It's like Waiting for Godot....

…life is now. So why are we caught up occupying ourselves, we eat, sleep, converse, argue, sing, play games, exercise, swap hats, and contemplate suicide — anything to keep away from the now and to fiercely not give up on the dreams we have had etched into us since we were children. Our dreams may be quite different, but the waiting, the loss of time in this one life, is a disease of sorts and one I am full of, top to bottom. I shower, thinking about time as it ticks by and about what I will wear upon drying off ; I dress while imaging where I will be in an hour, and who it is I shall be seeing. I pour my coffee and rush to do the dishes, so that I can get into my car and not be late. Have I enjoyed any one of these pleasures?...not really, not at all in fact.

I think to myself each night as I collapse into my bed and turn off the light, how life will be better soon. How the life I have wished and dreamed of all these many years, will appear suddenly. I drive the familar roads and daydream about all theses visions created over time, and I have even spent almost two years writing a novel, which at the heart of it, I am again waiting, waiting for the imagined to become tangible, alive, an affirmation that I am not a failure, proof of it, and to finally exhale all of the years of the yearning.

Where have the years gone? It's like that drive we all take, when suddenly, we snap out of our thoughts and realize we have no idea how we just got from point A to point B, without any memory of it. We have been on auto-pilot. That can become a life...a life of auto-pilot, waiting for the man, the kids, the house, the career, the love, safety, strength, courage, the peace we may have never felt as a child. Everyone's waiting is different and made up of different fabric, but the threads the same, and the beating of our hearts, the same.

I have tasted my dreams, which have made waiting for them to show up again, in full blue ray,  high def-surround sound, all the more excruciating and numbing to endure. I catch glimpses of simple joys, certainly, many and every day; my kids laughter, the light streaming in and washing across my walls, my best friend as he smiles or the wind billowing my white cotton drapes. I do find the moments, but they are as difficult to cling to as a restless lover may be or a dream that you long to retell just minutes after waking. I am waiting, and in doing so, missing out on my life. I don't know yet or haven't found the balance perhaps of, not giving up the dream, while drinking in my life. For this moment, this is your life.

Even now, while I write, my head is ten paces ahead, wondering if it will be well received, liked, relatable. I rush to the Buddha’s side, beneath the Bodhi tree, begging for enlightenment. I have often said, contentment is a state I strive to attain, and yet it remains so allusive to me. I had taught yoga many years ago, played guitar, sang and performed, given birth three times, raised a family on my own and let love wash over me with lovers, music, nature, and yet, I wait, the one constant that never disappoints; never leaves my side, never changes. I wish for money as freedom, love as safety, beauty as power and praise. I wish to be thin, confident; all in the hopes of the perfectly imperfect marriage to arrive. Really, I mean it, perfectly imperfect, if you know what I mean. I am flawed, and I like that about me, and so I don’t want, nor do I expect something different from my husband. But there it is…something I don’t have and that I am waiting for.

All the things I fill in each day, just waiting for my life to arrive. I have no pithy ending here, no perfect lines to unravel. No sigh of satisfaction in my words. Oh, I do so love words though. Instead, I wait, and if I am really honest with you, with myself, really brave and raw; right now, I wait for you, the reader, to connect with me, reach out to me and make me feel not so alone in this world. Each day, each second that I am waiting for Godot, I wait for my death.

eat, pray, bathe...

 

eat, pray, bathe...

