Bedfellow is gone. A lot.

Nick is practically gone.

So it's just been me and Max and the little people makin' our way here.
Bedfellow is home this week. Home with a sense of security that I don't have to do the big battles on my own. Home with his humor and love. Home with his whirlwind of Peter Pan live by the seat of your pants no structure is routine. He's very good at what he does and he works hard but Arghh. So when he's here I'm happy and perpetually pissed.

Yesterday Max asked him to take him to play racquetball. They returned feeling excretion good and laughing. I was so inflamed jealous! My emotional base screamed I WANT MAX TO LOVE ME THE BEST!!!

Ashamed. Selfish.
Confused as to why do I hate him so much.
I never had a truer friend.

I discovered a nifty trick.

When I am looking at something aesthetically to study it's shape and pattern if I out stretch my hand fingers wide and focus on it's shape then back to the object then to my hand again, then remove my hand I see the what I am looking for much clearer.

Javier Bardem is sex.

What is the movie Vicky Christina Barcelona trying to communicate to us? Christina leaves much more solid about love and Vicky seems pretty not happy about discovering her way of love is solid and the Barcelona love was insane. Auntie seems pretty damn miserable too. So why did I take this journey with these characters?

I want to film Nick while his hair is still long.

I considering recreating a film that I saw at The Guggenheim. One, to better learn editing and two because the message was so poignant and profound I want to see it with my own family. I think it would capture for me what it was like to raise Nickolas and seems appropriate since he is near leaving us.

Also discovered, I really like the shape of my hand.

Didn't off myself or anything. I just needed to write those things some neverwhere to get the rattle dissipated. But not so neverwhere that I can't go summon up their hindsight wisdom.

Wasted approximately $175 in the last 8 days. Money stratagem is laborious mentally and arduous emotionally.

Don't want to spend the waking hour and a half or the emotional energy to watch the Oscars tonight.Yet... The art of film making is so damn compelling to me; deep in my mind structural bones compelling. I can just as easily read about why these films are stand outs but part of me wants to see the moment, the face of the person whose work is judged superior. Capture their drive for it.

There are only a few regrets in my life. I am lucky. My jumbo is that I did not pursue film making and story telling when opportunity was a turning and open elevation to me.

Three of my children are story tellers. I will push them.
One is a warrior. I'm going to just step out of that one's way.
One is strange. Strange, curious and still tender young. I will just watch for his star sparks.

The words that weight you down the road suicidal are not low, mean or label words.

They are wonderful, desirable words.
Charismatic. Triumph. Apt. Preferred. Reprieve. Satisfy. Haven.

The liquid your brain swims in is what fuels them, what is the lie.
Yet those, those words, well they are the solid rock that jerks your arm down like an anchor where drowning seems a small discretion you perform to relieve the ones you love.

The worst part of not having my meds is the floating. Floating seems like a pleasant thing but it's not. I feel myself on the bed while I'm floating, every imperfect part of the comfort of it saturates my awareness but still I am not part of it. Thinking too hard about this makes the floating worse. My teeth feel like they are floating free, in place but on their own. I don't understand this. Or why I hate myself for the tingling and ugly feel of my mouth closed and aware of my teeth ... floating.

The inside of my head without meds feels like a metal trash can. I sit inside it, smaller than I am supposed to be. No sound is right. And the dreams that come if I hold very still seem more real than the real life warm and moving right outside the can. Makes the sitting still more important and then comes the stall. The stall I can't even beg myself out of.

When I am well it never occurs to me any part of that is me. I live the meds cause I don't want to remember that part of me. Oh yes, when I don't have the meds my feelings are deep and beautiful but they are bigger than me. That's the part worth escaping.

And my head without meds is only ever a night or two away.

A friend and I were exchanging over IM things that we thought made life beautiful. He said, The mothering instinct.

I never thought about that before. Mothering is part of being female, but some times not.
Myself, I am compelled toward it. It is the essence of me, so I never thought it "beautiful".
A character in a 70's made for TV movie said watching her sleeping children, They make me feel more like a woman than lying beneath any man ever did. That stuck with my child mind and it became true in my own life.

Now I watch for it every where. Watch the mothering instinct happen.
Look to see what would be beautiful to a man in it.

Holding my sleepy kitten in the quiet afternoon, kissing her tiny paws just to make her feel loved, I relished in it. If it looks beautiful from the outside I have to tell you it feels glorious from the inside.

My favorite love scene: Between Antonio Banderas and Angelina Jolie in Original Sin.

