Ha…I know. That kind of intro to a post just makes me sound crazy. Pretty soon I’ll be handing out flowers at the airport in a melon colored sari. And right now? That doesn’t sound half bad because the clouds have parted and the SUN IS SHINING! For a change.

You see, for months now, I’ve been on this rollercoaster of mood swings. I think it’s commonly referred to as PMS except mine is more like Pre-Menstrual Life Force-Sucking Demon from Hell…or PMLFSDH. And I do NOT exaggerate.

You menfolk might just want to check out now since I’ll be talking about lady things like OVULATION and PERIOD and BLOOD. Although a real man would stay. And leave a supportive comment. Or at least tell me I’m pretty.

Okay, for those that are still playing along at home… It starts around ovulation—my sex drive escalates because mother nature is a whore that wants to knock me up AGAIN. I mean really, the time you’re most fertile and likely to conceive should be the time you LEAST want to get busy but nooooo… Propagation of the species blah blah blah. WHATEVER. Like we NEED more oxygen-hogging PEOPLE on the planet…

So anyway, after the three day window of IREALLYWANTSEX closes, the PMLFSDH starts to kick in. I become irritable. And hungry. And anti-social. And anxious. And SO SO SO tired. Like the “my whole body aches with tired” kind of tired and I nap every morning as soon as everyone leaves. And I have ZERO motivation to do ANYTHING. And I don’t answer the phone. And I get sad. And melancholic. And I feel persecuted. And I’m positive everyone hates me. And I break out like a 14 year old boy. And the mood-elevating drugs are a FAIL. And did I mention being irritable?

And this shit goes on for TEN TO TWELVE MISERABLE DAYS in which I pray every second for my period to come—I literally sit there staring at the white toilet paper willing a hint of pink to magically appear on it because I just want the PMLFSDH to STOP. I mean, really,  who prays for their period anymore? That’s so high school. And college. And first six years of marriage…

But then I wake one day, like I did this past Thursday, and I’m happyish. I don’t hate the world. And I don’t want to bite the heads off of live humans anymore. Not even a little.

I know without even looking that my period has arrived.

I can answer the phone again. And make plans with people. And do stuff like clean the house and plan meals and spend honest-to-God quality time with my kids and feel warm and fuzzy about life and I’m so happy to feel happy that I become giddy. And I make jokes. And I don’t want to eat big bowls of butter and sugar. Or a pound of bacon. And I feel like exercising again.

And everyone breathes a sigh of relief because that awful woman is gone and the awesome, fun, patient one is back.

But I know it won’t last and I find myself mentally calculating the number of good days I have left until the huge black clouds comes back and take their preferred spot right over my head and the cycle starts all over again.

So, if you know me and I suddenly check out, nowhere to be found…or I snap at you…or criticize you mercilessly…or eye your food like I’ve been starving for months…or don’t do ANY of the stuff I said I would do etc etc etc?

Well, now you know why. Just go away and leave me the hell alone.

If I’m not completely embarrassed by something I did or said, I promise I’ll call you when I get my period.

I got married in my mid-twenties. We were madly in love and you know..it was all going to be sunshine and rainbows and good times.

Of course, the honeymoon doesn’t last forever and neither did the sunshine and rainbows but overall, it hasn’t been a bad ride. However, I’ve always wondered what exactly it is that makes that initial WOW factor fade, for most couples, shortly after settling into marriage.

If you ask a scientist, they’ll tell you it’s all chemical.

If you ask a sex therapist or marriage counselor, they’ll tell you that the novelty of romance can’t last without a lot of work.

I do agree with both of those but if you ask me, it’s the way WE ALL regard marriage that is the biggest buzzkill of all.

I mean think about it…

A man gets married and he has to have a bachelor party to mourn his impending nuptials and the fact that, theoretically, he won’t be having sex with any other women ever again. Way to support your friend in one of the biggest decisions he will ever make, guys! THANKS.

Then there are the euphemisms… Men stop calling us their girlfriends or anything even remotely cute or fun and start referring to us as “the wife.” It’s a total cliché and I HATE IT.

I am not “the wife.” And Christ on a crutch….I’m sure as hell not “the old ball and chain” If a man thinks that about the woman HE chose to marry then WHY did he marry her?