The house sold, move out date is September first, though I can move earlier if I find the sunny and character filled home I have in my mind. Every time I close my eyes and welcome sleep, I can see it, all Zen and cozy, filled with art and love. This move is a move of the soul, a leap of faith, and the first time I will live on my own. Kids grown, I venture away from the home where I was a mom for 21 years, now to be introduced to, a me that I've not known since I was 20. I have a new and exciting career at Anthropologie; its ceiling is limitless with artistic and business opportunities, and new friendships offering camaraderie, at just the right time.
I have beautiful things to fill the new nest, and a strong sense of what I would like my new life to feel like when I land. I hope to find a place near Suburban Sq. so that I can ride my bike to Trader Joe's, Starbucks, The Farmers Market; and most of all, to my daughter's store for quick visits, and perhaps the occasional purchase. It doesn't hurt that the R5 is right there to hop on and meet up with her at the Reading Terminal Market for coffee and some shopping. It is new to think of, a me that doesn't include: Frisbee tournament weekends, kids at dinner time; playing music and laughing. No more sleep-over’s, parent/teacher meetings and unexpected E.R. visits. Yes, I loved these things and I miss them more than I can say, but that cannot be my state of mind today or I will never make this transformation of the heart. I have to get excited about liberation. I've never been a woman who sought much more than being, 'bare-foot and pregnant' planting roots and nurturing all that surrounded me and my family.

Liberation...it was an almost, dirty word, as if it was to be emancipated from my tribe, and now, it is the word I cleave to, as I would a lover in the middle of a stormy night. The messages imprinted upon me as a young girl were that of dependence =family=love. Hence, liberation/freedom would mean being let go of, left, and alone. Oh the tangle of mixed messages imprinted on us as kids.

I enter, on the side door of my life now, and welcome a time to nurture me.  Why is that so daunting? I've successfully launched three bright, loving and happy kids, I root herbs, I champion friends, causes, etc. So why can't I seem to champion myself? I feel a kind of punishment by this supposed 'freedom' and all that it has to offer. I never asked for it, in fact I have lived a life that called for everything that looked nothing like,' an unmarried, career gal, in her forties' kind of life. I thought I would be a wife, leaning on my hubby about now, as the last of my flock prepares to fly off to college. I thought that we'd take up tennis or scuba diving to fill the void, or maybe we would be drawing up architectural plans for that addition we'd always wanted, but never had the time or money to get to. Maybe there would be loud sex again and nude cavorting about in the middle of the day. You can bet that I haven't given up hope on that as something soon on the horizon. Marriage means everything to me; it means family in its deepest form. That one person, that will love you, and you them, having each other's back, through it all, every day, for the rest of your life. For me, why bother without it. The rest is just stuff to do before we move on from this place. Marriage is as integral to me as my kids and my heart. They are one thing that moves, beats and breathes together. We are a tribe. And I can feel that someone missing from it. I can feel the missing of my other half.

And so it goes....

eat.... one would think this would be the longest of the three chapters, but as I recognize most of my readers as woman, I'd be preaching to the choir. Well, it began with stress eating because of the lack of the traditional love I so yearned for, from desired things that couldn't fill the void, from pain I saw in the ones I loved, that I couldn't remove. So, I fed my soul with food, yummy food, expensive food, junk food, diner food, standing at the island, kind of eating food, food. I ate to celebrate, I ate to hide, I ate for control, although that was the last thing I had over it. I shared fabulous meals out with a wealthy friend that had me along as her five star companion at meal time. She and I became quite close and suddenly, she moved across the country and left me, so I ate some more. And this is how, after two years of love and loss, and 20 pounds to prove it, I found myself in need of divine intervention.