Horrible confrontation over huge deception and they are both on their hands and knees yelling, screaming, crying Thief, Whore, Liar. He's shaking her shoulders and shouts at her, Don't you see...
...that I cannot breathe without you? ... I cannot live without you!

My heart seizes in my chest with frantic fury. And it feels like the most romantic thing that could be said to a woman. Ever. If said with such rage.

My favorite sex scene: Between America Ferrera and Roberto Urbina in Hacia la oscuridad.

It looked raw, awkward, uncomfortable, both characters miserable, angry, conflicted.
In desperation there was one simple truth, they belong together.

Even though it could not have been good sex, it was the strength of that moment in carnal honesty that turned me on so much.

It just now occurs to me it must be very difficult and intense to love me in any sexual or romantic way. My most intimate moments with another person are usually based on an epiphany of truth. Not always beautiful, romantic or tender. Conclusion: My best love is only rich in it's resolute, tenacious, piercing veracity.

Ouch.



Edit For A Later Thought:
Remembering Original Sin I knew there was a part that was the embodiment of a romantic love, a beauty of truth and it was this...

I am someone else with you.
Someone more like...
...myself.
There, in his arms...
...she became someone else.
Someone more like herself.

Nick is going to join the military.
All sorts of feelings come when your child is doing this, the biggest of course is what if we lose him. Doing something brave and noble doesn't feel like it would be any sort of comfort if I lost my beautiful boy.
Many of Nick's friends reactions to his decision is, but, but you could die!

When Nick told us this, his Dad said, I totally see you Nick as the guy who keeps other people alive. He said, I know! Suddenly I felt a lot better, like it's true. Nick is extremely loyal, cool and thinking in a crisis.

Then I was thinking about if I feel so keenly the risk how much more so Nick must. Then I understood, "The brave men and women of our armed forces."

I have a friend who actually believes Obama is the anti-christ we've all been expecting.
I hope his turban will match his snappy light blue ties.

Phone has been ringing off the hook.
Political solicitation being the majority of the annoyance.

Bedfellow says he will vote against the last candidate to call our house. He firmly told a McCain caller, I want to vote for McCain, if you want me to vote for him get my name, my wife and son's names off your call list, otherwise if I get a call November 1st from McCain I'm voting for Obama.

McCain supporters called three times today. Hehe.

Enjoy the debate.

You preferred Obama's statements 67% of the time You preferred McCain's statements 33% of the time Voting purely on the issues you should vote Obama Who would you vote for if you voted on the issues? Find out now!

Not surprised.
I'm still a Republican, just not a McCain Republican.

It is incredible to me how an adult animal who has a complete choice to move on chooses to stay. That acceptance and tribe/pack/family feeling makes my life a little happier. They add further happiness and delight to our family members.

I am enchanted when I see them outside doing their own thing. Makes home feel more like a real place with busy lives all about. There are more to love and be loved here with the pets.

I was all about cats, until Shamingo Doggy Girl came. Then I knew real companionship with her. I feel less lonely when she is beside me in the car. A loneliness I didn't know existed until she was there to fill it. Her love eyes melt my soul.

Incredible lessons about death, protection and tenderness have been learned by the kids through loving the pets.

My mentally ill cat Mimi and mine's bond is deeply gratifying. I feel truly connected to her like I can feel her heart and she can feel mine. She makes the cost of cat litter, food, vet all worth it.

I had decided that LiveJournal was a tremendous time suck.
I stayed away, amazing to me, 5 months. Doesn't seem like I got a whole lot done.

Didn't move to California.
Didn't move to Arizona.
Which still feels like my blood is always pulling west no matter how solidly I sit my ass here, stubborn to be happy.
I am happy here. Still every time I see California in the movies or TV I find my body tilted west and I cry out. CALLIFORNNAAAA!

Facebook. Fun. Found Amy, my flower girl and one of my soul's very best friends.
FB, it's so ... bits and pieces.  I missed saying something when I felt like I wanted to say more than Deanna is...

Been thinking about how much longer I can actually get away with staying at home which naturally leads to what the hell am I gonna do when it's over. So I kick around a few ideas with a couple friends. One is self-interestedly saying I shouldn't feel I have to do anything. I think she wants me to be her sit on the porch and shoot the shit girl now that she's done working. Another sees my tender heart and agrees I should do all these ideas I have for pouring it out there for the good of mankind.

Then surprisingly from the corner of my life comes perfect bus stop mom, Jennie, and says, 'Deanna I think you should totally write. You never answer an email in a regular fashion, you always think of a twist on how to say it. That's why everyone says you're creative, people notice. You crack me up. ' In reality, I do that from sheer boredom and from that hard genetic von Rosenberg smart ass tic.