And then there are the ways that married people make marriage appear really lame and uncool and give endless amounts of fodder to sitcom writers…

The stuff-naming… Holy mother of all things good and decent—please, married people, do NOT give cutesy names to your stuff. This really DOES make marriage look like the stupidest institution ever.

Dude, they got married and suddenly all their stuff has these dumb names. WTH? <– What your single friends are saying behind your back.

I know people that have named their cars, their boat trailer and probably the husband’s  penis, as well. I’m asking nicely that you not do this. Really. Just don’t.

Another one that I don’t like because is on message boards, blogs and forums, women refer to their husband as their DH. I think it means their Dear Husband. Or Darling Husband. Whatever. It’s goofy and dorky and just adds another layer of stupidness to the way society thinks of married people…like we go around referring to each other as DH’s and DW’s. Ugh. DONOTLIKE.

When my husband refers to me to his friends, he usually says “my girl” i.e. “No, my girl hates sushi…how about Thai or Indian instead?”

And for this? I am eternally grateful.

In return, I refrain from saying things like “My hubby” which always reminds me of Chubby Hubby ice cream and has to be the most horrible husband reference ever invented.

And? Totally NOT conducive to thinking of your man as that hot number you married X years ago. He’s now HUBBY. Yickkkkkkk.

Now, to be clear, I’m no expert on marriage and maybe, BEYOND ALL REASON, you find all that stuff super hot and romantical.

If you do, GREAT!  Please disregard this post and go on with your bad self. I promise not make fun of you for saying “hubby” or naming your stuff…

Oh, who am I  kidding?

I probably will.

It doesn’t come every day. In fact most days I don’t have it at all. But when I do, it’s horrible. Today is one of those days. It made me think I had an upset stomach at first. But then the guilt started creeping up on me and that’s when I realized that this horribly unsettled feeling I have is the anxiety monster. Again.

The guilt, always with the guilt… It overwhelms me and I feel so awful. I don’t know what to do with myself.

All I can think about is lost time and missed opportunities and things that will never be again and I just want to cry except I can’t because my kids are here and it would upset them. And considering that every ounce of guilt in my pounding heart is about my failings as a mother, the last thing I want to do is upset my kids.

Why? WHY do I dwell on these things? My rational self knows it’s just the anxiety talking and it also knows that regret is a useless emotion, that what’s done is done. Nonetheless, all I can do is think about how my kids aren’t babies anymore and all the times I didn’t play dolls with my daughter (because I really hate playing dolls) and how now she likes to go in her room and read or draw. With the door closed. And it’s like a sign to my crazy anxious heart that she is slipping away from me and I want to cry for all the times I missed playing with the little girl that she is no more. And I know it’s absurd. I know I have done plenty of memorable, wonderful things with her but I can’t think about that. All I can think about are the reasons I should feel horrible; all the ways in which I’ve failed.

My son is 4 now and while I feel so shitty and anxious that I just want to roll up in a little ball and sleep forever, that I WANT to do that is just one more example of how I am failing him. Why am I not outside with him. Why are we in the house? And then I think of all the reasons we’re not outside and goddammit. I’m just full of excuses, aren’t I? So I pledge that tomorrow will be different even though I’m pretty sure it won’t be. I know myself. And I fail again.

So I give in and I take the Xanax. I never want to but it works and soon all of this will seem silly and maybe even comical—but you know what? I’m going to publish it anyway. Because this is the truth.

Tonight my daughter and I had a girls night out. We decided to go to the movies instead of going OUT out ’cause she’s really over the whole bar scene.

So ANYWAY… When we first got into the crowded  theater, I looked around and thought I spied two seats together up high so we walked up there. Well, fuckity fuck…there were NO seats right next to each other AT ALL.  We were going to walk back down and get some of those seats awesome seats like three feet from the screen when I heard someone whispering loudly. I looked and this guy was gesturing to the seat next to him as he got up and moved him and his kid down, thus creating two empty seats for us.

I’m always floored by such little acts of kindness. I mean, really, most people would have down um…NOTHING. I considered showing my gratitude by sitting on his lap and making out with him but, you know, we had our kids there and I’m all about the family values and whatnot.

We saw The Tooth Fairy and I have to be honest, it really didn’t suck like I thought it would. Of course, I was unduly influenced beforehand by a bunch of reviews that gave it, like, two stars. But it was cute and The Rock is adorable—inasmuch as a gigantic, musclebound man with a slightly pointy head can be adorable.