pray....I prayed to be skinnier, better, married, funnier, sexier, more...whole, peaceful and after all the searching and eating....to be enough. I had to look myself in the mirror and answer the hardest question of my life. At the end of the day, no matter where the chips may fall, no matter my marital status, or my kids living near, am I enough?... My answer came quickly, I don't know, I shrugged, naked in the mirror...I just don't know, but I need to be. And there was the answer, I need to be enough. So God, help me, because I cannot find myself as such, if not through your eyes. And this is the leap of faith that I trust in myself, even though I feel at times, alone, wanting the safety of a traditional family life. So with a deep inhale and open eyes, I spread my wings, and I dive out, into the dark sky of life; knowing that I will either land on my feet, or learn how to fly. Though mostly with me, my faith had been rattled these past few years; dating an atheist didn't help. I'm no holy roller, but I believe in God and I have always found comfort in the Episcopalian faith and in Buddhism. The Dalai Lama's messages have comforted me through many storms. I had my time wrapped up in Hindu text and Yoga mediation; all wonderful roads that held my hand through the years. And so, I am back, walking the cemetery of my church on Easter, having a conversation with God in my head. This journey of finding a more centered place to share my faith is where I am now. I think I have a good foundation to build upon after all these many years of a deep love of God, trees, nature, and of love itself. I plan on attending church this Sunday. It will be the first time back in years, partially because our past Reverend was a very young and sexy version of Jesus. He was a hippie at his core (just my type) and I found that while he was delivering his sermon, I was imagining him in ways that were, let’s just say, not Godly, although, in these fantasies, I was calling out  God's name with gusto! I kept catching myself and thinking, "holy-shit, I am so going to hell; but a few verses later, a few turns of his long black robe, purple sash swaying, his fingers running through his tousled brown hair, and I was back there, worshiping Jesus in the most lustful of ways. I left church as to stop sinning. All is safe now, our new Rev. is in his mid-sixties, I think it's safe to say, my head will be in a pure place as I sit in those old wooden pews. I digress; I can't wait to smell the incense, hear the choir, the sermon, take communion, and just be, with each moment. My someone special will be by my side. God and I will be in deep conversation over this man I love and seek a life with. Just be...I remind myself, just be.

bathe...  Since I was a little girl, baths have held a magical place in my heart. I can take a bath any time of day, and it is always a treasured time. I run the steamy water full blast, fingers wiggling through the rush of water, testing it's temperature as I pour in the bubbles or the bath beads; will it be lavender scented or will they be red beads or the dolphin shaped blue ones the kids brought back from a trip with their father. I took baths with my kids for years when they were little, all four of us in my huge claw foot tub. One time, as I lay on my side, stretching down the length of the tub to make more room for three toddlers, my youngest looked at me with the deepest of concern, contorting his sweet cherub face, and said, "mommy!, your boob is drowning!" I laughed so hard as I tried to console his sincere worry, while also popping my breast up, out of the ominous water. Funny, he was the only one I had breast fed; the other two could have cared less if my boob drowned in a sea of bubbles. Priceless moments. Bath time is like Christmas, I watch the bubbles run over the lip of the tub, I strip my clothes off with delight as I sink down below the surface and listen to my humming, as it echoes off the ceramic sides, and stare up at the ceiling, just allowing the water to dance below my nose; every so often taking in a deep breath and submerging like a whale, all still and silent. It is so peaceful, wonderful, and all that is good seems better, and all that may have been hard, seems lighter. The whooshing, the warm wash cloth placed over my breasts as I chat with my daughter, the traveling stream of bubbles, tracing my belly button, the brilliance of my toes, as they measure the tentative turns of the cold faucet, to adjust the liquid valium that swirls around my body. I'm even weightless here, my skin appears tan under the water, and I am breathing slower, more deeply. I turn over on my belly and let the water rush in a wave over my back, splashing up to kiss the nape of my neck and wisps of hair. I'm a kid again, sitting with my foot tapping on the silver drain, as it produces cyclones, until every last sip has been gurgled up by its stainless steel mouth. Standing, I feel the cool breeze from the window feather me as I watch the bubbles run down my body; finally wrapping myself up in a large white towel, with a smile from ear to ear. Pure contentment, pure delight. Always welcoming me home...

bipolar-bears, listen up...

 

Everyone has heard their share of horror stories about the "crazy people" with bipolar, the shock treatments, the bizarre behavior, suicides, walking around town in a ball gown or a bathrobe. Yeah...we've all seen, One Flew Over the Coo Coo's Nest, and it has done its job of putting a stigma on mental illness like nobody's business. I recently saw that Catherine Zeta-Jones has come out about having Bipolar II Disorder. I was really happy about it. Go you, I thought. People are really uninformed about the disorder and all of its side effects.

