Otherwise Known as the Dark Side of the Moon

The tag on my blog is called cloudy. I haven't read through all the posts in this category, but as I contemplate tagging this post cloudy, I wonder if it should more accurately be labeled "Dark Side of the Moon."

All my adult life I have struggled with PMS. Every month things take a turn for the worse after ovulation. In my late-30s it has been more pronounced and it feels like I'm ruled by my body. I think I have a good intuitive relationship with my body, but lately the clues my body sends are so powerfully physical. I feel my subtle cycle shifts in a visceral way. I am overwhelmed by them and can see them wash over my mood, emotions and behavior. I feel driven by my hormones in a way I imagine a pubescent boy feels with his powerful surge of testosterone. It's all so clear to me. I can see it, but I don't understand it or navigate it very gracefully.

I'm sure there's some balance each month. The moment I begin bleeding, my energy is high and positive and I'm yearning for sexual contact. It's urgent. Ovulation comes and rocks the boat and I'm on a slow descent. It's what I call the Dark Side of the Moon. I'm uncertain, uninterested and my hormones randomly short-circuit my emotions.

Last night my mood turned on a dime for no understandable reason. All three of the people who love me sensed my unease. They all reached out to comfort me, and in a way they did, but I was unable to explain what was going on or what I needed.

I think the way this feels inside looks like the digital display of an EKG—the consistent waves of a powerfully beating heart. If we look at the arc of my life, I imagine some flat lines for periods when my depression was bad and canceled out the waves.

Despite how confused I often am on the Dark Side, I find comfort in the consistent rhythms of my body. It's who I am. It's just curious to me that I am still learning how to cope with being a woman in this way. I do know that I like dealing with these rhythms far better than living through a flat line. I am happy that I can tell the difference. I am immensely grateful that the people around me love me through it all.

A Harvest Requires Growth

Today, on Lammas, I think about the harvest in my life. What is ripe and ready to pluck from the vine? What has steadfastly and efficiently used its resources to grow?

I'm having trouble seeing these things. Recent days have been difficult, with my wife in near constant pain for the last week. Running the pain gauntlet with her, even as a passive witness, wears me down. It seems ridiculous to be exhausted by her experience, since I'm not the one living through the pain and its fog of medication. Yet here I am coming up empty when I ponder what harvest to honor in my life.

I suppose there is the fact that I have been good to my body recently, feeding it whole foods and consistently exercising. This is in stark contrast to late May and June, when I was back on the sugar train and drinking too much alcohol. Getting back off processed sugar and focusing on goodness for my body has been one way I've grown this season.

However, the emotional harvest I would expect to experience as a result of my physical wellness has yet to materialize. If anything, I'm less present and self-aware than when I was sugared up and drinking regularly. Apparently I am like a transitional farm, slowly weaning itself from the toxins it used to apply.

My emotional health has not flourished like my physical health has, making me feel stunted rather than vibrant and growing. It's hard to find evidence of the harvest in a landscape of misshapen plants.

Yet, I am aware there is a rich harvest around me. I'm not blind to the beauty and bounty surrounding me; I am aware and grateful for it. I am merely waiting to see this mirrored in me.

I suppose the thing about growth is that it comes in stages and isn't always recognizable. There's also the potential that the process of growth itself is its own harvest. Wherever I happen to be right now in the process, I honor it.

Joy and Pleasure

I was raised among adults who modeled a protestant work ethic and an often puritanical love of effort and order. There were few options but to tow the line, do my work in an efficient manner and without complaint. It was always clear that any fun or relaxation was to happen only when the work was done.

Fast forward to my own entry into adult life. My wife and I had many conflicts over house cleaning when we first lived together. I approached it with rigidity, a feverish and intense flurry of task after task to be accomplished as efficiently and thoroughly as possible. Her relaxed approach of cleaning something, reading a chapter in a book, then tidying another corner before pursuing some other interest boggled my mind. I dreaded having to clean and was not satisfied until it was over. My wife thought it sucked, but she seemed to do it with an odd joy. In this arena we were completely different from one another. In fact, it never even occurred to me that there was any other way to do it. As I watched her I felt as if an alien was cleaning the house.

Years of therapy and a child changed a lot for me. I learned to let go and chill out more often. I didn't necessarily relinquish the sense that I was supposed to be doing work in a specific manner and to certain self-imposed standards. My overdeveloped sense of responsibility has largely haunted me throughout much of my adult life.