So, I return to the seductive time vortex of LiveJournal. See if I can stand my own tap dancing practice.

Funk is not the right word but it's the first word that comes to mind.
Time warp isn't it either but the mood is floating somewhere in between.

I dream intensely of Zak and Marc. Pleasantly and solid.
I've taken to calling them Sideshow and Stick.
Those are probably the best nicknames I have ever made up for my people, they're fun like Pippi or Scout are.

Everyone should have one friend like my friend Lito.
Lito doesn't know any of my other friends, he only knows Zak and Marc acquaintance style.
The friend we met through we both dislike now.
This makes him very handy as a friend because when I have shit I can't tell anyone else I can tell him.
There are things you can't tell other couples you know, or people who would listen and tell.
Lito, he's neutral. He doesn't freak out. Yet he always gives me the right reaction; shock, laugh, amusement, a tissue.
I am fascinated with the life he has lived and lives. I love to listen to him.
Any time I have needed help he was there in ten minutes or less.
I'm out of gas, the thing won't work now it's clunking oh shit it just fell off kind of stuff.
Lito is a perfect gentleman. I bake him stuff sometimes.

I knew a big secret. An exciting kind of secret.
It was hard to sit on it but I did. I didn't even tell bedfellow.
Secret got out. But it was not me. When Max heard that I'd known the secret he was impressed.
He said that he couldn't wait to tell me. After his why didn't you tell me, he said that actually it made him trust me even more.
Makes me feel like a solid armored truck baby!
Solid feels good.

I have been called a bad mother, as in bad, bad, *smack* bad parent, you do not conform to social norms bad parent.... In a community called bad parents designed to support parents who are a little off the beaten path!!!

I wrote on my Facebook status ... was chided harshly for being a bad parent in LiveJournal's bad parents community. Evidently it is for parents who are bad, you know as in super good.

I just got this written on my wall by one of mine/the kids friends.

mama k, you are bad like vladimir putin's inner mother..and i mean that in a good way.

Ahhh, it's the little things in life that make all the difference.

Is over emotional posting as bad as drunk posting?
I think yes.

I slept 10 hours during the day yesterday. Finally felt refreshed. Then was tired at 10 p.m. which is normal time so I didn't feel bad for the Dracula day.

I am reading a book that makes me feel smart. At least it gives me interesting things to talk about. GO NON-FICTION.
I am reading a book that kills God. Interesting thought food. Can't wait to test it out on Philosopher Alex. GO SCIENCE FICTION.

When I go through a major life change, like a move or some big emotional event my memories from before the epoch fade dramatically. I am noticing that lately I am having a serious fade. Yet no change or big drama. I have lived here for 10 years now, longest I have lived anywhere. The last big fade/unsettling I had was 2004. I don't understand it, why now?

17 more days till Max is free.
31 until the other three.
Thank Goober!

I think son and silence are beautiful words and spy is fun to say.

I emotionally understand the line from Fight Club when he says 'I wanted to destory something beautiful' because I am feeling so friggin' pissed.

I feel sorry for my kids today.
Bedfellow deserves what ever ka-may-ha-may-ha's his way.

I am a more solitary creature than I thought.

Bedfellow is still at home all the time, Alex is recovered but living the vampire lifestyle. Since they both have been home everything feels out of balance. The days just aren't peaceful any more. I feel strained under always being under someones eyes. I miss being alone and the day being mine. It seems I was more productive then too.

So I go out a lot to be alone. Therefore I am spending money. I am not sure what to do about it.

Gonna get my haircut tomorrow. I used to like that but since my bad bad bad cut in December I am wounded and feel anxiety that either by 1:30 p.m. May 14th I will either be under a sack of shame or elated. I'm feeling so foul right now that it is overwhelming.

I just scared myself with how pathetic and in need of therapy that sounds.

Three stuffs.

One of our siblings finally birthed me a nephew. I love him.
I know you're thinking with as many kids as she's got wouldn't her sibs be flushing out babes just as fast?
NO. This is the first new human to join the family after my five.
He's kinda unusual looking, probably gonna be beautiful like his mother.

We made a 48hour film.
It was intense. When we went to see Iron Man all Max, the bedfellow and I could think of was how hard this or that shot must have been to edit or shoot. We have a new respect for film makers now. All of Max's friends who came were amazingly fun and patient. We knew we had pack teenage actors and a couple of adults so it was challenging to come up with a sci-fi story (that was our assigned genre) that fit in a bunch of kids. Wasn't very happy with sci-fi, but once we got to writing it became pretty exciting. I am very proud that I came up with the kernel of the idea that became our movie. Makes me feel smart.