So, I will start with this, my name is Tara, and I am a bipolar II bear. If I could choose just one person, to help you see it as a non-scary thing, I would stand beside a fellow bipolar person,...drum-roll.... Sting! Yup, Sting is bipolar, as are most of us artistic types. I've listed below just some of the amazing people in our lives that have shaped and transformed our world.

What's the difference between the two bipolar's? Bipolar type I is the more severe version. Severe ups and downs, a sense of euphoria when manic as well as feeling they are invincible, capable of flying, spending thousands of dollars in flurry and a heightened and sometimes dangerous sexual appetite that lands them in hospitals, jails and sometimes needing alternative methods of treatment to navigate through life as "normal" as possible. Type One is a rough road and one that Hemingway, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Robin Williams, Carrie Fisher and many more have struggled with, and some sadly, have ended their lives because of the abyss that swallowed any light left in their lives.

We bipolar II types have it easier than our other brother bears, but that is not to say, that we have it easy by any stretch. Our version is a more gentle animal. Yes, we have super energy, we are highly creative and uber passionate beings, with an amped up sexual drive, that can put any 25 year olds libido to shame. We feel things bigger and stronger than the average bear. Our love is BIG and our pain is BIG as well. At our mid to high place, we are seen as being extroverted, funny, super confident people. We are all of those things, but we tank out at times. Most people envy these qualities, wishing they had some of that magic dust, in their back pocket, and we become a light that others can't help but feel a magnetic pull to be near. Hell, we are our own sun in our "manic" state. You know those people that just light up a room, make people laugh and love giving lots of love...that's us. Inside, deep down, we are saying, like me, like me, love me...please. 

We do however, know that we cannot fly, and we know that if we don't take our meds, go to sleep on time, stay away from alcohol for most of us, and really keep a schedule and structure in our lives, well, shit falls apart, and fast. The tough part, the manic state feels good and why wouldn't  it. I once painted my dining room in one night, and what I mean is, I decided out of the blue that I wanted to paint my dining room and in five minutes I was at the paint store, colors picked, home and set up, and I painted until 5 a.m. It was finished, beautiful and I was up to feed my three toddlers an hour later with a smile and pancakes to greet them. (Not quite normal) Fun though! But if we stay on that ride and dismiss our reality, dismiss the precipice that awaits, well, it is a long way down and a tough road for medicine to bring us back up to zero. Who'd thought zero would have ever been a good thing? Well, it really isn't, but when you are under the covers, shades drawn, and can't find hope or joy in any one thought, this is usually when you have hit the negative numbers.

Our goal is somewhere about a 5, in terms of a 1-10 idea of stability and happiness. When shit collapses, we hit the negative numbers and getting back to zero is the first slit of light that pierces our depression and says, okay...it may just get better. "Don't forget not to come back here again", we beg. The tough part, even if we do all the things we need to do to stay in the 5 area, life happens. And when our kids move out, our dog dies, we lose our jobs, a lover leaves, etc, Well, we can up the med's, increase doc time and push to do all that we can to avert the crash, but we are not built with the average non-mentally ill brain, so we fall harder and faster, and we stay there longer, by no choice of our own. No choice...that is such the struggle!

What I want most, is to have people feel free to say out loud, yeah, I've got bipolar, whatever type, as easily as we have finally be able to say, "I struggle with depression, and I'm on Prozac", or " I just had a panic attack, do you have an Ativan?" All met with support and non-judgment. But mention bipolar and people have this preconceived notion that you are bat-shit crazy and may just show up on the evening news, in a straight jacket. "Hey bob, didn't you know she was bipolar, so sad, (Susie says with pity and a hint of elitism), thank God that isn't us honey" You've just done it Susie-Q, you've divided us. Sad and not at all evolved or compassionate. Tsk-tsk says God, Buddha, The Dalai Lama...not to mention, your mother Miss Q. Speak up Bob, you know she's a hair away from crazy town herself.

