Dreaming

Ahh, Dr, Drew. What I wouldn't give to be thoroughly examined by you. You probably don't know much about dream interpretation, being an addiction specialist and all, but give this one a shot:
I'm looking into a large, empty room. The air is the consistency of TV snow and there is a distinct absense of color. In the center of the room sits a giant marshmallow that must be 30 feet high and at least 60 feet in diameter. A sewing needle, 10 feet long, suspended in midair, is slowly, deliberately being pushed into the marshmallow. The "skin" of the marshmallow resists, until finally the needle pierces it with a quick, painful popping sound.
When I wake, I am dizzy and disoriented. I cannot move for some time due to the overwhelming sense of pressure that forces my body into the mattress beneath me.
I believe the dream may be what is referred to as a hypnagogic hallucination, due to it always occurring at that stage where I'm between wake and sleep. It's always the same and leaves me feeling tense and slightly disturbed.
What could it possibly mean Doctor?

Call Me

I win. 48 hours without using my phone, plus 9 hours extra credit. Go me. So what did I achieve or take away from this self assigned test of will power? Two things really.
It made me realize that my phone dependency truly does have an effect on my kid. Quality time does not consist of whipping out the phone every 3 minutes to send a text. She even noticed its absence; her little hand made regular fishing trips into my bra in search of the "pone." Yeah, sometimes I put it there. Not to mention, the fact that she seems to think every remote, calculator, and occasional cheese slice is a mode of communication, is disturbing.
The no phone challenge was isolating. I know, that was kind of the point. However, in making myself "available to my family" I felt like I pushed away some of my biggest supports. My living situation is far from ideal - we currently live with my parents. Mad appreciation for that, but at the same time it is a soul crushing existence. It can feel physically and emotionally claustrophobic. My phone provides an escape from reality, social connections, and comic relief.
I guess it boils down to the whole "everything in moderation" theory. I saw the advantages of leaving the phone behind, yet I don't think I want to abandon my texting ways.
Oh good God, the mother-in-law lands tomorrow, if I offended anyone in any way, I'm sorry...I may need you.

Radio Silence

I came to the realization today that I need to abandon my cell phone for a short period of time. I've become attached and dependant on it for social interaction and in doing so I feel, for lack of a better term, used. I truly don't know how else the phrase that. The feeling isn't translating into words.
Funny thing is, this realization came on a day when there was minimal contact. My usual routine is to wake, shower, Wii and turn on the phone. From that point on, it's with me till I crawl back into bed at night. I'm always available, always willing to chat. Oh woe is me, I was not needed today.
I once suggested that I might try going without for a period of time only to be met with doubt. I can do this and I will. It's not that I want to avoid everyone, it's not a slight against them; it's more like a reconnect for me. There's at least 6 inches of snow outside and it's steadily building. In the morning I'm going to wake, shower, Wii and take my kid outside. I'm going to play in the snow and be available to my family.
The time officially starts now. I'm removing myself for the next 48 hours.

"Signal fading, listen to what I'm saying
Testing, testing
This better be worth all the breath I'm wasting
Maintaining radio silence from now on."
Elvis Costello

Down With the Sickness

For the past three days I have felt... yucky. Dizzy, tingling, nausea with a huge helping of tired all the time. Most of all my head just aches, a constant dull pulse. Not debilitating, but enough to be a steady reminder that something isn't right with me. I'm in denial that I'm sick or soon to be. It just can't happen.
Maybe it's a brain parasite. That's really not so far fetched.
When infected with the protozoan Toxoplasma gondii, the host is likely to experience mild flu-like symptoms for the first few weeks of infection. One third of the worlds population is said to be carrying Toxoplasmosis and the infection is most prevalent in females ages 15 to 44. I fit in somewhere in the middle of that range.
It is speculated that Toxoplasmosis can affect ones behavior in some ways and may even be linked to schizophrenia. This could explain the wicked little voice in my head that provokes my irritability and violent thoughts.
Example: Waiting in line to use the digital photo developer. The woman in front of me deletes and redoes her order 3 times only to create her Christmas cards from a photo of a man in a "wife beater" holding a beer in one hand while possessively wrapping his free arm around this same woman's neck. The wicked voice incites an intense urge to grab a fist full of her pathetically limp hair and repeatedly bash her fucking face into the computer screen. The voice thankfully was suppressed by the distraction of texts from X.
How could I have possibly been infected with a parasite?
It's commonly transmitted through ingesting raw or under cooked pork, lamb, or venison. I did recently eat a pork chop, however it was far from under cooked.
We can rule out an infected organ transplant. Mine are all original, in the package, however poorly functioning as some may be.
It's not in my nature to eat or handle cat feces. Actually, I pawned off the cat box chore on the the other half several years ago under the guise of "What if I got pregnant and infected with toxoplasmosis?" It can have severe and even fatal effects on an unborn fetus.
There's a slight possibility that I drank contaminated water, but honestly that's doubtful as well.
As truly disappointing as this may be for me, I have to accept that I'm most likely just plain old fashion, sick. Where's the fun in that?

