I've had a couple conversations with my mom about my feelings concerning my eldest sister which have left me feeling rather more agitated than less. I feel she misunderstands, or thinks it's more of an issue than it is. My most recent experience of this was just yesterday. She had asked several weeks ago if I would be interested in coming along with her to my sister's for Thanksgiving luncheon, to which I gave the very indirect and passive-aggressive response, "it wouldn't be my first choice, but if YOU want me to go I will." I realize that was a mistake. I forget, sometimes, that my feelings aren't always clear to others because I keep so much in. I have to remind myself that even though I have thought at great length on this subject or that, unless I communicate it to other parties they will never know. And I never said to her straight out, "I don't want my sister to be a part of my life right now." I think now she's gotten the impression that there's some animosity between Steph and I (she used that word in our conversation yesterday!), that there's ANYTHING between us. But it's almost the opposite. There's nothing there, except that I think she's crazy, and she probably thinks I'm going to Hell.

People say to me, "you may not get along with them, or have anything in common with them, but they're family, and family matters." I say, Why? And maybe years from now I will feel differently about it, will suddenly see how important the bond of family is. But for the most part my siblings are people I would not like if I met them without this relationship between us. And I find that frustrating, and I am unable, at present, to use the simple fact that we share the same parents as a reason to put myself in the position of having to interact with them on a regular basis. Of pretending I care. Of pretending to be happy for another pregnancy. With certain exceptions, I find the in-laws much more palatable than the Snows themselves.

I'm not trying to get bitter or resentful about my siblings. I sat down last night, because it was nagging at me, and tried to write out what it was about Steph that makes me want to keep away. And I did. It could be the kind of thing that we could just talk about, work out in rational, civil dialogue, and maybe more assertive, more confident people would. But I go into those types of confrontations swinging wildly and irrationally, like I'm used to losing (which I am). I am not strong enough to have that conversation with her. I may work up to it in time. For right now, though, I am just keeping my distance from all of them. Until I'm ready to learn to respect and love them for who they are instead of wishing they were what I feel like they should be.

I've been thinking about this off and on for the last month or so: that I want to create my own holiday or tradition wherein I give meaningful gifts to loved ones. It bothers me to celebrate Christmas every year as though it were still My holiday, as though it were something I believed in. But I do believe that, looking past the ludicrous commercialism that's developed around it, there can be value in sharing with loved ones from our hearts.

I realize I could simply adopt the pagan holidays around solstices and equinoxes, but, not being a follower of pagan practices, the movements of the sun and the moon and "official" beginnings and endings of seasons bears only slightly more meaning for me than Christmas or Easter. Or Ramadan, Yom Kippur, whatever. No, my desire is for a truly secular holiday, a celebration of gratitude, love and kinship that I can put my heart into.

For many Thanksgivings now I have spent some small amount of time reflecting on the comforts I have that so many do not, and simply being grateful for the company and fellowship around the great meal. It is the only nationally celebrated holiday that really has any meaning for me, since the two Big Ones are based on Christian mythology and I am a nonbeliever.

One doesn't need to schedule gratitude or kinship, or have a reason beyond wanting to to give a friend a present. The fact is, though, that I personally operate better if I do have it on the calendar in some way. Since my desertion of religion I have struggled with varying degrees of guilt for not appreciating friends and family, for not doing for them the kinds of thoughtful things they have done for me. I always mean to, I simply forget before I can manage to stop procrastinating. A deadline, as it were, for something that means so much to me will be not only useful but beneficial as well. The coming of the holiday will serve as a reminder to me that I will, in whatever way I can or feel most strongly towards, do something for my friends and family, and I will also serve my own peace of mind in doing so.

It will be a very small affair this year, since I have given myself so little time to prepare for it, but I plan for each Thanksgiving hereafter to be not only a harvest feast with cheap wine and little-known relations, but a true Giving of Thanks to those who mean the most to me, and an opportunity to give any small gift I believe will have meaning for myself and those who receive it.

Got to thinking again tonight about my stupid brother and sister. wtf. Mostly it's katie, but I have this image in my head like they're in league together or something. I think I'm kind of crazy. But I also think they're completely irrational and selfish. So there.

I feel very frustrated and alone right now. Stupid (lack of) friends, stupid abandonment issues. Stupid brain. If this feeling keeps coming back for a few more days I'm going to have to get back into therapy. I hate that.