"Well, I'm bipolar and I take Lamictal and Klonopin for my depression/anxiety and to keep me in the fives. As of late...been in the mid 3's with all that's going on at present, but I'm headed upward. Fingers crossed, taking care of myself, reaching out to friends and staying as Zen as possible in hopes to hit a happy 5 sooner than later. Listening to the Dalai Lama on tape as I drive around town; The Art of happiness cooing in my ear. Certainly not planning on any evening news shenanigans, Bob.

For all of you that find yourself in therapy, saying to your doc, "I'm finding myself feeling happy part of the day and then in an instant, I can crash and I don't know why." You may just be bipolar and the good news, once you know, you can get on the right meds! They didn't diagnose me correctly until I was in my mid 30's. I suffered far too long due to a lack of information.

It took a long time to come to terms with the fact that this disorder was something I had, not something that defines me. So thank you Katherine Zeta-Jones! Speak up and join me, come out of that crazy closet and lets do what we can to get rid of the stigma! You never know, you might just see Susie poking her head up too, Kate Spade bag, still in hand. No worries Susie, you're in good company...mostly;)

Actors & Actresses

Ned Beatty
Maurice Bernard, soap opera
Jeremy Brett
Jim Carey
Lisa Nicole Carson
Rosemary Clooney, singer
Lindsay Crosby
Eric Douglas
Robert Downey Jr.
Patty Duke
Carrie Fisher
Connie Francis, singer and actress
Shecky Greene, comedian
Linda Hamilton
Moss Hart, actor, director, playright
Mariette Hartley
Margot Kidder
Vivien Leigh
Kevin McDonald, comedian
Kristy McNichols
Burgess Meredith, actor, director
Spike Milligan, actor, writer
Spike Mulligan, comic actor and writer
Nicola Pagett
Ben Stiller, actor, director, writer
David Strickland
Lili Taylor
Tracy Ullman
Jean-Claude Van Damme
Robin Williams
Jonathon Winters, comedian

Artists

Alvin Alley, dancer, choreogapher
Ludwig Von Beethoven
Tim Burton, artist, director
Francis Ford Coppola, director
George Fredrick Handel, composer
Bill Lichtenstein, producer
Joshua Logan, broadway director, producer
Vincent Van Gogh, painter
Gustav Mahier, composer
Francesco Scavullo, artist, photographer
Robert Schumann, composer
Don Simpson, movie producer
Norman Wexler, screenwriter, playwright

Entrepreneurs

Robert Campeau
Pierre Peladeau
Heinz C. Prechter
Ted Turner, media giant

Financiers

John Mulheren
Murray Pezim

Miscellaneous

Buzz Aldrin, astronaut
Clifford Beers, humanitarian
Garnet Coleman, legislator (Texas)
Larry Flynt, publisher and activist
Kit Gingrich, Newt's mom
Phil Graham, owner of Washington Post
Peter Gregg, team owner and manager, race car driver
Susan Panico (Susan Dime-Meenan), business executive
Sol Wachtier, former New York State Chief Judge

Musicians

Ludwig van Beethoven, composer
Alohe Jean Burke, musician, vocalist
Rosemary Clooney, singer
DMX Earl Simmons, rapper and actor
Ray Davies
Lenny Dee
Gaetano Donizetti, opera singer
Peter Gabriel
Jimi Hendrix
Kristen Hersh (Throwing Muses)
Phyllis Hyman
Jack Irons
Daniel Johnston
Otto Klemperer, musician, conductor
Oscar Levant, pianist, composer, television
Phil Ochs, musician, political activist, poet
John Ogden, composer, musician
Jaco Pastorius
Charley Pride
Mac Rebennack (Dr. John)
Jeannie C. Riley
Alys Robi, vocalist in Canada
Axl Rose
Nick Traina
Del Shannon
Phil Spector, musician and producer
Sting, Gordon Sumner, musician, composer
Tom Waits, musician, composer
Brian Wilson, musician, composer, arranger
Townes Van Zandt, musician, composer