Silent Night

I'm going to hell, who's coming with me? I've been feeling pretty naughty lately. In some ways that's good and not so much in others. One example is my drinking habit. I seem to be getting pretty stinkin' drunk every other Friday night. This Friday was one of those nights. You decide which naughty that falls under.
Saturday was spent in an exhausted, yet functional, haze and then the other half suggested an evening road trip. As it turns out, it was a religious experience of sorts, a search for Jesus.
Every Christmas the local "Office of Evangelization" illuminates their shrine in celebration of the birth of Christ. I don't know how else to describe this site other than, Christ Vegas. Imagine, if you will, the most competitive of suburban cul de sacs at Christmas, multiply that by 100 and voila! Several acres of New England country side that would bring Clark W. Griswold himself to tears.
The experience lasted a grand total of 15 minutes. The nicotine enhanced trek to the Manger, courtesy of the otherwise polite man in front of us, led only to the discovery that Jesus is currently unavailable. However, according to the cleverly disguised donation box, I could help, "Keep the Christ in Christmas."
Experience? Yes. Did I find Jesus? Literally and figuratively, no. What I walked away with was the reminder of the immortal words of Norm MacDonald, "Happy Birthday Jesus. I hope you like crap."

Brick House

Size matters. Take it from a recovering fat chick, I know. I think the only point in my lifetime that I was within my healthy weight range was when I was 4. Beyond that, it's been a lifetime of self loathing and image obsession.
My weight hit it's all time high in September of last year after the birth of my child. My goal for 13 Steps is to be completely honest so here goes: I weighed in at 244.8lbs. That's a vulnerable position to put myself in, to actually put that number in writing, considering only 3 extremely trusted people are privy to that information.
Anyway, I rejoined Weight Watchers that September after two previous failed attempts. I lovingly refer to it as "Fat Class" and dutifully attend Saturday morning meetings. I put a great deal of effort into exercise (maybe not this past week) and the foods I eat. I naked Wii every morning to chart my weight loss progress. I sometimes fear I'm developing an unhealthy obsession with my body. But damn, I weighed in at 200.4lbs today!
I rarely speak positively of myself. I've been told I sound "hostile" and that I have "an underlying sense of anger." I hate that I am seen that way, but I honestly can't deny it. I do have a lot of anger and hostility. I don't completely like who I am. Today though, I'm going to try. I'm extremely proud of myself. I've worked hard to physically get to this point and it's developed positive emotional side effects. Dare I say, I feel attractive. My confidence is rising and I see my potential. "Shake it down, Shake it down now."

Sleep Through the Static

I haven't slept much in the past week. Work, and life in general, have consumed me. Despite my best efforts, when my head hits the pillow, the flood gates open. The funny thing is, it's a million little things with minimal significance that lead up to something huge.
For Example: "Where's my favorite pair of Smart Wool socks?" ends with "What are the chances my child will face worldwide famine in her lifetime?"
My emotional state has always been a roller coaster. I maintain and suppress until it's too much to handle. The release can vary from a slow steady leak, to an explosion of nuclear proportions. Unfortunately, the latter is typically directed at an innocent who unknowingly trips the switch.
Monday was the beginning of a slow leak. By Tuesday evening I was beaten. My attempt at sexual release failed miserably only to add to the stress, claiming another victim.
From 8pm to 1am my mind would not let me go. Socks, self doubt, coworkers, regrets, famine, family, and blogs tore through my head. My need for a healthy outlet to ease the physical and emotional strain was critical. Amongst the flood waters, 13 Steps was born. This will be my Ground Zero for leaks and explosions; you will be my Hazmat team.
Maybe now I will be able to sleep through the static.

Know Your Enemy

I'm a holder of grudges. At some point within the last year I completely wrote off Henry Rollins. He used a Teeing Off segment of the Henry Rollins Show to rip on bloggers. I can't quote him, but the basic gist or my interpretation was that bloggers are nobodies who flood the Internet with their mindless, unsolicited thoughts and opinions. I was pissed. Mind you, I'd never read a blog, couldn't honestly tell you what one was, but I was offended. Wasn't he using his show, my TV, to do the same damn thing? Apparently, fame and fortune can make what you have to say superior to that of the rest of us. I decided at that moment, Henry was a dick.
Over the past year I have slowly been introduced to the blogging world. So, well yeah, some of it is really fucking annoying. Seriously, who wakes up in the morning dying to know the breakdown of your last 12 fucking hours? I don't care what you ate, how you ate it and who paid when you went to that tucked away little undiscovered culinary gem on Whatever Street.
OK, so maybe I'm more irritated not so much by what you wrote, but how you wrote it. I don't know you, from what I read, I don't want to know you. You sound like an asshole. Your blog reeks of someone who is trying way too hard to impress me or make me feel stupid. Your over usage of SAT vocab isn't impressive, it's repellent.
So, I think that means I've done a 180. I disliked Henry for disliking you, and then I discovered that maybe, I dislike you too. So how do I address the issue? Join you. Shit, if everyone else can drone on, why can't I? I want my turn to talk and guess what? I am what I hate the most about you. I will contradict myself at every turn. I'm a Tartuffe.
Move over Henry, I'm coming up. I hope this soapbox can bear our weight.