And I HATE people talking to me like they know what's best for me. I don't need that shit.

Grr.

Sometimes I think words cheapen the feeling they're meant to describe.

Maybe I just lack the skill to describe them. I am no poet.

We are such a sad, selfish people. It can seem like our consciousness is a blight.

In nature animals kill each other, are killed, live, reproduce, die without any feelings we know of, without any awareness. We are the only things on this earth (that we know of) whose existence truly is centered around self-awareness. Divergence is not only frowned upon, it is practically illegal. One is not human if one is not self-aware.

My old therapist told me before that it was not natural, not healthy, that I was unable to separate myself from the event of a stray cat taking food to its kittens, that my meditation on the futility of life and existence for those creatures and subsequent depression was something I must work to fix.

But who will cry for those creatures if I do not?

Another argument is that all life must end, death is inevitable for all things and we might as well make the most of it while we're here. Love life, revel in it. There's a certain seduction in the beauty of life. And the stillness, the ugliness of death scares us. Terrifies us, in the truest sense.

I am probably just crying for myself, and not any poor dumb animal, after all. And to think of that I must cry even more.

Okay, lessons learned: 1) I can go 8-12 hours without noticing NOT having taken my meds, 2) best to take them AS SOON as I've noticed. This was the fastest-thinking most level-headed response I've had to this problem so far. So yay me! I still shunned the telephone all day, but that's not completely unusual even under the best of circumstances.

So far, so good. Just need to have some breakfast and take today's dose, and hopefully all will be well.

I think I forgot to take my meds this morning... we went to brunch and I wore a skirt with no pockets. Normally I would have put the pill in my pocket so I'd be sure and find it later if I forgot during or right after breakfast. Twelve hours later I am slightly agitated, the early stage of antidepressant (or whatever) withdrawal. I just took my pill, and hopefully I'll sleep through the worse parts of this feeling and the drug will re-integrate itself into my system before I wake up.

Watching a movie filmed from the perspective of a paranoid schizophrenic does not help.

I think the fact that I'm "addicted" to this drug bothers Philip. I think he prefers not to think about it, which he doesn't have to, most times. I'm pretty good about taking it, so he doesn't see so much of this.

I prefer not to think about this addiction, too.

My sister is having ANOTHER baby. I really don't know how I feel about that.

I had a dream last night about dad. It was another one where he was supposed to be dead, but there he was. I was kind of outside of time, and I didn't realize what the date was (that it was after the date of his death) until pretty late in the dream. I woke up before I had a chance to ask him about it.

It was a family trip, loosely inspired, I think, by my trip with Cynthia to Boston. Roger and Harron were hosting, taking us around the city, and Betsy was there, and possibly Ellie and Susie & Mike. And Dad and I. I think my mind hasn't really decided what death means. I know he's dead, intellectually, but day-to-day it's not so much that he isn't alive anymore, it's more like he's just not here. I can understand why people are so inclined to believe in an afterlife. It almost makes more sense than believing the one we love simply no longer exists. I think it's easier for our minds to believe in spirits and afterlifes than to contemplate Nothing. We are such a complex brain.

I am very hesitant to lean in any direction spiritually. In fact I try to avoid it entirely. I try to base my opinions on what scientific facts we know, and stay away from speculations and mythology. After all, any story we make up to explain something we don't understand is just that -- a myth.

In other news, all the natural disasters have gotten me pondering the end of the world, though it's probably just the environment responding to pollution and climate change. Think: "Mother Earth Maaaad... Mother Earth SMAAASH!!!" The Incredible Hulk is big and green after all.

Also, I am trying to decide whether or not to invest in the Ender's Game comic books that are coming out, or have come out already. Hm.

My farts smell kind of like sauerkraut today.

I smell my farts. I mean, how can you not be curious? If nothing else, I want to know what other people smell if I happen to do it in company.

When did it become taboo to fart in public, anyway? Like belching or discussing bodily functions, it's somehow rude or inappropriate. It it a Victorian thing, or does it predate even them? Any why? They're natural parts of human function. Everybody gets gas, just like everybody poops and pees. Scientifically, it's fascinating. Yet it's something only mentioned (in the crudest of terms) when people are trying to be funny. Kind of like anal sex in ancient Greece. It was considered "unclean" and was generally disapproved of, but it showed up often in comedies and comedic paintings -- it was so crude and ridiculous that it was funny.