Poets

John Berryman
C.E. Chaffin, writer, poet
Hart Crane
Randall Jarrell
Jane Kenyon
Robert Lowell
Sylvia Plath
Robert Schumann
Delmore Schwartz

Political

Robert Boorstin, special assistant to President Clinton
L. Brent Bozell, political scientist, attorney, writer
Bob Bullock, ex secretary of state, state comptroller and lieutenant governor
Winston Churchill
Kitty Dukasis, former First Lady of Massachusetts
Thomas Eagleton, lawyer, former U.S. Senator
Lynne Rivers, U.S. Congress
Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States

Scholars

John Strugnell, biblical scholar

Scientists

Karl Paul Link, chemist
Dimitri Mihalas

Sports

Shelley Beattie, bodybuilding, sailing
John Daly, golf
Muffin Spencer-Devlin, pro golf
Ilie Nastase, tennis
Jimmy Piersail, baseball player, Boston Red Sox, sports announcer
Barret Robbins, football
Wyatt Sexton, football
Alonzo Spellman, football
Darryl Strawberry, baseball
Dimitrius Underwood, football
Luther Wright, basketball
Bert Yancey, athlete

TV & Radio

Dick Cavett
Jay Marvin, radio, writer
Jane Pauley

Writers

Louis Althusser, philosopher, writer
Honors de Balzac
Art Buchwald, writer, humorist
Neal Cassady
Patricia Cornwell
Margot  Early
Kaye Gibbons
Johann Goethe
Graham Greene
Abbie Hoffman, writer, political activist
Kay Redfield Jamison, writer, psychologist
Peter Nolan Lawrence
Frances Lear, writer, editor, women's rights activist
Rika Lesser, writer, translator
Kate Millet
Robert Munsch
Margo Orum
Edgar Allen Poe
Theodore Roethke
Lori Schiller, writer, educator
Frances Sherwood
Scott Simmie, writer, journalist
August Strindberg
Mark Twain
Joseph Vasquez, writer, movie director
Mark Vonnegut, doctor, writer
Sol Wachtler, writer, judge
Mary Jane Ward
Virginia Woolf

 

dismantled

So I'm five, and I know, from that day forward, exactly what I want and what it looks like. I want to be a mother and a wife and I want a big family, offering up heaps of safety. I got a big part of it, alas divorce arrived when my three wee ones were all under 5, so I took a deep breathe and did it alone - not part of the five year old perspective. Lots of hard work, lots of magical loving years; with a closeness I'd never imagined and a love one can only know after having children. You can never imagine loving something so much that it feels as though your heart is now beating outside of your chest, vulnerable and exposed and fragile beyond words. You watch them sleep and you cannot imagine them grown-up, let alone, leaving and moving on into their own life...leaving you behind. You're so happy for them, excited as you remember how it was for you, and yet the pit, the sinking abyss keeps swallowing you up into a place that feels unsurvivavble, at least for me.

I don't think this would be as hard if the rest of my life was sure, steady and peaceful. Nope, instead, I have every one of the top 5 life stressers happening, and I'm kind of unraveling in its midst. I am starting a new job, I just sold my house (kids heart-broken, but I had no choice) and have no idea where I'm moving. My daughter/best friend, just moved into the city, my youngest leaves in August for college(leaving me as an empty nester) and I have to put my Mastiff down soon. This will devastate my children. I thought that when my kids left, I'd be married and that the comfort of a husband would soften the blow. My beau lives an hour away, and I can either remain seeing him several times a month or move there, leaving my kids far from their lives here when they are on break from college,and leaving my daughter upset that I've moved.

Dismantled, my life has just been, all at once, completely undone and left unrecognizable. I'm terrified and feel like someone has died. It's a toss up between, throwing up or surving another anxiety attack. Oh, let's not forget depression rearing its ugly head. Shoot me please, keeps running through my mind...