However people have this capacity to be amazing--and inject joy into my life. Even an over-responsible person like me has the pleasure of being knocked on my ass the by pure joy emanating from those close to me. It's hard for me to fret about mopping the floor when Mr. Man shares a hysterical 10yo insight about the world.

Stressful moments or incidents often send me retreating to the prison of Taskville. The joy of my family, Earth and art can try their damndest, but will not likely get through to me in dark moments.

The last few weeks have been like this. Swallowed by work I have given joy a run for her money. I worry she will turn away, fatigued. On Beltaine, of all days, I owe it to myself, to my family and friends, to the world to invite joy and pleasure back into my life in a consistent way.

Welcome home.

Dropping the Mask

I am unraveling an important insight about this bout of depression. I have been suffering in silence for far too long. It's taken me an excessive amount of time to realize that my mask of normality does not serve me. Even in communities that I love and trust, I find myself shielding people from the truth of my daily struggles.

What is the harm of having people who care about me know that I am unable, unwilling or otherwise inhibited from doing things I want to, need to or aspire to do? I'm not sure, frankly. However, I've been wearing a mask to shield people from really seeing me. I'm tired of it. Perhaps I fear that people will judge me for "giving in" to my depression or look at me with sadness and pity. At this point those options feel less burdensome than pretending. So, I quit. If it's a relatively safe environment, I'm done lying. If I can't do what you ask or expect of me, I intend to tell you. If you're happy and I can't make it to your emotional level, I intend to stay where I'm at.

More importantly, perhaps, I'm telling myself that it's okay. It's okay to do exactly what I'm capable of an no more. I am not superhuman and I have limits. I'm going to begin honoring them.

Sadly, the one area where the mask must stay is at my place of employment. It's definitely not a safe environment. I picture myself hanging the mask on my cubicle coat hanger. In the morning, I can take my coat off, put the mask on for the 8 hours of torture. The joy, however, will come when I remove the mask at the end of the day--leaving it squarely on the hook until the next day.

Which brings me to the other corner I'm turning. It's time for a new job. The corporate monster has been eating me up and spitting me out for almost five years. It's time to become more than a cubicle dust bunny.

Alternatives to Video Games and Coming Out

Today was the first complete day that our family did not play video games. I asked our family to take a week-long break from being sucked in by Plants vs. Zombies or various color-matching games or the plethora of competitive, war-like games that appeal to Mr. Man. So far today there's been more video for Mr. Man, which I suppose is not much of an improvement. However, he and I read together for an hour from the final book in the Chronos Trilogy, which I highly recommend. He and I enjoy reading adventurous and funny books and my introduction to kid lit gave me a new appreciation for my son's point of view and a fond regard for his sense of humor. We enjoy our time together, reading on the bus or at home, and I cherish the hours that I share with him in this way. I suppose some day he will be embarrassed to have me read to him and I'll mourn the loss of this connection.

Because I didn't check out and play video games this evening, I was able to send some long overdue email messages, prepare this blog and draft feedback to my manager. It's my hope that I get to add knitting and bread baking to the list of accomplishments, too, but as I sit here imagining all the wholesome things I can do with my time, I realize that I have four very busy evenings ahead of me..translating into four very long days. I hate that. The idea alone exhausts me.

Which leads me to say that I'm struggling lately with a recurring, difficult bout of depression and anxiety. I've not been inclined to share this information publicly before, preferring to suffer in silence and confide in a few close friends. So my version of National Coming Out Day is to expose myself and wear my mental health challenges on my sleeve. I've fought these demons for many years, particularly since Mr. Man was born, and I told myself if I just tried harder or pushed myself more, I could overcome depression and I would be better. While it is good to not give up hope, I've also realized that this depression is larger than me. Whether chemical or environmental (see the spit up tag) I need more than therapy and a steely determination to help see me through. The medication I'd been taking seemed to stop working and so I've begun searching for a replacement, hoping that it will change my everyday experience. Most days I feel like I'm at the bottom of a pit, scraping my way out to daylight.

I hate being depressed. I hate that I have to deal with depression. I'm angry that most days feel like wading through glue, when so clearly my life is good. My wife of nearly 19 years is beautiful and amazing and I've never been happier. My son is a boy who grows into a more interesting adult each day. I have a community of friends who care deeply about me. I live in a beautiful city and would prefer to be nowhere else. Each day I marvel at the blessings around me and wonder why they don't obliterate my depression. How is it possible to be insanely happy with my life, yet feel like I'm trapped in a pit, clawing my way out?

