life with talking trees

 I opened up a Merril Lynch investment account. It's technically an IRA but so far as I know, it is non-interest-bearing because it's a SEP (self-employed)

So I do all of it online. 

So far, the wonderful world of the stock market is a huge disappointment (as I knew it would be) because I have "pennies" to contribute.

I've put $850 into the account so far. $150 is still in "cash". My investments have netted me $600 at this point. Which means I"ve lost about $100 at this point. Obviously that could change and I could wake up tomorrow... middle class. But that's doubtful. I made deliberate risky investments with small amounts. Because I wanted to see what happens. It's a few hundred here and there. I sincerely doubt ALL the money will evaporate but most likely it won't be worth the same as if I had stuck it in a bank account. 

Well my next purchase will be a solid stock. I'm going to buy a share in Roku. Everything I know tells me that's going to be a good investment and might even possibly end up being a Blue chip like J&J, Apple or Dow-Jones. For that reason, it is a very expensive stock. well, by MY standards anyway. Last time I saw it at the morning surge it was $400 each. So I put enough in my account to buy ONE share. 

Now the problem with doing all this online is the real-time lag. Of course I didn't even think about my stupid IRA all week and so haven't bothered looking at it. Now it's Friday and I suddenly get the urge to check on it, after 5pm. Nothing is going to happen until Monday. I also realized I didn't have enough money in my current account to buy a share of Roku. So I put in the transfer order to put the money in from my bank account. Except that also takes 3 days. So it won't credit my account with the money so I can't put in the buy-limit order for the stock. 

Why do we bother living in the future when the people who get rich off of us just use it to find new ways to keep us down?

 I won't say I think about her every day, but I do generally think about her several times a week. It's been 36 years and here I still am, remembering Jill.
But today was different. 
I got up, noted the time (checking on how much sleep I got - 5 hours!) and suddenly realized today was the anniversary of her death. It's interesting because I hadn't thought about the anniversary since Andrew died, yet I saw the date and was jolted into a different grief.

I've been carrying this around for a long time. I have talked to a couple of different therapists but never in the context of her death alone. It was always an addendum - "Oh and my best friend died when I was 18, really fucked me up for a few years" while trying to deal with something else. It's funny how i carry sadness around like a backpack slung over my shoulder - I can just shift the weight of it whenever it starts to hurt or put it down for a minute while I catch my breath. But unpacking it? Ugh, what a chore. Better to just peek in every now and then and just fling it back over my shoulder and soldier on.

I've been asked before to explain what was so great about jill, our friendship. I've been asked to tell stories about her. And I never really could. Because it's like asking a fish to explain how water feels. Jill and I swam around each other in life and even though we were clearly separate people, our friendship made us that known duo - WendyandJill - that everyone just assumed went together.  I could describe her in words, short staccato images that would only give you a veneer of her impression when she walked into the room, but I couldn't think of stories, events, memorable moments that I held onto.... and I don't know why. It's bothered me over the years... it's made me question my loyalty, my love and my heart. I've truly wondered if there was something wrong with me, that I could mourn someone so deeply yet have nothing to say about her when asked.  The best I could ever come up with was "Jill was the kind of person you just had to experience. Words fall short"

And yet... today, for the first time ever, I remembered something from our childhood. I remembered something from our teen years, I remembered something from right before she died.  I stood outside, having a smoke and staring at some basic trees and I suddenly remembered so many things from our past togehter. And words came to me... and images.... and even feelings and scents... it was like I had never really remembered her before at all and now she was flooding my senses. Even as I write, right now, she still is.

Jill was slightly tall for her age, with a shock of dark brown hair that she dyed a mahogany hue and shaved in what now is called a Goth Hawk but short enough to be spikey on top and long enough to look slightly feminine. She was always on the thin side, not much for boobs or butt really... slightly androgynous looks really, with high cheekbones and slanting jaw that nearly came to a point. Her face was also androgynous but pretty in that pale, freckled way denoting Scottish ancestry. She loved Goth attire (this was back in the 80s, after all) and usually was seen wearing  a long black trench coat and black jeans. She wasn't much for jewelry or makeup - just enough to look like a girl as she'd sometimes say, because she was not a fussy person. Even when she wore a dress, she looked like the child of David Bowie and Robert Smith. Ha, she'd be thrilled if you described her that way - Bowie and Smith were her idols. She had a way of smoking a cigarette that made her automatically look cool - eyes slitted, mouth slightly curled up, shoulders hunched over.. it was almost gumshoe noir. Like she needed a lone street lamp over her and fog around her ankles. Her one childish nod was always wearing hi-top Chucks. To be fair most everyone we knew wore hi-top Chucks. But Jills were always the most unique. No one had Chucks that looked like hers because she decorated her own.

Jill was an artist. We'd all known that since she was a child. One of those people who could pick up a pencil and start drawing anything; the pencil would move effortlessly as if she'd been doing it for 30 years. She could draw in different styles, as well - cartoony, sketch-like, comic-book style, or if you had time, she could do pointillism.  It was just known and assumed she'd be going to art school once high school was over. I gave up being jealous of her ability somewhere around 5th grade. By that time it was like being jealous of Rembrandt. Just enjoy the talent in your presence.

Jill was a swift wit. Like many artists, she had the ability to see things other people didn't see. So she could say strange and intersting things that other people didn't always understand. But she was also shy, introverted and self-contained. She preferred to be in the background. Which was partly why we were such friends - I was bombastic and passionate and constantly commanding attention, while she sat behind me, murmuring things that bowled me over with laughter. Sometimes, to fuck with people, we'd flirt with each other. Winking nd using double-entendres and knowing looks. Once I think we even kissed. But it was hard to keep up and we usually ended up laughing in the middle, much to the consternation of nearby men.