Last night I had a very surreal shared time with my x-husband, my daughter and my boyfriend, while soaking in my daughter's first moments in her apt, the echo of our voices and the smell of fresh paint in the air. I drove home deflated and exhausted, still wondering how I ended up at this point in time.

How do we go on in our lives with so much change and fear and pain?... How do we get to the other side, when the thought of doing the dishes seems so daunting? See the shrink, up the med's,..write a blog, cry off and on like a menopausal woman,which by the way, can be added to the list of hell. peri-menopausal symptoms all tied up in a bow, pretty and new upon my door step! I would like to drown in chocolate and sleep, but my mind offers no space for sweet dreams as an escape, and I can afford no extra ass at this time. My boyfriend listens and offers hugs and tissues, at a loss for a way to make it better. Breathe, cry, feel all the ache, the lost feelings, and hope that I will feel happy again. Hope that I can keep putting on the brave face each day for the outside world, and pray that my kids will forgive all that I have let slip away from us this year, including me, if I move an hour away from a town I have lived in my entire life. The five year old is back, she is here and she is in a puddle of despair. This is my today...

snuggle up luv, nigh, nigh...

I love falling asleep each night with my man. I love how we fit perfectly together in any position we puzzle ourselves into. We giggled last night as I stuffed a pillow between my knees, he asked to share, and there we were, facing each other, knees happy, and the rest of our branches perfectly slung about. We seem to be like a magnet in the way our curves seek out and find that 'right spot'. I love that we are both, feet movers at night. We rub one another's arches, firm traces of soles and sometimes even a short ribboning up the leg with a loving caress. Not too far up, or the entire sleep, cuddle idea is out the window, and my blog is now salt, tossed carelessly over the shoulder. 

  
After some sweet pillow talk, we curl up in a loose tangle of limbs and sheets, fingers gently slipped together, and finally the sweet few deep breaths, that one of us hears before we smile and slip of the edge, into the starry blue together. The best part,we both snore, so nobody can complain. We may nudge or giggle from the minor intrusion into our sleep, but it's all good fodder for the morning.
  
I happen to laugh a lot in my sleep and talk. I told him to ask me from now on, what I'm laughing about. It's been rich, let me tell ya! Oh my, I'm nuts! A few weeks ago I was laughing and upon his first soft queries, I half woke up and laughed some more while I told him I was watching a couple of animated cartoon dogs debate about what cosmetic, plastic surgery they were getting. In my dream, I was like, this is ridiculous, what dog gets a face lift?! I was having a hard time trying to bring any sense to the light of consciousness.  I couldn't unravel the many levels of the rabbit hole I was just taken from. My mate says I go to 'Inception' when I leave him in my sleep. Wild dreams, mostly nightmares every night and many with sharks. All so vivid and layered.

Each morning a ritual chat begins as my back is being kissed gently,"hey honey...what did you dream about last night?" he coos.  With my scratchy morning whisper, I begin to describe the vibrant or the dark details of another level visited. I did dream about Leo De cap and I...too far away now to remember it...but how could it be bad, right? I also dreamt about Eric Bana last week....my beau didn't like that share, and why would he? I would not want to hear about his dreams of Sienna Miller's perfect legs....not that he has them.

I digress, my point this morning was that last night, as we were snuggled up, we both felt so lucky that we fit and sleep so well together. You can't say that about just anyone, and God knows how important sleep is. So sitting here right now, I thought, this is what I want to say. It may be a snooze of a blog today...but if I've given even one smile, then I'm happy. Thank you N for being my love, my life, and my sleeping partner!! We are Polar bears, resting against the cool cheek of our family cave, and I wouldn't have it any other way...well, maybe I'd want the cubs to be little again...I miss em after all. Nothing like a three cub night...

                                

PMS~ listen up men. There is a gift in it for you!

