. I slept all morning. I drank some water around 8:00 a.m. and it came right back up I got up again just about 45 minutes ago. DD, RN says to try something with flavor - I have a pretty major headache, probably because I’m dehydrated.

Waaaaah.