I don't know if it's better that some subjects are just not broached in conversation, or if we should attempt to liberate ourselves from those ancient chains of decorum and polite society. I certainly wouldn't want to hear graphic details about anyone else's sex life or something. So maybe I should just keep my mouth closed about it.

Philip and I had a short vacation trip to Myrtle Beach -- one of those free 4 day/3 night packages his boss always gives away at the Christmas party -- which I haven't really had time to reflect on since we got back because I've been working almost constantly since then. Overall it was great. The only timeframe I could get when I called to make the reservations was Tues-Fri, which turned out perfectly because, while there were still a fair number of people around, it wasn't nearly what it might have been over a weekend. Besides, it being September, it wasn't the insane place it becomes in the peak season.

The drive down was the most stressful part. I had looked up directions on Google and copied them down (not precisely as they were given, but I believed I understood them), but Philip had turned on his GPS thing that's a service that comes with his phone. It was a little irritating since I trusted myself to get the directions right. Then we got to some point where the two roads we were supposed to follow split off from each other... I think I must have written it wrong or something. The GPS pointed us in the right direction, but my confusion led us in the wrong direction for about 15 minutes before we pulled over and bought a map. The fact that Philip had the GPS on was confusing and hurt my pride kind of a lot. I was kind of angry at that point. I did my best not to take it out on him, since it wasn't really his fault. On the way back he started to go for the GPS thing again, and I asked nicely if he could just leave it be and trust me. He replied that he didn't see any harm in it. I told him it hurt my pride a little and he listened! And turned it off. I don't know if he really "got it," but I really appreciated the fact that he listened. We did get off track again (stupid poorly marked roads and turn-offs) but we got back on track without too much fuss (and didn't lose any time!). I discovered that it really made Philip uncomfortable not to know exactly where he was going. He had to know where we were on the map, which way we were going, etc. I don't know if it helped him any but I made a point of telling him approximately how long we'd be on which highway (which I did fairly accurately!) and warning him of upcoming exits well before we were at them so he wouldn't be in the dark. I hope it helped.

The stay itself was awesome. Our hotel was nothing special, the continental breakfast sucked, but the weather was great. Stayed in the mid-80s almost the whole time. We had brought our bikes and spent all Wednesday riding around through the residential areas near the beach. Some fancy fucking houses out there. The roads were pretty level so even though it was 8 miles or so to the Grand Strand it was no trouble getting there. Thursday we went to Ripeys Aquarium, which was totally badass. I would love to go back. I really enjoyed just spending time alone with Philip. At the beach we were both relaxed and we could just enjoy each other's company. We certainly don't see eye to eye on everything but I like him a lot.

It was great just to get away for a few days. It almost could have been anywhere. Life when I got back was immediately stressful, but having had a break has (so far) allowed me to handle it a little better.

I have never been one to challenge others' opinions... well, that's not true. I have never really successfully debated or had lively discussion with anyone about issues... I never felt confident or educated or articulate enough to even try. Or, rather, failures at a very very young age have prevented me since from trying. It is something I have recently developed more of an interest in. The helpful thing, for me, about the Internet as a forum is that I have time to react and then choose my response. It's so difficult not to get heated or, in my case, just start crying, when frustration at the other party(ies) takes hold. All the same, there are social issues I am beginning to feel very strongly about, and when people express opinions other than the ones I hold, I want to engage them in discussion. In civil discussion. Which is why the Internet is so great. Yay, the Internet. I do wonder what kinds of forums there are for debate, if they're all snobs, or if the groups are all partisan and people with dissenting views just don't talk to one another anymore. Socrates would weep.

Still having trouble breathing. Not really taking time to practice, though, either, so it's largely my fault.

Been having lots of disturbing dreams lately, indicative of how stressed I am internally. Other than being a little more irritable than usual, I don't notice it much externally. I kind of forget it's there until I start thinking about it.

Taking life one day at a time doesn't allow for much living, but embracing all of life with abandon is something I simply cannot do.

I had such an oppressive dream last night/this morning... I haven't had any dreams that so reflected my internal unrest in several months, I think. It was as though I was going back to college, but somewhere other than Western. Renee was my roommate in the dorm, and we moved in separately. The dorm room itself was quite nice, and had a private bathroom. It was a terrible climb up a steep and ridged concrete sidewalk to get to it, though. Dad was behind me, hauling my trunk (a little too easy, there). I think a young Timm was there, too, behind him. Left alone, I felt terribly out of place in the room, disoriented, afraid. Renee kept getting switched with Laura, depending on the scene. She suffered a great outrage at the hands of some frat- and sorority-types, which I witnessed but could not move to intervene (a la The Kite Runner... what a comparison to make!) and in fact I only glanced once or twice but could not watch full on.