It's a scene out of psycho if you cross us, or maybe we just can't stop crying and we have no idea why. Either way, we hate it more than you do, trust me! The best advise I can give any man who wants to survive the '10 days of hell' each month; give us wine, chocolate, back rubs and lots of love and understanding, even when you have no clue what's up with our crazy behavior. Here is your one time to lie your sweet hearts out." Honey, do you think I've gained weight?" Don't run, don't pause, even for a nano-second, you look her square in the eye, hold her close, and tell her she's never looked sexier or more beautiful as you stroke her cheek and smile softly.
After all my advise, if you really listen, you may even get the best sex of your life and satisfy her beyond your wildest dreams. How's that for motivation. It has been documented, proven, that we woman are at our most sexually primed time during the week before and during, what I like to refer to as 'shark week'.
So, step one, we are irrational and most of us know it and feel quite embarrassed by this crazy imbalance that we have absolutely NO control over. We need chocolate, salt, carbs, wine, chic flicks, physical contact.But this is paramount, we need non-selfish physical contact. Foot rubs, back, rubs, stroking our hair at night in bed, running us a bath without looking at our bodies with the horny lust of a 16 year-old who just saw a girls boobs for the first time. Offer to wash our back and ask us to tell you about our day, and REALLY listen.
This is key. I know it is difficult at times, I know, but the listening part we are keenly aware of. We woman have a super-power of knowing if we are being listened to, and asking questions during the listening session is a huge mistake. Let me reemphasize...HUGE mistake. The best thing to offer is verbal empathy. Example; That must feel awful honey,This is just so hard on you, I am going to take care of you sweetie, I want to give you a back rub when we get you out of this bath, Lets go out to dinner and get a big piece of chocolate cake before we order dinner. Get the idea? We are as over- tired and emotional as a five year-old after a day at an amusement park, and this makes trying to sooth us a finesse of sorts. Whatever you do, never utter the phrases; honey, just relax, just calm down, it's no big deal, thank God I'm not a chic, and the worst, the one that brings out the knife-slashing, eyes of death, "You're acting crazy." Don't do it, even if you couldn't be more right. No good can come from this...no, no good indeed.
Okay, so I mentioned sex on the menu. Well, I have found that after the bath and back rub, when my man cuddles up with me, no TV on, caressing my face, tucking my hair softly behind my ear and saying beautiful romantic words about how much he loves me and how amazing I am, etc. We begin to kiss and before we know it, the warmth and understanding I am offered, and the side of him that is in touch with his feminine side, now has me fully and passionately wanting him.Poof! The easy words, the giving of love and listening, and the sharing of junk food has all paid off for both of you.

The week has passed, you've had more sex and hotter sex than you did the two weeks prior, and most of all, you've now mastered the art of surviving 'shark week'. Yep, those poor suckers at work will stagger in, baggy-eyed, cranky, pulling out what little hair they may have left, and working late, all to avoid the dreaded crazy demon that has temporarily inhabited their wife. All the while, they begin to notice, you never seem to come in with a look of bewilderment and deflation. Take pity as you puff up your chest with pride, because you, are in-the-know, and you are the master of your domain. Yes, you are sexually satisfied and your wife is suddenly head-over-heels in love with you. You are the super man of all men. I know, you want to tear off that  collared shirt to reveal the capital S on your chest, but hold back, you know it's there!
Congratulations! We are no mystery, really...You have now been given the map, do not look for a detour after a few amazing months of success, an over confident sense of power may trick you, the ego hopes it will. But we will sniff it out, one single drop of blood (bull-shit) like a shark, from a hundred miles away, your toast. Don't do it, you've seen Fatal Attraction and you don't want Glenn Close appearing in your kitchen, standing beside a large pot of  boiling stew..."where's the rabbit you wonder in silent fear. Dam it, why did I detour?

So I wish you the best of luck. Oh, and you will come to a place if you are a really truly good husband, that you won't even dread this time of the month. You might just welcome it as a time for fantastic sex with the girl you fell in love with.
...and so doth endeth the lessson.