It was chock full of hijinx and shenanigans and feelgoodyness and a few life lessons thrown in for good measure (don’t piss all over other people’s dreams!!!). Oh, and some hockey, which is one of the few sports I can actually stand to watch and mainly served to remind me that I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE WINTER OLYMPICS!!!

So after the movie, I profusely thanked the dad who made room for us and then the guy on the other side of us tried to chat me up about how he really wanted to see this OTHER movie but since he had his 4 year old with him he had to see The Tooth Fairy and well, you know, it wasn’t so bad but the next chance he gets he’s so seeing the movie with the black guy whose name he can’t remember but you know, it’s definitely gonna be an AMAZING flick and I should see it, too—except the title of it is STILL escaping him… And right about then my nine year old date starts poking me and loudly telling me she’s ready to go. Thank God for perceptive little girls…

So while we were having a girls movie night, my husband and son were at one of those monster truck things at the stadium. A friend of ours had some extra tickets that he bought LAST YEAR (because that’s when you get the REALLY GOOD SEATS apparently) so he took them along with him and his kids.

Honestly, I always thought those things were for, like, the easily amused and/or white trash people (don’t give me that stinkeye…only recently I had not one but TWO non-working refrigerators sitting outside my house so I’m ALLOWED to use terms like ‘white trash’ with impunity) but my friend with the extra tickets isn’t white trash and neither is Mayopie, who also recently attended a monster truck event.

I was wrong. Monster truck events are clearly the domain of a wide range of folks, including but not limited to middle class parents and their spawn. I apologize for misjudging said events as magnets for rednecks, toothless people and those with lower IQ’s. Please don’t hurt me.

Well, my husband and son got home around 11pm and they both fell promptly asleep. My son I can totally understand—it’s hours past his bedtime. My husband’s sleepiness, however, is most likely attributable to vile, horribly overpriced, pee colored American beer *shudder*

Tomorrow is the Superbowl and just to show you how serious I am about avoiding televised sports (except for the Winter Olympics which totally effing RULE), I have no earthly idea who’s even IN the Superbowl this year. WIN!

Lately, I’ve been lost in my head. Daydreaming. Longing. Wishing I had a time machine or some such device that would let me be young again. It’s not that I want to relive my youth; my glory days, per se. I don’t want to repeat history — I got my ya ya’s out before settling down, had a good long stint of married life before having kids. Theoretically, I did everything right and yet, I find myself wishing for something I’ll never have again — a carefree life; a life where the future is but a vague concept; a life where now is the only thing that matters.

I want to get dressed up to go out at midnight. I want to drink without worrying about a hangover. I want to be reckless. I want to sneak backstage and party with the band. I want to hang out of a car window while screaming my head off. I want to go to late night after parties and make out with someone cute that I’ll never see again. I want to go out to breakfast at 4am and giggle uncontrollably because my friends are tripping too hard to order. I want to befriend strangers and have deep conversations with them over too many drinks and too many cigarettes. I want my posse of crazy girlfriends and all the drama that comes with them. I want to flirt with lanky, long-haired boys that have no money or prospects. I want to take roadtrips without any advance planning and too many people in the car. I want to be seduced. I want to get love letters. I want bootycalls. I want to have an urgent need to go to the record store because I just heard the most amazing song. I want to live on pizza and saltine crackers. I want to be idealistic again. I want to be as skinny as I was when I thought I was fat. I want to come home at dawn with five friends in tow, pile onto my bed and sleep with them. I want to feel the feeling of having a crush. I want to feel that feeling of kissing someone in a way that makes you ache with desire. I want to rage against the machine. I want to LIVE.

It’s not that I hate the life I have. I wouldn’t change it for anything. But at heart, I’m a restless soul. I always want more from life than is possible. And this thing…this daydream that won’t stop, this longing — how do I make it go away?

You can call it whatever you want — a mid-life crisis, a housewife’s lament, whatever.

Just tell me I’m not the only one who’s ever felt this way.

