meds, white vans, and yellow highlighters

I had a dream last night that I was pregnant again. I wasn't due yet, but they told me that the baby had to come. I was a little scared and nervous, but I went to the hospital with them anyway. I woke up feeling awful and curled my arm around Aaron's waist. I snuggled in and told him about being pregnant in my dream. He mumbled something about how good that would be and returned my cuddle. My eyes closed and when I opened them again, it was after 7:30. I'm supposed to be at work at 8:00. Not good. As I was scrambling to get dressed and figure out what to do, Aaron suggested I go to work and he would take the kids to school. I offered to switch vehicles with him and he could trade them out later.

Which brings me to the van. Needless to say, it took me a little bit of time and effort to hoist myself in to begin with. Then, I drove, slowly, to work. This van is so high up that I feel like I'm the bully of the road. However, I'm also a scaredy cat because I didn't want to wreck it. When someone pulled out in front of me 2 blocks from my house, I almost had a panic attack. I kept thinking what I would tell the police officer behind me if he were to pull me over. My brain was in a million places at once, and yet still focused on driving. When I got to work, only 15 minutes late, I leaned against my coworker's door frame and nodded to the window, asking what they thought of "my sweet van," which spawned giggles, just as I suspected. It started my day pretty well, and it didn't hurt that I got to see Aaron's sexy face when he switched out the vehicles either. However, he brought with him a note from the daycare teacher stating that because some of the kids were taking off their flip flops and using them as weapons (with no real need to mention names), those types of shoes were now banned from the classroom. Fantastic.

I realized last night as I was watching Cecil B. Demille's version of Cleopatra that I can see the beauty in just about any movie. The art and imagery that he put into it was awe inspiring. I don't even want to think about how much time it took for them to get all of the different meticulous scenes perfected. I sat there, thinking of my parents' looming divorce and my sister's probable sadness from it, looping fragments of plastic bags together to form long strands, and wondered why I wasn't sleeping instead. Lately, my medicines have not been particularly working. My body still aches from my head to my toes, literally. I'm becoming progressively more exhausted. Fortunately I'm going to a pain specialist on Friday and I have another appointment at the clinic next Tuesday, right as I will be taking my last Lyrica, which may not help with the pain, but does make my mood quite better. It's scary when you realize that you're going to be medicated for the rest of your life, and that medicine that can make you feel euphoric and happy will only keep you that way for a small time before needing more and more to achieve the same high. Drugs are drugs, whether or not they are prescribed or taken properly. Your body will always get used to it and require more. I've only been taking Lyrica for 4 or 5 months and already I need a higher dose. And what happens next?

Now I am sitting at work, trying to whittle the stack of paper down, but I keep getting interrupted by trips to the bathroom, my bloody toes, and pretty much anything else that's more interesting than highlighting names on pieces of paper. I'm trying to stay organized, but my mind wanders to my urge to be more crafty, my list of things to do, and of course the new M.I.A. cd which is supposed to be coming out in July. I usually try to get my fix in the mornings on the way to work because it kick starts my day, but since I had to drive the ubervan, I had to sing along with it in my head. But dang, isn't she purdy?

Well, My Goodness

oh hai again interwebz. It has been awhile...It's raining outside, and I have to say that I've been thinking about you a lot lately, collecting thoughts and being spellbound by my inability to actually put my thoughts onto paper, or my fingers against keys with capital letters on them. But I know it is time to start again.
Many things have been going on lately. It's not unlike what you're really thinking when someone asks you "What's new?" and you say, "Same ole, same ole." You and I both know that's not true. There are usually A LOT of things that are new, but you just don't feel that it is interesting enough to tell them about. Besides, they are probably just asking out of courtesy and don't actually want much of an answer. Next time someone asks, pause for a moment and think of the most personal tidbit you can. Then start talking about it and watch the reaction. Priceless entertainment right there.
A lot of the things that are new in my life are worrisome. I've been having dreams about many things, things that I don't think bother me in the daytime, but when it's time to sleep, it haunts me. My first daughter will be 8 this September. She was adopted the day after she was born, taken home by a beautiful, picture perfect family, leaving me with a deflated balloon of a stomach and promises that I would get to see her all of the time. I don't like to think that it was a lie all along, but it seems to be that way. People get very illogical when they are protective. I rarely see my daughter, only allowed to view her life through snapshots of smiles and multicolored tutus. But see, in the sunlight, this does not bother me. I'm happy for her, happy to see her grow and change so many people's lives. But at night, I dream of meeting her now. I dreamed that I was visiting as a family friend and she came and sat on my lap, laying her back against my chest and wrapping my arms around her waist. I could actually smell the shampoo in her hair and my heart was pounding. I woke up feeling very empty, and very alone. My chest aches when I think about it. I scent of apple shampoo still lingers in the air sometimes, and I wonder if at those moments, she is wondering about her mother.