Deviant Dispatches

First of all, my postpartum depression post has quickly become the most viewed one I've ever written. You are all amazing - thank you for all the support. I hope that post has helped many of you in some way. Here's a bit of an expansion on that. I mentioned that I had two dreams that led to my decision to take meds; they were so vivid and spoke so clearly that I still recall them in detail seven months later. The First Tickle was two and a half months old, and I couldn't admit to myself yet that I was experiencing PPD. And then I dreamed. I saw a drawing. That was it: a simple drawing that could have been a cartoon clipped out of a newspaper. It was an alphabet quilt, colored in brown scale on a bright white background. Each square of the quilt was its own letter, with a corresponding animal family: A for alligator, B for bear, and so on. But in each panel, one parent played energetically with the child and smiled happily, while the other parent sat by themselves t...

Parenting so far has been an adventure in ups and downs. Strength and Weakness of Body My daughter's birth went well. I was healthy throughout pregnancy and she was born with no complications. I'm still amazed at the fact that after she was born - after birthing a freaking child - they gave me ibuprofen, and it was enough to manage the pain. My body makes food for my daughter while I'm busy doing things like taking pictures or cleaning poop off the floor. I was able to function week after week without REM sleep. That said, the first week was a trip. I don't deal well with lack of sleep, even now that I have a three-month-old. In the first week, I got so dizzy from lack of sleep and weird hours that I nearly fell over several times. It was enough to make me feel nervous about carrying her from room to room; thankfully, Spousal Unit was home during that time as well. I also got a painful infection, and later that month, I was sick enough that I had to get two l...

Moving is a complex, stupid animal. There are a billion things to stress over and twice as many people to complicate things and get in your way. Throw in first-time home ownership, and it makes my usual level of worry seem like wondering what to have for lunch: inconsequential and minute. (Minute is my new favorite word lately, I think. Sorry. Or not sorry. Too busy worrying to parse it out.) In these times, destitute of peace of mind, I find two things helpful: writing and thinking about the positives. This at least temporarily gets my mind off the stress and helps me remember why I'm putting myself through such a terror-inducing process in the first place. In the new house, I won't have to worry about whether the landlord is going to charge us for replacing the carpet that the cats have demolished. I'll just have to either live with it or replace it myself, which means no reliance on someone else's fickle policies. (Thankfully, there's little carpet in the n...

Yesterday was weird, so while we were at the dealership getting an oil change, I also had a manicure. The day was weird because we bought a house. It's south of Madison. We only saw it for the first time on Sunday, and within a couple hours, we put an offer on it. (It's that kind of market right now.) Three bedrooms, wood floors, and lots of potential. I'd love to share more about it right now, except that hey, we just bought a house. So there's work to be done, and I'll share updates as I can.

Yesterday continued to be the most wonderful birthday in the world even after breakfast. I finished draft 4 of the book, got a massage, had a great bath, and went to The Melting Pot for dinner with Spousal Unit, where he showed that he really does listen when I talk about things, even if I feel stupid for wanting jewelry for my birthday (because it's so not me). A blue opal necklace! (October's birthstone) Anyway, that's not what I came here to talk about. I came to talk about my 25 things that I did in the last year (or tried to do). Lately, I've been trying to cut myself some slack, because things have been rough and my standards are always so high that they're asking me, "Dude, where are all the snacks?!" So I will go easy on myself when interpreting whether something was accomplished or not. 1. Take a creative class - painting, writing, etc. - I'm counting this even though the "class" I took was free - I still created a pendant ...

Part I Part II Dear The Universe Something somewhat miraculous happened this weekend, and I give you absolutely no credit for it: I started working on The Sweater That the Universe Denied (henceforth referred to as the STUD) again, for the first time in two and a half years. I'll probably be able to finish the knitting within the week. I am earnestly cringing in anticipation of my smiting. Each time I've worked on the STUD before, I've been thwarted by you, The Almighty Universe. I have a healthy respect for your mysterious thwarting ways - you've been nothing if not creative in your attempts to needle-block me. Therefore, I am wholly vigilant this time around. Of course, there is still the problem of the six-foot sleeves. (You remember those , right? The ones I spent countless extra hours of my life knitting because gauge was/is my evil enemy?) But I have a supposedly simple solution: first, finish the knitting at hand. Then, watch a dozen tutorials ...

Sing-alongs have been happening at the Wisconsin capitol building since Governor Walker's disbanding of unions in 2011. For more than 700 consecutive weekdays, their purpose has been to gather in the rotunda, sing peaceful songs of protest, and gather strength from each other. Walker apparently felt threatened by this and all of the demonstrations in the capitol, as he outlawed gatherings of 20 or more that did not have a permit--then replaced Madison's police chief, who wasn't enforcing the law, with his personal bodyguard. This week, arrests have begun. This excellent article talks about the author's 80- and 85-year-old parents, who were arrested at the sing-along, where 22 people were in attendance. The next day, instead of the numbers decreasing, they went up - 29 citations were issued, and ( as WPR put it ) the remaining protesters sang louder. I understand the point of needing a permit for a public gathering. But the capitol has always been a place for ...