I know you turn to Craigslist to find a bargain (unless you’re one of those jackasses that posts nekkid pix of yourself from your Grandma’s bathroom…the crocheted poodle toilet paper cover is a dead giveaway, just in case you were wondering how I knew you were at your Grandma’s house perving it up in her bathroom. Also, FYI, pictures taken in your nasty ass bedroom with the Whitesnake poster on the wall OR a Spongebob blanky anywhere in sight? NOT HOT )

Anyway, I know you folks want to save a few bucks so you look around on Craigslist but seriously, you need to KNOW a few things…

If I’m selling 60 pieces of name-brand girls clothing, all in excellent condition and I’m only asking $20, which, for the math-impaired, is 33¢ an item, I’m NOT taking pictures of every single item and I’m NOT going to answer stupid questions about every item and I’m NOT going to sell it to you for five fucking dollars—especially when I know your sorry cheap ass is probably going to turn around and sell it on eBay anyway. Which is fine. I fucking hate eBay so better you than me. But I’d give it to Goodwill before I’d let you have it for that—go buy it from them. I mean really…have you NO shame? I’d be embarrassed to ask people to give me a SEVENTY FIVE PERCENT price break…

The same goes for the Little Tikes Craftsmen Tool Bench. Dude…it’s in mint condition and I’m asking twenty dollars for it. Do NOT send me an email asking if I’ll take five for it.  Is there anything in my listing that says this is “Let’s Make a Really Shitty (for me) Deal?” If you seriously can’t afford more than five bucks, maybe you should SELL YOUR COMPUTER (I’ll give you five bucks for it) and get rid of your internet service instead of lowballing people on Craigslist all day long.

And finally, for all you assholes that bug the living crap out of me and beg me to not sell my stuff to someone else and then don’t show up… I wish you a scorching case of genital herpes with a nice sprinkling of genital warts. I mean you clearly have a phone, since you called me 17 times to make sure I hadn’t sold the item(s) you so desperately wanted. How about picking up said phone and letting me know you won’t be coming? I might even be nice and understanding and NOT wish you a lifetime of oozing blisters and weird bumpy things on your nether regions. But if you offer me five dollars? All bets are off.

As ever,
Iz

Honestly, I don’t get it. I don’t understand why these  good people have to suffer so much. I know there’s some kind of order to the universe and I know everything happens for a reason—but as a puny little human, it makes no sense to me at all.

Nonetheless, I refuse to give up hope that my friend will be okay. Hope is all we have sometimes and to give it up is just not in my nature…so numerous times a day, I ask the universe, God and anyone else who might be listening to heal her, to make her be okay, to bring her back to us.

Sometimes I even have conversations with Anissa, imagining that her compromised state has given her the ability to tune into the universal radio and hear all the prayers for her AND the messages we’re all sending her to keep fighting. I also like to throw in a few jokes and remind her of all the fun things we’ve done this past year. I even told her not to be too annoyed about missing New Moon in the theater because, like Twilight, it’s supposed to be pretty crappy and when she’s better, I’ll come over and we can watch it on the sofa and totally make fun of it together.

Mostly, though, I just beg her to not give up because the world needs her back, that her family needs her back and that her friends miss her like crazy.

I’m not an outwardly emotional person.

That doesn’t mean I won’t tear up at an ASPCA commercial or shed a tear of pride watching my daughter perform in her school talent show or that I’m not a deeply sensitive person underneath it all.

I just reach a point where I don’t feel like my tears and emotions are helping the situation and I slip, involuntarily, into business-mode. Just the facts, ma’am—my tweets will not be overly gushy and rife with sentiment about Anissa and my blog posts will be mostly well-tempered brain dumps.

But underneath my well-tempered exterior is someone who feels a lot, sometimes too much, and is terribly sad for my friend. I will NEVER understand why she has to go through this. Again.

Please think of Anissa every day and send her your thoughts of strength and encouragement. She is SO MUCH MORE than just a cause of the month—Anissa is our friend and loved one—PLEASE don’t forget about her. She needs you now more than ever.

Updates on Anissa’s recovery can be found here: Hope4peyton.org

Anissa and I at BlogHer 09

This is a post that I really don’t want to write. But yet, I have to because Anissa Mayhew is a special person in my life and I can’t NOT do this.

If you don’t know already, Anissa suffered a massive stroke on Tuesday, Nov 17.  She is in the hospital, in the intensive care unit, and it seems the whole world is waiting for her to wake up. There have been some signs of progress but I will not fully exhale until she does.

Anissa came into my life about a year and a half ago and she literally appeared out of nowhere. She left me a few blog comments and when I saw that she lived in my city, I was halfway psyched and halfway freaked out because hello? IN MY CITY.