My steely determination, while perhaps not the total solution, is powerful enough to tell me that I'll make it out.

Net Enough Chocolate, Not Enough Wine

It's been dark here in the House of Eris, despite the sunny days of summer. Summer camp is over and Mr. Man is now at home with my wife for the rest of the summer until school starts again. That's challenging enough without her having migraines. On Monday, the first day of no camp, I got calls at work with my wife in tears insisting Mr. Man was a horrible, selfish child. Mr. Man got on the phone to say that my wife was not listening and just yelling at him. Clearly, things were not going well. The first week of no camp is behind us and it can only get better - what with the moving and traveling ahead.

Yes, I, too, have fallen into the low pit of despair. My expectations for the remainder of this month are not high. If I live through it all, it will be a victory. My doctor says I need to improve my sleep hygiene - get a routine, drink chamomile tea, sleep 8-9 hours a night. Ha! Here's what the rest of August looks like:

• Work furiously during the day - all while my manager and I look at each other and mutter - "how the hell are we going to get all this done?"
• Pack furiously - we move to a new apartment on Friday. Yes, as in 5 days. I'm terrified. Why so soon you ask? Continue reading.
  
• Return to the hellmouth, uh, I mean go home to see the family. With Mr. Man - alone - for 5 1/2 hours in flight. Did I mention my family?
• Three days later be a single parent while my wife trains back in the Midwest.
• The day my wife returns, entertain one house guest (during a move) for 6 days. There may be another potential houseguest for an evening.
• Celebrate my wife's 36th birthday. Damn, we're getting old.
• Perhaps you've read of my wife's mood? It's been ugly here.
  

There's not enough of any comforting presence - cuddling, sex, chocolate, wine - to make it seem possible that I'll see the end of August.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

From time to time I make myself little artsy posters to hang next to the mirror in my bedroom. They range from positive go-get-'em messages to deep insights.

The one I created yesterday states:

DO NOT

YIELD

your beauty to those

who do not commit to

preserving it.

For more visual impact, the word yield is actually a traffic yield sign - bright red for impact. My little project kicked off an art session with Mr. Man. We spent a few hours making traffic signs. Wrong way. Railroad crossing. No parking. Traffic light ahead. No U-Turn. Turns out traffic road signs are elegant, simple symbols useful for interpreting one's life.

Balancing Act

Lots has developed in the last few weeks. A bit is exciting, some is hard and the rest is more of the same. I'm having trouble balancing all that's on my plate right now. I'm reaching out, trying new experiences to help me battle old ghosts. I've started a new relationship which is exciting and intensely satisfying. Recent events have made it tough for my wife and I to maintain a loving connection and I am saddened by our challenges. Mr. Man has been having trouble sleeping and is emotionally volatile. All of these personal ebbs and flows deplete and sustain me at the same time. I have more emotional issues to wade through than I have energy or time for, yet ignoring them reduces the quality of the relationships with those I love most. I desperately need the safety net below the tightrope walker.

Learning a Lesson

This morning, like yesterday, my wife and I enjoyed a few late-morning snuggles as Mr. Man occupied himself playing. A few stolen caresses at the 7:30 am hour as opposed to the 5:30 am hour are glorious. It's sort of our unspoken tradition that on weekend mornings I get up with Mr. Man and lure him into the kitchen for breakfast (which we typically do brunch style) while my wife steals a few more precious minutes of sleep.

This morning, I began making biscuits and tempeh gravy for breakfast while Mr. Man played PBS Kids at the kitchen table. Things were going smoothly and as usual, I asked Mr. Man to go gently tell his mother that breakfast was ready. She appeared a few minutes later and we were all seated at the breakfast table ready to eat.

I explained to Mr. Man that he must try a biscuit with the gravy on it, as it was the primary source of protein this morning. He proceeded to throw a temper tantrum, complete with pinching my lips in an effort to make be stop saying what he didn't want to hear. Of course the screaming came in the middle of a bite of plain biscuit, so in addition to tolerating the most obnoxious behavior we had to prevent the choking and vomiting that ordinarily occurs when you inhale food mid-scream. We quickly timed him out to his bedroom to calm down, but largely our primary purpose was to prevent us from acting on our intense need to make him shut up, be rational and behave.

