Tomorrow, I may or may not face fears. Right now, my stomach is in knots.

I think I’ve mentioned my fear of rollercoasters before.  It’s bad.

I was afraid as a kid, and as a teen while my friends screamed on rides, I held their bags. I hadn’t been to an amusement park in years before I came here. D’s work throws a party at this place once a year. The past two Octobers I’ve gone to the park with him, trying to enjoy the mandatory fun day.

The first year, I thought I’d be fine. I thought perhaps I had outgrown the fear. I decided when we got to the park, I would ride the worst ride first, to get it over with. Once I endured that, I thought I’d be fine.

insert insane giggle here

I was not fine. I waited in line, but when it was my turn to board, I froze and freaked the fuck out. I did end up riding a couple of rides that day, though they all ended in tears, and the excited utterance “I hate you!”.  I even went through the haunted house thingy since the park was decked out for Halloween. Last year, I chickened out and didn’t do any of that. I was no fun and felt bad that I was disappointing him.

I make no promises for this year. This time we’re attending in the summer, so the water park is open. You know, so I can combine my fear of death by rides with my terror in water! Oh, and don’t forget that it’s going to be sunny and ninety something and I’m paler than a vampire.  Good times for everyone!

I was debating booze or sedatives in reality. Just to take the edge off, so that maybe I could try to pull a few rides off without a full-blown anxiety attack. I know he won’t expect me to get on the rides, and he would never ask me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Still, I feel bad because I want him to have fun, and I know he’d like to ride all sorts of things.

How I wish my sense of fearlessness and adventure for certain things could work in this situation.

perversions and imperfections

I have this uncontrollable desire to be perfect.

I believe I’ve struggled with it my entire life, because I can’t remember not dealing with it. As a child, I tried to be perfect. It was my ultimate goal. Perfect daughter, sister, friend, student. For most of my early life I succeeded. At some point, though, as a teenager, the perfect facade was harder to keep up. Things were more difficult, I found a number of things I was only mildly good at. I reached my first failure milestone.

I took it pretty hard.

This only made me work harder at being and seeming perfect. So hard that I hurt inside.

I still have a hard time being imperfect. I can’t see the things I do well, I first see the things I don’t. I have to remember to focus on the positive, but that desire to be immaculate is like a bad reflex.

I think it’s some combination of the parents I had, the fact that I’m a firstborn and of being raised Catholic. I’m a people pleaser, and the way to make people happy is to be perfect, be good, be happy.

In the third grade, I discovered the mechanics of sex. Blame Judy Blume’s forever, and my desire to read way above my grade level. I proceeded to inform the children at the lunch table, much to their parents chagrin. The next day, I was brought into the office and given a talking to. It was the first time I felt under attack. I never got in trouble, this was the first time. It wasn’t the last. My curiosity and fascination with all things sexual would cause problems.

In my life, I’ve felt more perverted than most. Now, I doubt this. I think I’m probably just more open about it, and self-aware. I think some who know me would be surprised by it, but those who know me well aren’t shocked. I do think some of the dark, deep corners of my mind could shock them though. I have thoughts and fantasies that have intimidated lovers, that have frightened me. I try to keep a lid on most, for self-preservation.

Being perfect means not being perverted. The conflict this stirs up can’t be settled. Sometimes I wish I was more conservative, with less of a libido and no interest in the extraordinary.

I imagine life as a woman with only a fleeting desire to be wanted. Or maybe as someone asexual, not bothered by the act at all.

random remarks

– Unflavored Pedialyte is almost undrinkable. I don’t know if flavored is better, but I can’t stomach even that right now.

– A job is a wonderful thing, but when you settle because you’ve been looking so long, you will regret taking it at times. At my current place of employment, there are no paid holidays, no sick days, no vacation time. If you call in, there’s no one to cover you. There’s barely any sympathy either, much less benefits.

– If you’re sick, there are too many references to food on TV, so you’ll be grateful for Netflix.

– Women who wear enough perfume to start making me gag again should be shot. You do not smell good.

– Dear employer: I understand needing to make money to pay your bills, but not hiring another person (like you need to) and stuffing your schedule to the point your employees are dropping from exhaustion (even when they aren’t sick) is getting ridiculous. When I feel better, we’ll be having a talk about this.

– I’m sad I missed last week’s ladies who lunch. I’m hoping I can make August, because I’m missing social time.

– Lagoon comes Saturday; it’s time for his annual work picnic. At the rate I’m going, I hope I can go.


At times, life scares you.

I do well in a crisis. I try to assess the situation, see if there’s some way for me to help. I triage the situation like I’ve been trained to triage crises professionally.

If the person you love is in severe pain, sick and shaking, you don’t think, you act. You move quickly to get them help; to get them on the road to feeling better.

But later, when you’re back at work and he’s out of the immediate danger, resting, you breathe out a ragged breath and try not to cry.

At times, life scares you.

At times, it’s scary in a way that makes you laugh at how frightened you were. Most people experience this with haunted houses and roller coasters.  For me, those things are terrifying.

So was this.

I know he’s just a man, but any sign of his mortality frightens me. I briefly realize that my father was the age D is now when he first started all his health problems and that brings me to the precipice of tears.

Him looking like death warmed over is something I can go a long time without, after this morning.


We’re trying to plan a grand vacation. Only we’re not really vacationers, I think we’re more the fly by the seat of our pants roadtrip type.

Using this upcoming wedding as a reason time wise, we were looking at October. It really is not that far away. I started doing research online, looking up reviews, prices, itineraries. Viewing our options and trying to make plans. We came to an impasse last week though. One of the more common options in the fall seems to be cruises to the Mediterranean. I was thrilled. I didn’t think they were that much more than the other locals I saw and I thought it would be perfect. I have always wanted to visit some of those places, Rome, Santorini, Marseilles. It seemed like a dream came true.

But, it’s only my dream.

He has no desire to visit Europe at all, or to cruise over there. He doesn’t think it would be worth the cost. He doesn’t believe we’d have a good time since people over there are often hostile to Americans.  He thinks I’m mad at him.

I’m disappointed.

Any cruise, trip, vacation with him I know I’ll have a blast. We enjoy each other’s company no matter what we do. I won’t blow smoke up his ass and tell him I don’t care at all. He knows I would have loved to go. I don’t know how to fix my disappointment so that it doesn’t affect him though.

If we manage to plan something and do go on a cruise in October, I will be grateful for the getaway. I will enjoy all the things we can do together, I will be thrilled to go someplace new and experience a cruise for the first time.

But yes, I’m sad that I may never get to visit some of the places on my mighty list because he doesn’t want to go.


There’s been a lot of talk lately in this house about life having a point.  If you have no passion, no dreams to fulfill, does life have a point? Or is it just a day by day pointless journey to the end?

We both struggle at times with the meaning of life, as well as depression. Usually we seem to be in sync, thinking along the same lines, so sometimes when I’m down, he’s having a harder time of it.

I can’t make him happy, and vice versa, but I know I can offer my support and my willingness to listen. I know sometimes you just have to be down, to feel sad, to ponder your purpose and what you’re doing.

I’m not sure my life has a point. I do have things I would like to do. I do have some silly dreams left, but I don’t have some great and glorious desire to make a huge mark on the world. I think what I do matters, that I matter, but I guess I understand how he feels when he feels like his life has no point.

He feels like the only man on earth without a dream, a deep-rooted desire or passion. I know he can’t be. I know it’s OK by me if he doesn’t have this, but I think it bothers him.