There was some concern among the administration about my mental state, owing to the circumstances surrounding my leaving Western. I was afraid, terrified, but unable to pinpoint the cause. Like that great depression I entered so many times at school. On the verge but never quite breaking down in public. I was referred to an administrator of sorts, who gave me a card for a doctor/therapist with whom I was already acquainted (from Western or more recently, I don't know). I think they were afraid I wouldn't be a good student, that my instability would lead to the same failure I had achieved at Western. I guess that kind of thing reflects badly on the school.

In another scene Laura/Renee found out I had witnessed the public atrocity against her, and was inclined to be angry with me for seeing and not helping. I tried to explain that I couldn't have possibly, in the state I was in, and a school counselor-type tried to embrace me but I shifted my seat violently to escape her.

I am afraid, and I do fear that a lot of what has held me back and made me what I am is still around and will hold me back again if I pursue any great change. And yet I half-feel that I MUST make a change, that my opportunity had arrived, my bluff has been called. I don't know what to do.

I think sometimes about moving out of Charlotte, but that idea terrifies me more than staying. Where would I go, and what would I do? Besides, we have months left on our lease, and I have planted a garden.

Rereading "The Count of Monte Cristo" has really not been helping me feel better today. It's 100+ chapters of intensity, of doom and Providence, events more bitter than bittersweet. But God! It's such an amazing story I find I cannot put it down. I fear after this, though, I will have to shelve it for good, up with Evangelion and Ender's Game, the stories that cut me too deeply to continue accessing them, though they mean so much to me.

in a crummy mood due to lethargy, the palm delivery I have to make hanging over my head, and right before I set out to take care of it it started raining in torrents so I have been waiting, but the longer I wait the less OK I am with waiting. Then the power goes out and Philip, bored because none of his electronics will work until the power gets fixed, comes out and starts messing with stuff and teasing annabel like he does anytime he's bored. my car is in the shop til probably mid-week and I can't bike to the bakery because it's still raining. so rather than letting me borrow his car (I suppose I could have expressed the preference and he would have), he drives me here, drops me off and expects me to call him when I'm ready to get picked back up. What am I, 15? though obviously he has no idea how unhappy this plan makes me. he could have stayed and helped me with the delivery -- seriously, it's not like he can do anything at the house until the power comes back on, since all his toys are electronic -- but no, he's not into that. So here I am, bitching about it making typos and getting mad about that, too. And my breathing's fucked up again and my bowels are just plain fucking with me and I just want to cry and scream and hit things. My intestines feel confused and I feel fat and bloated and my senses are weird... everything smells funny, especially the living room at the house, and my face keeps geting those annoying little itches. I can't even enjoy the count of monte cristo, which I started rereading recently, because of all this. so tell me, tara brach, what am I feeling? where should I focus? is there a safe, happy place you want me to visualize?

First thing, I need to relax and focus on breathing properly, but I'm so agitated and when I don't get it right I get frustrated and give up.

Aren't there any world-class therapists in Charlotte who'll work pro bono?

I hate myself for being so terrible.

in one of those moods where I really do want to improve myself... starting tomorrow.

really, though, I was folding clothes and thought, now this shirt would look really cute on someone with a flat stomach.

until I get my car back I'm biking to work, and I think about making a habit of meditation and crunches every morning, but such a thing isn't so easy to put into practice.

I am trying not to be too hard on myself for not commencing these things immediately.

Mom's out of town so I'm on my own for mindfulness group sunday. If I get myself up and there I'll be pretty well impressed. I'll consider the crunches once I get to that point.

I'm grumpy because I crashed my car Monday and I need $500 to get it fixed... it's only thanks to collision insurance that it won't cost me any more than that. I already owe my mom $1300 for my wisdom teeth but she's the only person I could brow from. While I was in Boston my Uncle, Aunt and Cousin each casually dropped $100 for tickets to see Paul McCartney one evening. I did a good job hiding my disgust, and the place where my disgust at them separates from my envy of them is very very fuzzy. I keep telling myself to become one of those people who just keeps working and does what she can but doesn't get complainy or negative about her situation. I keep telling myself that. I think, whining about it won't do me any good, I should just accept things as they are and look around for ways to make my situation better. It's not anyone else's fault.