In the precious quiet that followed in the wake of his retreat to the bedroom, my wife and I quickly checked in about how we felt and what we should do. Not a good way to begin a morning (especially with a nice breakfast spread out before us) and my wife's first instinct was to give him up for adoption. I could hardly disagree. While we were negotiating the consequences of his actions and how his lost privileges would totally fuck up our day, his door opened. He comes back to the table slightly less rude and says, "I'm going to teach one of you a lesson." Uh-oh, I think. Round two. He proceeds to explain (aka demand) that my wife try a new food, too. He tells her she must try an apricot while he takes his test bite of gravy biscuit. They proceed to both try their new food and the rest of the meal goes off without a hitch and Mr. Man's mood is much improved. He proceeds to eat more than two-thirds of the biscuit and gravy serving.

Despite the fact that it's easy to believe that my child is out to make my life a loud, screaming fit of a living hell and act like a demon incarnate, I know this is not the answer. In his own way today, he was looking for a way to exert his own influence. Most of the day, people outside of him give him anything from orders to suggestions. Do this. Don't do this. If you choose this, you also choose that. To him it must seem like everything that happens to him happens because someone outside of himself told him to do a certain thing. How frustrating it must be to feel bereft of internal stimulus about major life patterns. He pushes against us so much perhaps because he needs to hold the reigns himself a bit more.

As a parent it is overwhelming to know when to set healthy limits and create boundaries or when to let him sit in the driver's seat. I want him to feel he is able to control or not control his life as he chooses, which means he must have the opportunity to learn how. If I give too many orders or instructions, he might begin to think that the only answers lie outside of himself, that only others can tell him what to do. That road is not far from another path I am familiar with, that of thinking that only others can tell you that you are good.

His tender heart and mind search for understanding of his place in the world, and as one of his few guides, I have no answers for him. I, too, am learning lessons every day.

Lessons

While we were getting ready for our ride tonight, Mr. Man started asking where we would bury Pumpkin (our cat) when he died. I told him our family would have to talk about it, that we could decide to bury him or to cremate him. Mr. Man continued to ponder the ancestor world and started to strategize how we would find Pumpkin in the ancestor world.

(Our family discusses how when you die you go to the land of the ancestors. Mr. Man has previously told my wife and I that when we become ancestors we'll have to find each other again. We have agreed.)

Anyway, we were discussing this general theme, but now it involved the cat and Mr. Man was again wondering how we would find each other. He said, "because you know, it will be a huge world to explore." He said something else which I missed because I was flushing the toilet. Then he said, "You have to save some surprises for the end, right?"

Tonight at bedtime Mr. Man asked me why I was grumpy. I said it was because I needed quiet and we've been talking nonstop for the last 4 hours. He said, "I think it's because you don't like yourself." I shit you not. That's what my 5yo said.

I'm starting to feel like I'm the only one in my family who is on their first life instead of their hundredth or thousandth life. But at least I'm taking notes from my kid. Should help me next time around.

Letting Loose

Suffice it to say that for many complex and varied reasons I've bottled up the part of me that really lets go, is creative and experiences joy and fun in all of its frivolity - say for about 5+ years. The transition to a cool city and several recent personal events has helped my wild woman rise to the surface and she has started to knock on the glass. In fact, I've peeled off about five layers of gunk over the course of the last ten days, which have been the most intense emotional whirlwind in a long time. The whirlwind has largely been positive and holds much promise, despite its intensity. The outcome of all of this is that I want more for myself and I want out of the prison I've built for myself.

So I've started taking steps. I have previously mentioned my love of biking in this city. I recently found a funky group of bikers and I'll be participating in their next Midnight Mystery Ride. People show up at 11:00, usually at a bar, then a leader takes the riders on a midnight bike ride to a mystery destination where people generally hang out near a fire and, well, probably drink a bit more. Some folks actually shed some clothing on the ride.

I went for an hour-long solo ride last night while my wife put Mr. Man to sleep. This was my first opportunity to ride solo, as most of my rides are with Mr. Man. It was amazingly liberating. I basically took the route I will need to take when I start bike commuting next week. The beauty of the route is astounding and unbelievable. I used the time to ride hard, clear my head and stop by the nearby creek to journal.

This Sunday I'll be taking a 25 mile ride with a local riding club. Probably not funky people, but my guess is people who just like to ride. Hopefully not too intensely athletic and with a sense of enjoyment.