We didn't get our film in on time, which is too bad because I really do think we had a serious chance at winning best use of prop. Several of the actors went to see it on the big screen with us. Though there were a couple rough spots in the edit or dialogue the movie looked pretty darn good up there. And compared to the other films that night we did fairly awesome for our first time.

In the name of saving money for a bit I let my cell phone go all ghetto. Had black gaffers tape holding the battery on, the camera window was cracked, call reject button missing, the power vagina sticking out and the sealing on the inner side of the screen was loose and floating. You had to turn the phone just so to see the letters in a text message properly. So the day it held a charge standby for a mere hour and a half I knew it was time.

I got a purple one. Now I am girly as can be when it comes to electronics and cars, primarily interested in what color it is. But somewhere in my inner self respect I feel girly colored cell phones are embarrassing and ridiculous. A sure sign that "she" couldn't figure out the best technology for her and just bought the "pretty one". Well when reviewing the upgrade options the things I was looking for most in a phone were encased in deep plum. What could I do? I think I'm over it now. I think I outgrew my silliness, either that or I betrayed my rare area of dignity and class. So as I am putting in the SIM card I am wondering if forty years from now I'll give in and wear house coats and flowered hats.

Probably be sooner.

I feel like being here.

This morning I was thinking about nessachan  and wondering how her life goes these days. Yesterday I had told a story of nessachan  's starting with "my internet friend..." Then I got to thinking when is an internet friend a real friend? Like should you have to meet them first or have known them a certain amount of time? I decided when I think about them and care; much like any friend really. Then why did I even ask myself this I got to thinking. Most of my my-friend-said-s don't use a frame of reference unless it adds a context for the point. Does inserting 'internet' add any credibility? It almost feels like an excuse, well I know them but I don't them. Silly.
Next time I tell Nessa's story I will simply say, My friend had this job...

Intensive.
Life has been intensive.
Not inside me or even about me. The people around me have life intensive. It tends to rub off .

Bedfellow has not been assigned a project in three weeks. When waiting for one his work culture calls it being "at the beach".
Work sends this and that for him to get done with all of his speedy full life force a couple times a week.
He does a training this and that.
He does whatever this and that he has to get done from home.
He does sleep a lot and showers maybe this day or that.
And... He is this and that driving me crazy!!!!
The beaches of my retirement dreams are distorting into this "at the beach" where the companion is restless, follows me about all day wanting to know what I'm doing and streaming suggestions of how I could do it better !!! ??? !!!

Plus... Bedfellow is an absolute urgency junkie. If we don't turn going to the grocery store into our most imperative task with a focus group to plan and execute the trip followed by an evaluation of our effectiveness he simply can not bring himself to do it. For him it's either high stakes crisis or Jeffery Lebowski. He's been dressing about as well too.
He does help drive the kids to this and that so his little consultant lost is tolerable.

Alex has mono. He maybe over it by now or he may have even died from it for all I know.
He isn't returning communications.

Like Puking Monkeys Nick's life gets filled up with drama. I repeat, Like Puking Monkeys.
Being the Confessional slash Counselor slash OMG-Nick-I-want-to-have-your-baby of his school he carries a quiet concern burden about what's entrusted to his ear. Nick has also become a part of Max's circle of theater friends who as of late have experienced some intensive relational drama. Mostly Nick has a "fuck all that" attitude but I see he cares when people are hurt and conflicted over being on both the receiving and giving ends of assholery. It is intensive to watch it  yet the best and all I can do is to let him live and learn, listen when he talks and try to protect his restoration solitude.

Plus! Plus! Plus!
Nick, my I'm not going to let anything control me son, has quit cigareetas!!! One hundred pounds of respect I have thrown onto the Nick is awesome pile. I'll add another ten for the humor and self honesty he has done it with. He has struggled, when stress and shit has come at him he has wanted to go back to it. It was his way to relax, to take a minute for himself, to break out of boredom or reflect and focus. To give that up at his age deserves another 5 pounds at least. Impressive is his being able to be around smokers smoking and not do it. Tonight I did see him want to as he was standing with friends who were, saw his resistance in the way he turned his body momentarily from them. When I turned mine away from our "see you later" I closed my eyes wishing him still more strength for it.

There is much more, more of best beloveds and bizarres with unusuals. My whole loses the test of wills with my eyelids.
I'll pick up tomorrow...