My Own Brand of Crazy

I woke up this morning at 4 am. My mind was whirling with thoughts and worries, none of which warranted such an early wakeup. After staring at the ceiling for half an hour, I surrendered to that maelstrom of neuronal activity. I ran on the treadmill, finished the newsletter for The Peanut's preschool, returned some emails, emptied the dishwasher, made JJ's lunch, and sauteed leeks to get a jump-start on dinner. When Jack staggered blearily out of the bedroom, I handed him a fresh cup of coffee and resumed straightening up the living room.

Like all objects, I exist in one of two states: at rest or in motion. When I'm at rest—inert—I can barely summon the energy to get out of bed. I'll go for days without a shower; it just seems like too much effort, and the thought of having to take another shower in a day or two makes me want to weep. What's the point, I wonder, when I'll just get sweaty and gross again? The simple activities of everyday life seem pointless and exhausting.

But when I'm in motion, I cannot rest. Sleep eludes me. I perform tasks at a frenzied pace. I revel in ticking off the most boring items on my to-do list. Shower? Check. Scrub the shower tiles with a tootbrush? Check. Make gigantic pot of vegetable soup? Check. I plow through my day at an inexorable pace, unable to pause to catch my breath.

I have wondered before if I have bipolar disorder, although my brilliant psychiatrist assures me that I don't. I trust her, she knows what she's talking about. But it's hard to come to terms with the thought that my "energetic periods" are most likely how most people feel and function on most days. Not the sleepless part, of course; I attribute that to anticipating the inevitable crash.

And that's partly what fuels my frenzy: the realization that my state of being in motion can't continue indefinitely. How long will I have this time before I stutter to a halt? If I can just cram in a few more things before I lapse back into inertia, our household can coast for a while on the fruits of my labors. Healthy meals prepared in advance and frozen in careful portions can be thawed and reheated—although sometimes just operating the microwave seems like a Herculean effort. Bills paid ahead of time won't haunt me when I don't have the energy to lick an envelope, let alone write a check.

These days my periods of total inertia seem to strike less often and last for days instead of weeks. But strike they still do, with the same crushing force. When that wave of exhaustion and hopelessness hits me, I have to give myself permission to do the best I can. And since love and attention can't be banked in neat portions along with healthy meals, that's where I have to focus my efforts. My kitchen sink overflows with dishes, the floor is littered with crumbs, my hair is a mess and I'm wearing the same yoga pants I've worn for the past two days. But JJ still makes it to school with a lovingly packed lunch; The Peanut gets to her dance class, and I'm there to watch her; we all snuggle on the couch and read book after book together. Love is the one thing I won't ever let slip through the cracks.

I just hope it's enough for them.

Scenes From My Marriage

Jack and I wanted to watch a DVD last night, but the remote control had disappeared. We are the proud owners of the world's shittiest DVD player, which cannot be worked manually at all. (Unfortunately, we bought it new for 20 bucks after rebate, which was such an awesome deal that neither of us can bring ourselves to replace it.)

We tore apart the downstairs looking for the fucking remote. "I know it was down here this afternoon," I said as I tossed all the throw pillows off the couch. "The kids were watching The Electric Company, so I must have used it then."

"Maybe you took it upstairs," grumped Jack, who gets a little nuts when he can't find something.

"Maybe," I said doubtfully. "Or maybe one of the kids hid it. Did you look under the couch?"

"I looked under the couch 5,000 times," he snapped. "It's not there. It's not anywhere."

"I'll look upstairs," I offered. "Maybe I took it with me when I had to run upstairs to answer the phone."

"Yes, because once again, all the phones have mysteriously migrated upstairs." (Leaving all the phones upstairs is another one of my charming habits. Along with misplacing my keys, my purse, my library card. And the remote.)

Twenty minutes, I admitted defeat. "I don't know what I did with the fucking thing. I must have left it someplace weird."

Jack threw his hands up in the air. "It's lost forever."

"What do you mean, it's lost forever? It's still in the house."

"Not necessarily," said Jack ominously.

"What, you think it disappeared into extradimensional space?"

"No, I think my demented wife accidentally tossed it in the trash."

"Oh, that's nice. Real nice." Not for the first time, I cursed myself for having told him about the time I threw away my retainer when I was 11.

I managed to maintain my air of wounded dignity until Jack went to brush his teeth, and then furtively crept into the kitchen and peeked in the garbage. I have to confess I was surprised and a little disappointed that the remote wasn't there.

I asked JJ about it this morning. "Oh yeah, I saw it yesterday. It's under the couch."

And that's exactly where it was. Of course.

Image by jaqian used under the creative commons attribution license.

Cringe

Cringe is one of my all-time favorite episodes of This American Life.

I think I'm the crab-walking guy. Or maybe Ira Glass on the set of M*A*S*H. Or maybe I've elevated cringe to a whole new level.

I fear I might be stuck in a permacringe.

Image by Peter Kaminski used under the creative commons attribution license.

Actually, call me the Queen of Dumbasses

Those of you who read my last (now deleted) post know exactly what I mean.

All Hail the Queen!

Ch-ch-ch-changes

It's been quite a while since I posted from the House of Crazy, which doesn't mean I'm not still batshit whacko. Believe me, I am.

Much has happened since September, some of which might even be worth noting:

• Despite his initial stress about first grade, JJ has settled in and is loving school. I may be a tad biased, but I have to say that he is the most brilliant, adorable, compassionate first-grade boy in the entire world.

• The Peanut is still enjoying preschool, although her enthusiasm has waned considerably. She's all about JJ and has zero interest in cultivating relationships with children her own age. The only kids I've seen her play with are older boys, which isn't too surprising. But I'm hoping she'll come out of her shell in the coming months.

• Jack has been seriously considering taking a job in Portland. Which would be cool, except I really love our house and community and don't want to leave. But he'd have much better job security, and as we're teetering on the brink of global economic collapse, that seems like a precious commodity to us both.

• And speaking of economic disaster, I was "furloughed" from my job a couple of weeks ago. We're incredibly lucky not to depend on my income -- we'll miss it, but it won't break us -- but it was still a bummer. So now I'm trying to figure out what to do with my life. Do I look for another job? Or work on my novel and see if something else falls into my lap? Right now I'm leaning towards the latter option, but we shall see.

• My mother and I "had words" a few months ago and she informed me that she was going to "cut me out of her life." A couple of days later, she emailed Jack and said she had no idea what she'd done that had upset me, but he was her last and only family connection, and she was frantic to hear back from him about the kids. The whole situation is disturbing on many different levels, and I worry that she is really losing her mind. But I finally realized that responding to her craziness wasn't helpful to either of us, and I made the very painful decision to not respond to her at all. For now, anyway. I hope she can find peace and happiness; I love her so much.

• My sister emailed me! Just once, but at least I know she's out there.

And that's about all there is to it. Or at least all I can remember; I either have a permanent case of Mommy Brain or early-onset dementia.