I have joy in here and I want to let it out - for myself and also with others. Better look out, or next year I'll be in the naked bike ride video...

Pespective on Wealth

I'm not poor, I simply don't have enough money [to support two households]. I am rich in ways that are more valuable than wealth. Perhaps my discomfort with our shortage of money is rooted in being so rich in other ways. My wife and son are beautiful blessings. Our home is safe and welcoming and conflict-free (save for the occasional temper tantrums...). Love, humor and creative abound in our lives.

It's as if I've learned the difficult part of living and am tripping on the mundane motions that are required to "survive." I am able to intuitively parent my child and help instill pagan and nonviolent values, but I am unprepared to decide whether to buy cheap, less nutritious food to feed us for a week or more expensive vegetables and whole foods. I can attune myself to my body's cycles and am capable of caring for my soul, but I wring my hands over the reality that our life insurance policies will lapse.

The veil of security I so desperately cling to exposes how far from poverty I truly am. The man who panhandles outside my office each day and who sleeps on the Springwater Corridor does not contemplate life insurance premiums. The dozens of homeless folks sleeping on the sidewalk on Burnside do not question whether to get broccoli or 99-cent pasta at the grocery store. That I have the luxury of these dilemmas makes me rich.

The beauty of the present and my many riches drives me to secure the future. I want to insure more todays.

Each day I go to work for a division that supports the affluent and acquires the investment accounts of more millionaires. I spend hours handling account size data, knowing the people I serve aren't burdened by my dilemmas of groceries vs. creditors. Do I want their wealth? No, but I do want their ability to insure the future.

When I release my fear the only shoes that fit and that I like are my own. So I'll continue to walk, carrying all my riches with me as each day like today becomes the future.

Independence Day

Before we left Michigan, Mr. Man's teacher said he was great, but expressed concern about his inability to sit still. We began noticing he was more emotional and volatile. Then we moved across country. We gave him time to adjust, but things did not improve, rather his behavior and irritability increased. He is non-stop talking, walking, pacing, moving, jumping - simply H-Y-P-E-R. He can't sit still or in the chair for the duration of a meal. We thought it was the lack of a school routine. We thought it was adjustment to a new city, new home. We thought, we thought, we thought until he is out of control, we are out of our minds and there are no excuses left. What changed, my wife wondered? We moved here and yes we had to adjust, but more importantly our grocery budget fights with our past-due bills for a bit of the stage. So we buy what we can and I try to make things stretch, which largely translates into lots of cheap vegan baked goods to get us by for breakfast and snacks and desserts. It boils down to cheap simple carbs and lots of sugar. Ah...his nutrition is in the shitter and the sugar is juicing him up.

My wife gets a book from the library on sugar-sensitive children. She has read the first two chapters on the bus ride home and tells me she thinks it fits him to a T and encourages me to not only read it, but to make an effort to also change my eating habits. I am reluctant. Nonetheless I dutifully read the book until I realize somewhere in the middle of the first chapter that the description of sugar-sensitivity fits not only him, but me, perfectly. So I am on board in a serious way. I need some freedom.

Identity Crisis

Since I started this blog, my profile has read:

My life is a mishmash of oddities that don't find a collective home many places. I live in the House of Eris with my partner of 13 years and our 4 yo son. By day I manage a non-profit and exert control over many projects. By night our family blurs all the lines that I've drawn perfectly straight during the day. It's a constantly changing world and I find myself reeling sometimes by the intensity.

Some analysis is in order.

My life is a mishmash of oddities that don't find a collective home many places.

This is probably still true, although the oddities are probably more welcome in Portland than mid-Michigan. My crisis with the mishmash really boils down to when do I really reveal my oddities? Where is the space that my true self shows? It's true that since I conceived my son my fun factor pretty much died and my ability to express anything but stress increased proportionally. Even in Portland that is still true. The stress of money, school, Stonetree's travel, Mr. Man's emotional outbursts and not having a date with my wife in 4 months seems to leave no time for the real me to shine through. It takes all my energy to act responsibly to get through the stressors of each day. My identity crisis begins in feeling like a boring, uninteresting person who works too much to be any fun.

I live in the House of Eris with my partner of 13 years and our 4 yo son.

It's now the House of Eris West. It's 14 years and our son is 5. All these changes are awesome and sweet. No crises here. Beautiful new city with more days with the two people I love most.

By day I manage a non-profit and exert control over many projects.

