Alice in Wonderland

I went out for a girl's night tonight. It was a friend's birthday party composed of a Russian beekeeper, an astrologer, a therapist, the beekeeper's daughter-going to school for finances, two photographers, and an eclectic young woman dabbling in teaching photoshop and collecting wild edible/medicinal herbs.

The UCLA basketball game was also on, and although I have no interest in this whatsoever, my husband does, thus there was a bit of conflict, considering we only have basic cable in the house. Maybe this is cause to get a bit more out of our cable service.

I offered to come back at 7:30 (after being deterred until 5:50 throwing together a pizza and pasta for the kids and husband and him asking if there was time for him to go get a chicken from the market). This would allow him to catch some of the game, but this was brushed off as "silly", which it is because he's been out and about for the last two games---me at home with the kids. I said that I should probably be home at 8:30 anyhow to make sure the baby was able to get to sleep (dangerous habit).

I left the party at 8:45 (although I expressed to the women that I wished is was a sleepover), so that my husband could make it to the pharmacy by 10 (something that I had no idea was in the plans for the night). But I digress... this is not meant to be blow by blow of my three-phone-call-home night out. It's meant as a celebration of sanity and adult conversation.

I actually met another woman who owns a sawsall. She is in the process of trying to get pregnant. Her friend is "donating sperm" and she intends to do this all on her own. Kudos.
I mean really, she's got the sawsall, what else does she need?

The beekeeper's daughter asked me in my ancient wisdom "what are your thirties like?". I realized, that it's very hard to answer a question about your current frame of mind. I resorted to a comparison of my twenties. What was I like back then? Much like her, I was "depressed" or as I prefer to call it melancholy. I reveled in it and have the scars to prove it (nothing serious, just one on my hand that came about during a depressed painting session where I thought a little bit of adrenaline and blood might amp up the "value" of what I was making).

It came about that I actually miss this feeling. I tried to explain to the therapist, astrologer and beekeeper's daughter, "you know on the way here I was listening too... too... um, Um, I can't remember, ah, shit, some goddam depressing music that I can't remember the name of now". It sums it up completely, my state of mind right now. I am so darn busy that I can't even remember the name of the musical group that was making me depressed.

I explained to them that I miss the feeling of "I am just going to run off into the desert and wilt". No serious intentions of killing myself, by just running off, wilting, starving, getting bit by rattlers... whatever. I guess it all rotates around the "whatever".

"Whatever" is different now. It actually doesn't exist anymore. It's been pounded out by the overbearing "what if?".

I start with the "whatever" and then I get a 3 and a half foot "mommy I need you" that brings me up and out. Whether I want to be there or not. There is a purpose that needs to be filled. Two living purposes much greater (and smaller) than me. A cry, a hungry belly, a skinned knee, a drive to school, a fever, a runny nose, a hug.

I have no time for depression. I have no time to cut myself, or stay in bed, or fantasize about OD-ing on cough syrup. Not that I do not feel depressed from time to time, but the emotion (or lack of) flows through me and it's amazing what going on with what needs to be done can do for you.

Call it Survival Mode. It's kind of a paradox really. If you are busy surviving, then you don't really have time to worry about not surviving. There are people that need me. period.

Where we all run into danger is when we actually have down time. Where we can drive in the car and listen to god-knows-what depressing music. The kids are sleeping, time to put wet towels under the door, make plans for the nanny to come and stick our head in the over (Sylvia Plath). And the only thing that saves us from that is that it's a rare case that you can find a nanny that you can actually trust enough with these precious beings-even their dad.

So, I drove back to the house blasting my depressing music writing poetry in my head, and pulled up the drive at 9:15. ALL the lights were on. The baby was up, the 4 year old was just starting to watch a movie. I nursed the baby and turned off the movie instigating screams about "watching Alice in Wonderland RIGHT NOW!".

My husband went to the pharmacy. The baby fell asleep through the screams of Alice-wanting. I tried to read The Lorax through Alice-wanting, I casually walked down stairs into the lower bunk being chased by Alice-wanting. I stared into space through biting, and hitting, and more screaming of over-tired Alice-wanting. I locked myself in the laundry room to escape physical damage from Alice-wanting. I opened it slowly to Alice-wanting, and Alice-wanting less and less and less and finally a story and a little song and a little talk about how we shouldn't hurt mommy. Because when it comes down to it, none of us really wants to hurt.

Although it would be nice to have the time to be able to hurt, and wallow in it, and drive into the desert listening to, oh yes, it was "Alice" by Tom Waits, if only it is just to drive home again.