This picture is completely unrelated to the post. I just wanted to share it. Sometime in high school, while I was evaluating myself, I realized I didn't have much in the way of favorites. I decided I had to change that. It wasn't that I didn't have passion and goals; it was that when asked, "What's your favorite meal? What's your favorite hangout place? What's your favorite season? What's your favorite book?" I didn't have an answer. I knew what I liked, but all of my likes blended together. No one seemed to stick out as an obvious choice above the others. That seemed like it was wrong to me, so I pondered many different aspects of my life, hoping to reach a point at which I could say with confidence, "Spinach wrap-up lasagna. The coffee shop downtown. Autumn." I learned many things about myself and found many answers. Of course, in some areas, I still couldn't identify any one favorite thing. I still can't tell y...

On Saturday, in a fit of restlessness, I headed out to the nearest department store. It wasn't that I'd been inside all day; on the contrary, I'd been to the Madison physics museum and the grocery store earlier. It was more of a desire to get out on my own for a bit while Spousal Unit engaged with video games and action movies I wasn't thrilled with at the moment. And so I went on a meager adventure. I'd not planned to buy much; after all, that was not the point of the trip. As long as I was there, however, we did need a tablecloth to conceal the unsightly mess below the living room table. We also needed a second set of sheets (yes, we only have one). And then, I somehow ended up in the makeup aisle. I've been noticing my age, lately. Not to say I'm getting old; I don't believe that at all. But the cells in my body are slowing their rejuvenation , and along with that come aches I never used to have, a desire to stay in when it's snowy out, and...

We've entered the home of what we can only assume to be a person of strange moods and tastes. Our reception was warm and welcoming, but the Lieutenant and I were a bit disconcerted at the state of the local fauna. Many of them, as with this African violet, appear to be thriving in this hostile environment. I would be inclined to choose different language to describe the territory, if not for the presence of this ... former plant. Clearly, the latter has been deceased for many days, if not weeks, yet it remains as is, in a pot in a corner. The room is scattered with various other greenery as well; I can only be led to believe some tyrant believes herself the Angel of Death and has left the deceased as a warning to other plants. She must have a heart drier than Earth's Nairobi desert. That, or we've encountered our first chlorophyll vampire.

Last night, Spousal Unit and I made a couple of stops after work. We meandered home later than usual, full of lively conversation, as we often are after work. After nearly four months of car pooling, we still have things to talk about on the drive. After eight years together, we still have stories to regale one another. I drove into the parking lot and pulled into a spot, frigid with ice and twilight. I swirled away my skirt and long coat as I rose, slipping keys into purse and chill breath into lungs. But the sound of the car door closing? I don't remember that. I don't remember it because as the door closed, I looked up, toward the south. The light extended this evening, the first clear promise of eventual spring, and a sliver of moon shone in the sky during our drive. I could forever say this was the reason I looked up, but the truth is, looking up is what I've always done. My dreaming mind is in the stars, and in seeing them, I see all I am and all I want to be, ref...

In Washington, D.C., everyone's concerned with the fiscal cliff right now. Come midnight on January 1, congress will either put unsatisfactory measures (according to everyone, I'm sure) into place, or the entire country will jump off the cliff like short-sighted, drunken lemmings. I'm not terribly worried about what will happen; everyone puts things like this off until the last possible minute, and then there's a cave-in by one or both parties. Even if that doesn't happen this time around, I still have a (personally) more pressing worry on my mind: that the fiscal issues we're facing will make lawmakers lose track of goals related to the Sandy Hook Elementary shootings in Connecticut. Here's what most concerns me. This is already a politicized issue. It was politicized within days of the shooting. Fine; such is life in this, our U.S. democracy. There appear to be two sides: people are either for stricter gun control, or they are for better, more acc...

Source Friday is Buy Nothing Day , and I'm really excited for it this year. Every year, I do my best not to buy anything on national holidays, like Thanksgiving. Buying things on days like that tells retailers that yes, people will buy if you are open - and they say to themselves, "Why aren't we open more?"  That leads to employees having to work Thanksgiving Day, which should be a day spent with family and friends. This year, my sister works 8:30 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day to 5 a.m. the next morning. That means trying to sleep all of Thanksgiving, waking up for a rushed meal at my grandparents' place, and running back home to get ready for work. Her hours are all thanks to Walmart, the leaders in corporate holiday ignorance. They open at 8 p.m. on Thanksgiving this year. This year, their workers are striking to protest such ridiculosity. It's about time. Buy Nothing Day was started by the group Adbusters , who also started the Occupy movement . T...