Aha. Now we come to the most unsettling part of the identity crisis. I left the non-profit 3 months ago after 8 years of service. They were kind of lame, but I had a rewarding professional career and I did no harm. Circle 180 degrees to a total profit-driven organization stinking of money, stock prices and deep incentive packages for executives. (My coworker says our CEO got $8 million in stock options last year.) I walk daily among El Corpo and its zombies. The Corporation (the movie) was on point. It's a sick place to work (and I know this after three months), yet I go in every day eager to please. I remind myself that I like my supervisor, a man clearly bound for upper echelon executive leadership within 5-10 years, who I think is a "good guy." I work every day doing a good job, but am so out of place. Because I am who I am, I learn everything new there is to learn, not because I'm interested but because it's a challenge. But underneath there are rumblings that say "What are you doing here and what does this mean about who you are?" My wife would chuckle because I've always said it doesn't matter what I do as long as I do a good job. I'm learning that's not the truth about me. I'm not sure where my professional place is. I don't think I have a calling. But I don't think a 2000-employee, NYSE-listed, financial services corporation is it. Maybe it is and I'm just scared of what it means if I build a career here. I feel lost, both internally about this issue and consumed by this corporation.

By night our family blurs all the lines that I've drawn perfectly straight during the day.

Well, the blurring continues. My wife is "branching out" on a personal level and I'm excited for her. She and I have really, really good times together and it is renewing and refreshing. Mr. Man and I try to stay in the flow and in these ways I release some of the linear-bound world of my days.

It's a constantly changing world and I find myself reeling sometimes by the intensity.

This continues to be the essential truth. Remove the sometimes. Each day is the same, but also different and I'm truly wiped out by the time sleep overcomes me. I told a friend in the last few months that life is good, but hard, which is what I think it means to live anyway. Having always been a fairly intense person, I wonder if the intense life is attracted to me or if I call out to the intense life. If it's the latter, I wonder how to stop sending that signal. I'm exhausted.

So what to write now as a way to define me? Right now I think this:

My life is an intense tug-of-war between responsibility and the true expression of my essence. I live in the House of Eris West with my wife of 14 years and our 5 yo son. By day I am consumed by a corporation and spit out at night to a family who fulfills, sustains and exhausts me. I move through constant change and arrive on new shores hoping to find more of myself in each sunrise.

Silence.

Fear Rising Up

I had recurring terrors that something awful was going to happen on this trip or associated with this move. I had terrible fears that I couldn't release. I ignored them. What else to do, really?

Today our party of two vehicles ventured forth from Rock Springs, Wyoming in snowy conditions. Weather was reported online to improve as we moved westward. We decided to take it slowly. 15 miles down I-80 I watch our precious "Yellow Bug" (aka our rented Penske van) gracefully glide in an exit-like motion. It's a sly off-to the right and down sort of descent. I soon realize that this is not an intentional exit that was unannounced over the talkies. It's an accident. A slide into the ditch from icy roads. I hit the same patch of ice in my Subaru and negotiate our car to the side of the road. We soon learn over radio that everyone is okay. With hazards flashing, I abandon our Subaru to the far shoulder and run down to the truck. Shaken friends are safe inside. Library Lady is praising her mother's training on the use of anti-lock brakes. She comments that the coffee hasn't spilled. Nothing in the truck, including the harp, shifted. (Kudos to Biker Boy for his talent with ropes and knots.) On the way down into the ditch the truck hit a sign post and the driver's side-view mirror is busted off. A few scratches mar the driver's door. Amazing.

We get the vehicles off the road. Amazingly the forces larger than us time this at an exit ramp. I bow down to my all-wheel drive and am pleased that I have paid over $20K so that I can easily drive down across the ditch to the exit ramp. We proceed back to the nearest exit with hotel/gas/food and stay put.

Penske, meanwhile, is planning to bring another mirror to us. They have the part but are unwilling to drive from Salt Lake City to us because the highway patrol advises against travel. Penske, it should be noted, is from my home state of Pennsylvania and every customer service rep I speak to on the emergency outline is the pinnacle of helpful, quality service. I love them. I'm also thanking the gods that I got the comprehensive damage insurance that prevents me from paying anything in the event of damage. We will not get the mirror until tomorrow and given the weather conditions cannot continue forward without the crucial driver-side mirror.

