Questions

Today was a darn nice day.  Somehow we got Joel out of the house for a nice long walk. Wait, it gets better....we stopped by a thrift store and he reluctantly agreed to have us buy him a book (a funny one about making prank phone calls).  And then he got home and actually read it! Halleluia.

I had a strange chat with Barbara's boyfriend today. She bequeathed me her cookbook collection, and I was going to swing by to pick them up. We had a bit of a chat and it seems that Barbara made up a lot of the stuff she told me -- and him.  She wasn't in the mental hospital at all. I kind of thought that the therapist there was too good to be true. We're both left wondering what was true and what wasn't.

Irritability

Irritability -- in psychological terms, being oversensitive to the little (and not so little) annoyances of life.  Letting stuff get to you.  Crying, as it were, over spilled milk.  Irritability was big reason I went on the Zoloft, and I tell you, it was like lubrication, letting things slide off my back.  I was much more patient with the kids, seldom even raising my voice. It worked so well it was even worth the hit to my libido.

Don't know what's different now, but the Vitamin Z is not working its magic today.  I find myself despondent that the boy refuses to read the books that school assigns him because they are "boring" and "stupid" and that he's "lazy."  We both know that's bull.  He has amazing verbal skills but he also has a learning disability that makes it really hard for him to see "the big picture" instead of a bag of details.  He just refuses to read, so he gets no practice at it either. This is like a knife to the gut of his English-major, book-inhaling mother.

I wonder sometimes, am I like the dad who was a football hero, and is aggravated when his son rejects sports?  I don't think so.  After all, sports are great, but not really that necessary when it comes to education and employment.  However, it is quite hard to get through high school (much less college) without successful reading (though my son is determined to try).

Sometimes I think, let's get him tutors, let's find him a good LD program, etc.  But the fact is that he doesn't want help, and actively uses his amazing powers of avoid/evade to reject it.  As you can imagine, it makes me want to scream.

Yesterday, I did -- alone and at him.  Irritability rears its ugly head, folks.  Then, this thing with the Girl Scouts starts up and I'm infuriated by it.  Long story short, I took the initiative to train to run one of those Real Beauty workshops for the girls and their moms, and my micro-managing control freak co-leader made me reschedule it for one person who was going to be out of town.  Now only two people have agreed to come and the one we rescheduled for?  Well, she might come, but only if her daughter doesn't have too much homework.

So this is all getting to me and making me teary, so I increased my Zoloft dosage back to 25mg. Hope it helps.  I know there are real serious problems out in the world and mine are rather petty, but it feels like everything sucks right now.

Frustration

I'm feeling quite sad and frustrated.  About the boy, but other stuff too.  My friend Barbara died last week.  I knew she was ill, but she seemed to be getting better.  I got to go to the hospital and see her in her final hours.  She was unconscious, but I held her hand, sang her a little song, and thanked her for being my friend.

She was a troubled soul, but she let me help her and she helped me too.  She had suffered the loss of a child, but never belittled me or judged my kvetching about my kids.  She understood mental illness, therapy, meds, etc. but our favorite things to talk about were (in no particular order) politics, food and sex.  

I should mention that 90 percent of our communication was on gmail chats. Which means I still have 250 conversations.  I went back and looked at them the other night.  She was so open and loving, and had a great sense of humor in spite of all the crap she had gone through.  When I amused her she said "heh" or "funny girl."  I giggled, "hee."  Well, it beats ROFLMAO.

She would be glad I didn't cry when she died...she asked me not to.  Not that I can do much crying on Vitamin Z.  But it has been under the surface, waiting to emerge.  Today I am feeling such frustration with the boy, that thinking about some dumb English paper he blew off reduced me to tears.  Sobs, even.  

Barbara would have been great to talk to about this. She was always up at all hours of the night to chat (it's about 11:30 now).  When her edema made it hard for her to get out of bed, the computer was inaccessible and the chats ended just after Christmas.  Neither one of us were much for talking on the phone.   I visited her at her home, but the last couple of times she kept the TV on the whole time, like some elderly person.  

I started to really miss Liz again, and now I see why.  Barbara was my transitional object.  She would listen to my problems and she would let me help her with hers too (my fantasy reciprocal relationship).  Now she's gone and the void has returned.  And so have the tears.