I am afraid that I'll be poor all my life. I'm afraid I'll be depressed forever. I'm afraid I don't have the motivation, self-discipline, whatever, to improve myself. I get so angry when I have days like this. I think, I took my meds, they're supposed to make things better! Just imagine, Mary, what you would feel like right now without them. I'm not crying, I'm not completely uselss, though I am moving slowly.

It's rainy today so I drove my car to work even though I told myself I would bike to work after the accident. At least until my Swamp Thing gets fixed. She's driveable, obviously, but ugly, disfigured. Her bumper scrapes the pavement when I turn in or out of parking areas.

I meant to meditate this morning, too, and do crunches. I didn't have to be at work until 11, so I figured I'd get up around 8:30, have some breakfast, and start taking care of myself. But it was rainy and I felt slow and heavy and sad so I hit snooze until 9, 9:30, 10. I fail myself and I have to wonder if I do it deliberately. Am I just trying to prove my fears right? On the rare occasions I actually remember Tara Brach's suggestion of merely being present with myself, my feelings, and not judging, not damning, I never accomplish it. In those moments I do just want to wallow in my self-beratement, that part of me that thrives on self-destruction. It's a small step to simple awareness, but it feels like a chasm I don't even want to cross. Then the other times, the times when I am open and susceptible to ideas like that I think, sure, I could do that, it wouldn't be that hard. Oh, but it is! I have to conquer myself in order to make that small change, and I am so proud of my immunity to conquering; my invulnerability, so to speak.

Would one call taking delight in one's own misery "Selbstschadenfreude"? It seems like it could be a real word. I shall have to ask the native German on staff here.

I reread "Constance" (a YA novel based on the adolescent Constance Hopkins growing up as a settler at Plymouth) and now I have a crush on my own ancestor. Great. It's Dr. Bashir Syndrome, eh, Nee-pan?

I think I have lost any skill or ability I may have ever had in writing. My journaling is uninteresting, my language is full of slang and painfully nondescript... or so I mean undescriptive? Indescriptive? Is there a word for what I mean? I DON'T EVEN KNOW. I need to read more, more prose, more poetry, more of what I want to write, but I don't know where to begin and I have large library fines. I have never had any skill at fiction though I always imagined it. Always wanted it. How does one begin cultivating a skill one always imagined one already possessed??

Wisdom teeth come out Friday, followed by the trip to Boston Tuesday. The drive-in is finally playing Harry Potter. I don't think I'll be up for it Saturday but we'll see.

Had a pretty decent day today. Bit of trouble getting motivated to finish the workday, but emotionally I was pretty okay. One of the girls just got dumped, so I spent some of the afternoon concerned about her, but her mood seemed to improve and by the time she left was behaving like herself again. I am not like Halley, in whom our staff seem more comfortable confiding, so I didn't want to make things awkward by mentioning it. I do hope she doesn't give herself too hard a time about it, though I can imagine it's... really rough to go through. Never having been in a relationship other than my current one, I don't know much about it. I do feel for her though.

I have Mahler's 6th Symphony in my head... I do so love it. I really would like to spend more time with classical music. It is so evocative.

I am feeling a little bit guilty about using the money my late father's fiancee sent me to get new glasses. The reasons are severalfold. First, I am generally broke so things like new glasses are something of a luxury I wouldn't dream of. This being said, I am about to borrow over $1,000 from my mother to facilitate removal of my wisdom teeth, and getting new glasses might indicate to her that I am spending what money I have frivolously (though she may actually praise me for taking care of myself) and then I would feel the need to explain the windfall of $200 from Cynthia, who feels like Dad would have wanted her to "help me out" in this way. The worry about this is that Mom has very mixed feelings about Cynthia, or not-so-mixed really -- she hasn't found a thing to like about her yet. That Cynthia is sending me money periodically might incense her, or might relieve her, I don't know. I'm afraid to find out, honestly. But I don't want to lie to her. And the new glasses will demand an explanation, I am pretty sure of that. What to say and what not to say... I don't know. I have until Sunday morning to figure it out, but I am working almost nonstop until Saturday evening so it's not as much time as I'd like.

Maybe I'll make a new playlist for work tomorrow.