By the time we check-in at the hotel my wife admits that she has a migraine. Biker Boy does his pressure point magic to help stave off the pain and nausea.

I spend the day with Mr. Man and we do fine until I get the call from my brother that my father is in the hospital again, after over 24 hours of roaming the streets. My brother needs to vent because the cops and my dad's landlord are pressuring him to "do something" about my dad.

These are all my worst fears about moving west. The burden on my brother. My dad's deteriorating mental health. My mother's deteriorating physical health. Driving across the mountains in the winter. Losing my family.

Meanwhile the landscape is breathtakingly beautiful. Really. The rocky buttes rise up and appear from nowhere. Much like my fears.

Tension in Wyoming

We traversed most of Wyoming today. It was rough at the beginning, as the white, cloud-covered horizon blended in with the snow-covered mountains and made my eyes tired. Eventually we got into bluer skies and had easier driving. The good news today was that we managed to skirt all the storm systems around us and our conditions for driving were ideal.

What I never expected about Wyoming was the number of oil wells and oil refineries. They seem to be everywhere along I-80. Also, the train runs parallel to the highway, so we watched huge freight trains barrel alongside us all day. The land varied a lot, ranging from flat open areas to rolling hills, rocky buttes and occasional high mountain peaks. There seemed to be little civilization along most of I-80.

About 30 minutes east of Laramie, Wyoming, we stopped at a Denny's-like diner for lunch. It seemed ironic that in a seemingly hick-like town we were served by a considerate, very gay waiter. The laugh of the day was that Library Lady's order requiring blue cheese was very weird to him, but our orders of skillet meals without eggs or cheese didn't make him blink.

I'm exhausted today and I'm in a bit of a fog. While I got to release UST (unspoken sexual tension - a term coined by Library Lady), the rest of our group is still tense. I think sleeping 4 adults with a child in one room for five days is starting to wear on our need for privacy. I hope the next few days go smoothly and we find an easy path back to our respective homes. As much as our traveling companions are dear to me, I'll be happy to be back in the comfort of my family's rhythms.

Release on the Road

So my intentions to post every day since BikerBoy got on the train haven't been realized, as you can tell by now. In short, the days before the trip went like this:

Day 3 - Realization that change was coming. It finally hits me that I have a new job.

Day 4 - Party Day. Mr. Man has 12 ~5yos running screaming through the house for 3 hours for his unbirthday/farewell party. This is followed by a wonderful party thrown for us by friends. Amazing vegan food, drinking and a great grownup time.

Day 5 - Work and Pack. Work and Pack. Stress. Work and Pack. Work and Pack.

Day 6 - Last day of Work. Stress. Work and Pack.

Day 7 - Load and Pack. Clean and Pack. Pack some more. Amazing friends help with all of this.

We were slated to leave early Wednesday morning, but we were delayed because there were more errands and yet more packing. We actually left around noon, just in time to hit Chicago traffic at rush hour. We sat on the highway parking lot for hours and eventually made it to Davenport, Iowa. The last 20 minutes was spent in a horrible storm - huge flashes in the sky, torrential rain and hail. In the morning before leaving Davenport we went to the Mississippi River.

On Thursday, we traveled from Davenport to Omaha. Iowa is beautiful and very sensual. The hotel in Omaha was downtown. The staff was amazingly unhelpful once we realized that the truck wouldn't fit into the underground parking lot. In general the service was very bad. The hotel gave me flashbacks to the hotel in Angel.

We spent the first part of today visiting the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha. They have a huge indoor jungle and rainforest exhibit with animals and birds and all sorts of stuff open and all around you. There is also a huge dome with a desert inside it. The aquarium was also very nice. This gave Mr. Man time to have some fun, which was much needed.

Nebraska is not Iowa! Let's talk flat for miles around. It's nice in it's own way - a great wind across the open space, but not much to make the driving easier. We made it from Omaha to Oglalla today. Another big storm front moved in so we were happy to get off the road. When you're out in the open, the storm fronts look huge!!! One cool thing is that Nebraska must be on the migration route for cranes. There were thousands of these birds all around - on the ground, in the sky, etc.

I guess it's Nebraska where there's nothing to do or think about in the great expanse except sex. We were goofy today and the tension among the 4 adults is high. The women of the trip, well, let's just say we communicate. When hotel plans were being made for a 2 bedroom jacuzzi suite, we started thinking of adult options for the group. When that hotel fell through because of the cat, Lovely Librarian Lady devised a plan to give my wife and I some much needed time together.