Last time, on Deviant Dispatches... A young woman on the move. An apartment hungry for bat-like affection. And possibly a secret passage... And now, the stunning conclusion. The Batcave is pretty cool. Thanks to some incredible sidekicks (a.k.a. moving helpers), we already have a passable living room and bathroom. The bedroom's even in tolerable shape, and the kitchen was assembled enough for Spousal Unit to make some gourmet spaghetti last night. There is little to no highway traffic noise, the neighbors have been friendly, and the only loss in the move was a bottle of cayenne pepper sauce whose head wasn't screwed on very tightly. (It went on a murderous rage, dousing everything in its path with spicy vengeance. Luckily, it was in a plastic bag and no one was hurt in the assault.) This place will be awesome once I get used to it. But the one thing I cannot and will not tolerate is the basement. I will never go down there alone. Here I am, unable to go down there to sn...

Source Dear Batcave , You have no idea how excited I am to become a superhero. Spousal Unit named both of the other places we've lived in (The Stick and The Pork Rind, respectively - and that was after  we became vegetarians). His tendency was to think of a ridiculous name as quickly as he could, so that the name would be second nature and I wouldn't have a chance at naming it something cool. I'm telling the truth here, Batcave : for the last year, I've lived in a place called The Pork Rind. I can't wait to live someplace less meaty. Here are my hopes for you, Batcave . I hope you'll provide a quiet environment with little highway noise. I hope you'll allow us to regulate the heat, so that we can be as cool as we want in summer and in winter (really - I like the heat on low in winter). I hope that our new neighbors will hate drama and, therefore, will spend less time standing out in the yard and screaming at 2 a.m. I hope you'll defe...

Progress is being made toward our move. I can prove it. See? The thing is, despite the huge number of boxes and furniture lining the walls, waiting for someone to pick it up and say, " I will love it and squeeze it and name it George ," I still feel like we're behind. Truth is, we're probably not. Last night, Spousal Unit and I counted out Q-tips and underwear, t-shirts and hair ties. Various bathroom monkeys jumped into boxes, and some beloved Packers gear followed - a treat to be discovered once victory is complete. But there's still the kitchen. And the closet. Hopefully, they won't be so bad. We've already packed certain extraneous items, and the diabolical closet plan is to just throw everything in a giant box and hope they don't all need ironing in the end. My biggest nightmare right now would be to start packing kitchen gear and discover a 20-piece set of wine glasses that haven't been packed yet, and still need to be loving...

I'm pretty burned out from my first week working full time in half a year. I considered just leaving you a  picture today. But you deserve better than that. Cornflower Blue has a lovely tutorial for turning a free piece of furniture into an awesome one. Cornflower Blue I don't have an iPhone, but this Captain's Log app is pretty sweet. Trekkies, engage your grocery list! Rurouni Kenshin is my favorite anime (minus Kaoru's whining, of course), and a live-action movie has been made. They say it's practically perfect in every way . Too bad it's not coming to the U.S. anytime soon. I vote that we start a petition for it. Lots of people have seen these already, but I can't get over them: gorgeous pictures submitted for the National Geographic photography contest. This is my favorite, but try out the tiger as your desktop background.

Today, I have a lot to work on. I have an apartment application to fill out, cookies to bake, a cake to bake, a care package to send, a doctor to inquire after, CDs to return to the library, a budget to balance, a scarf to work on, a novel to work on, a kitchen to clean, wine to buy, and tomato sauce to make. (The last two are directly related.) I also have the incredible goals of buying a spatula and taking a bath, though not at the same time. I'll be amazed if I accomplish even half of those things - I have a terrible tendency to make an extensive, unreachable to-do list for my days off, which leaves me feeling half accomplished and very tired. That, or I give up after the first two are crossed off because the tasks ahead are too daunting. But not today. I can feel the days speeding up as we approach the end of our lease, and it's time to start getting ready for the next part of our lives, whatever that might entail. The crisp weather delights me, but also worries me - ...

Ladies and gentlemen: I present to you... the last page of my novel. Some part of me thought I'd never see it again. I can tell that part of me to shove it, because I've finished my second draft. Now comes the hard stuff. All those little yellow post-its? Those are things I need to address in the next edit. All these pages and pages of notes? According to my  editing instructions  for this book, the next edit will be one of the most difficult: correcting all of the major faults. I addressed some of them in the most recent edit (such as changing my main character's age), but I've discovered many more problems. Maybe I should have done the really hard stuff on my first edit, but I'm glad I didn't. One of the huge problems I unveiled was a certain character who could have solved two hundred pages of problems  thirty years ago - now, I need a reason that he didn't. I also added important elements to the world I created - things that may ...

I love one part of my body above all others, and it’s not my armpits. Really, does anyone love armpits? My guess would be no. I don’t just hate my own armpits; I hate everyone else’s, too. As I’ve mentioned, this is why basketball will never be my favorite sport, or even a sport of which I can stand to watch more than one minute. Unless you have some weird armpit fetish and nothing gets you going quite like a freshly shaved underarm, my guess is you also hate them, whether you’ve ever consciously thought about it or not. And now I’m going to get all kinds of hits for people seeking armpit porn. Awesome. But armpits are not what I came to talk about today. I came to talk about how much I love my hands. I think every woman - and maybe even every man -  has at least one body part she absolutely hates and would do anything to change. Society puts so many unrealistic expectations out there for body image – thinner, firmer, taller, blonder – that it’s almost impossibl...