Soon after, she hit me up on Twitter and before I knew it, we were making plans via email to drive to the regional BlogHer conference in New Orleans (since I had missed the BlogHer 08 conference in San Francisco due to a broken foot). That conference ended up getting canceled but it didn’t matter. We became fast friends regardless and one road trip to Orlando later, it was like we’d been friends for years.

Anissa always jokes that she stalked me before befriending me and I always say that I’m glad she did. We’ve had this same exchange more times than I can count and my answer will always be the same.

Why? Because Anissa is one of THOSE people. You know…the kind that make everything fun, even when it sucks;  the kind that everyone wants to be around; the kind that has never met a stranger and makes everyone feel welcome.

But also? Because she gets me. She understands all my idiosyncrasies and she makes me feel loved in spite of them.

I know I’m not special. We’re very close friends but Anissa makes EVERYONE feel loved and THAT is why there is such an outpouring of  support for her. Because every person she comes in contact with is touched by her bright spirit, generous heart and of course her ability to ALWAYS make you laugh. If you read Aiming Low or  follow her on Twitter, you already know about Anissa’s trademark gift of humor…

The world is, quite simply, a darker place without Anissa actively being a part of it. She has three amazing kids—Peyton, her youngest, just one year into remission of childhood cancer—and they need her. Her husband? Needs her. Her friends? Need her. We ALL need her.

In addition to all her other sterling qualities, however, Anissa is, hands down, one of the strongest women I know and thus, I have to believe that she will fight her way back to us. Again.

It may take a year. It may take two years. But she WILL BE BACK. And I cannot wait because I miss her SO. DAMN. MUCH.

I know not everyone is into praying. I know some feel like they have to be religious to pray. I’m here to tell you that you don’t. All thoughts are a form of energy and when a large number of people focus that energy on one thing, it DOES make a difference.

So please—pray for Anissa, send positive thoughts to her, dance naked under a full moon for her; light a candle in her name; do whatever positive thing it is that YOU do…for our friend Anissa.

For the most current updates on Anissa’s condition, please check Hope4Peyton. For the PO Box address and other info on how you can help the Mayhews, please visit her Caring Bridge site.

11/21/09

My most recent post about Anissa can be found here.

11/20/09

For the most current updates on Anissa’s progress, please check her blog, Hope 4 Peyton. Anissa’s husband will be updating as necessary.

•••

As you may have heard, Anissa, our beloved friend and leader here at Aiming Low, suffered a massive stroke on Tuesday afternoon. She is in the hospital right now, in the ICU.

More than anything, Anissa needs your prayers and positive thoughts but to the many people who have offered help to the Mayhew family, here is some info on what you can do:

Things that would be helpful right now are gift cards (AMEX and Visa are most flexible) or gift cards to restaurants and the movies or to Blockbuster (to help keep the kids’ occupied).

If you would like to give a restaurant gift card, the following restaurants are local to them: Chick Fil A, Beef O’Brady’s, Hooter’s, Applebee’s, Moe’s, Ruby Tuesday, Red Lobster, Cracker Barrel, Panera Bread, Sonny’s, Burger King, Zaxby’s, McDonald’s, Subway.

A P.O. Box has been set up to receive any items you wish to send, the address can be found below. Please don’t send anything to the hospital or the Mayhew home. If you have questions, please email helpforanissa@gmail.com

We ask that you please respect the Mayhew family’s privacy by NOT calling the hospital and we thank you all SO MUCH for your outpouring of love and support for Anissa and her family.

With thanks and love,
IzzyMom & the Aiming Low Team

If you would like to send something to Anissa and her family, we have set up a P.O. Box.

The Mayhew Family
860 Johnson Ferry Road 140-184
Atlanta, GA 30342

Please consider making a donation to the Mayhew Family to help with costs.
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Posts about Anissa. Please add yours to the list:

My husband and I were in bed watching the Doctor Who special (yes, we’re geeks and I kinda love David Tennant so SHUT IT) and this particular story was set in the year 2059.

I didn’t give the year 2059 a second thought until my husband randomly noted out loud that our daughter will be 59 in 2059.

For some reason I was compelled to do the math in my head and I realized I would be 92 in 2059. And most likely dead.

I will be dead someday. Intellectually, I KNOW this. But for some reason it hit me particularly hard.

There will come a day that my kids are very much grown up and I won’t be here.

And I really wanted to cry.

……

Want a peek behind the veil? Want to see how I REALLY live? Go here…