In perhaps the most irresponsible move since we Mr. Man was born, my wife and I sent BikerBoy and Library Lady to the pool with Mr. Man while we had a much needed quickie(s) to release some energy. It was all very good until BikerBoy returned with Mr. Man for a potty break. Enter lots of giggling and furious attempts to cover the birthday suits. Somehow BikerBoy missed all the planning we had done to orchestrate this event and was quite confused. All went well, the pee break finished and my wife and I got back in the sack. I'm quite relaxed now and can continue into any weather up ahead in the mountains.

January 9th

This date has been floating in my head for almost a month, as it was the anticipated deadline for a hiring decision for the job I am most interested in. Many good things happened today. I picked my wife up from the airport, and she is now safely at home with us where she belongs. We stopped for a bite to eat on the way home from the airport and got home around 7:30pm. I was dreading the mail because I feared the bright orange and blue logo would appear on an envelope, politely telling me I was not selected. The only bad news in the mail was the fact that I bounced a check. The good news in the mail is that I advanced in two more positions - one for the state and one for the county. I should expect a call to schedule an interview with the county soon.

As I helped prepare Mr. Man for bed, took out the trash and scooped the cat's poop (only to have him poop again), I began feeling glum. I glanced at the Bach flower remedy, Gorse, for hopelessness and contemplated a shot. Instead I went upstairs to get in pjs and prepare for tonight's work. I notice that I have new voicemail and so I listen. I am surprised and my heart pounds when my contact in HR at the job I'm very interested in asks me to return her call before 4:30PST. She says she "looks forward to my call." (and yes, I just listened to the voicemail again). When I retrieve the voicemail, it is 4:50PST. I have missed her. I can't reach her again until 10:30 a.m. EST. A long night of waiting ahead to determine if I'm getting eliminated, getting an offer, or if there are yet more hoops.

At least I can sleep knowing that if I don't get the offer, I have interviews tomorrow and I just got word that I will be interviewed for two more positions. So now I'll begin screening the first 100 resumes from candidates who want my job.

Highlights Part II: The Return

We departed Pennsylvania on Monday morning and made it to the state line by 3pm, which was good timing. As we were about out of the state, I got a call to learn that my Mom was being admitted to the hospital because she was having difficulty breathing. So the visit that started with Dad in the psych ward ended with Mom in the ER.

My wife was not feeling well most of the trip and wondered about the onset of a migraine. Midway through Ohio we were certain and by the time we reached Ann Arbor she was at a 10 for pain. Her sheer will got her home without puking. Mr. Man did not fall asleep as I anticipated so when we arrived home at 11pm this was the scenario:

My wife runs into the house, ignores the cat who is desperately seeking attention and beelines to the bathroom to begin puking. I carry the few essentials into the house with Mr. Man. I put the food items in the kitchen and he and I head upstairs. I know my wife is puking and I HATE puke. I yell at Mr. Man to run and hide in his room. He gets upset and goes back to his hissy fit about how he wants to assemble legos. My wife needs water, so I go and get some and give it to her with my eyes closed so I don't see the puke that has gathered in the bucket. I go back to the screaming child and dodge the bites and scratching of the cat, who is still desperately seeking attention. I try to get Mr. Man settled but I'm flipping out about the puke and the sheer chaos of everything and I'm not helping anyone. When I return to the bathroom my wife, who is smart but not lucid, has begun dumping the puke down the drain in the tub - which promptly backs up. There's absolutely no way I can deal with that, so I flip out some more. I forget what happens next. My wife tries to clean up the bathroom and console my son. At some point I go back in with Mr. Man and I help him calm down, explain why I'm upset and we go to sleep. My wife sleeps in the bedroom alone and in pain.

The next morning I am supposed to go to work, but my wife is still very sick and cannot be with Mr. Man alone, so I stay home. I am worn out from last night and I have little reserves to call on. After cleaning the shit off the wall and floor that the cat left for us, I begin putting legos together with Mr. Man, who is very hyper. Let's just say I won't kill you, but I'm not a very pleasant mom to be with.

It's at this point that I realize that I used every ounce of energy to get through the visit with my family and that now I have nothing left to call on. When we were visiting my family, my wife and I made it through and supported each other, for which I'm grateful. Now I'm just mad that everything took such a toll. Regardless, I feel worthless - not able to care for my son or to help my wife.