Today, I have remembered so many things about her, about us, and the lives we lived together. I was strange and wonderful how so many memories came back to me all at once. For the first time, I could think about those things instead of the night she died. Always before, just thinking of her name brought back only the bad memory, that one night, replaying over and over in my head. 

I'm going to write those memories. I'm afraid of forgetting again but instead of trying to get them all out of me at once, i'm going to let them simmer, turn them over in my mind, hold them to me and be happy for a change. Today was the first time I thought of Jill and I smiled first.

Going to Dreamwidth.

Bye.

I just fixed an issue with my toilet that was causing water to leak into a downstairs closet.

Now if I could just get a good job, I could be qualified to shop for a wife LOL

it's been a long time so I cleaned up my friends list. If I took you off and you think I shouldn't have, then comment here. I probably took you off because I didn't recognize your username and I think we don't actually know each other.

I keep an LJ alive and running because I want to keep up with my friends and post more private kind of things. I have a Facebook to feel a more general connection to my wider circles.

If you decide people are automatically racist because they have posted something in sympathy with Paris but not (to your knowledge) on the super-long list of other human rights fails (that you decided were important) then you can just stay out of my circle. My feelings and thoughts MIGHT be reflected by what I put up here or on Facebook, but they might not. You don't get to brand me any-damned thing just because I don't follow your chosen protocol of concern. Bye.

I had it with Lil Miss.

We were settling in after school and she was at her computer playing MineCraft. I told her I was taking a shower.
While I was in the shower, she came into the bathroom and asked me if I would go with her to the store after my shower. I said "yes, we will go to the store after my shower is done."
I got out of the shower, put my clothes on and walked out of the bedroom. No Lil Miss. I went downstairs yelling for her, thinking maybe she went into her old room and was trying to open the cans of paint Liz had left. No Lil Miss. Third Son came out of his room because of all my yelling and I asked if he had seen her. He began going around the downstairs looking as well while I yelled outside in the backyard. No Lil Miss. I went out the front door and yelled. NO Lil Miss. I yelled again louder in the driveway towards the woods next to the house. No answer. I ran down the road a bit and looked (without my glasses so I don't know why I bothered) but nothing was different. I started to shake. I ran inside, grabbed my phone, my glasses and my keys. Third son was looking at me, anxiety in his eyes, "I'm going to drive and look, you stay here and if she comes back, you CALL ME RIGHT AWAY. DOn't YOU GO ANYWHERE"
"okay" he said
I ran outside and started yelling again, louder than before. I yelled so hard my voice started rattling in the middle of yelling. Meanwhile I was texting J but my hands were shaking so bad I mangled the message into "Omh jalkistti us gonr" - thanks auto-correct for at the most crucial fucking time of my life to decide to ignore me completely -

Just as I was about to get in the car, she popped out of the bushes down the road and began running towards me.

I immediately texted J saying She had showed up. he deduced what happened and started firing questions at me. I used the time it took her to get to me to calm the hell down and not hyperventilate. When she finally walked up, I managed to not throttle her, scream bloody murder or swoop her up in a bone-crushing hug. INstead I allowed myself to look as scared as I felt and talked sternly to her.

"WHY did you leave!"
"I wanted to see the cars at the end of the walk"
"you mean the main road? you wanted to look at the main road?"
"I wanted to walk to the store"
"I told you I was going to take us to the store"
"But I wanted us to *walk* to the store"
"we have had this conversation before, Lil Miss, the store is too far and it is too dangerous to walk there - there are not enough sidewalks"
"but I wanted to go for a walk"
" you cannot leave this house without me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT. LOOK AT ME"
"....yes..."
"you scared me so much I was going to cry. I thought you were gone."
"I'm sorry" (bursts into tears)



So now I cannot ever take a shower or a nap when she is here. JFC

I want to talk a little about post-partum depression. If you are the partner of woman who is amenable to the possibility of child-bearing some time in the future, then I beg you to read this. Please.

Post-partum depression is loosely defined as "baby blues" that don't get better within a month. This is as simple as I can put it and frankly its best you remember that simple definition. PPD is a very serious condition. It is related to several things having to do with child-bearing but none of them are the root cause alone. There's a certain amount of mystery as to whether a mother will have baby blues or end up with actual PPD but there is one thing that is the most obvious "risk factor" for baby blues becoming PPD. That risk factor is lack of partner/family support after birth.

I want you to let that sink in for a minute. Consider what that means, if you are the closest loved one of a woman who might bear a child in the future. You, the partner, the primary family member or hell even just the best friend or roommate, are probably the most important factor that will determine whether or not that beloved mother ends up crying for a few hours, a few days or ends up killing herself. Other factors come into play, of course, but the main thrust of studies and research has revealed that lack of support is the most important risk factor for whether a mother experiences PPD. If you think I'm being dramatic, I'm not; PPD is a very real dangerous condition that can even lead to psychosis. Or suicide. And what is the procedure by which Obstetricians and doctors "screen" for PPD? They talk to the mother and ask her obvious questions about how she's feeling. How well do you think that's going to go?

Let me move into the personal here... not only have I been through PPD, I've known quite a few other mothers who've experienced different levels of it themselves. The saddest part, to me, is that NONE of us talked about it when it was happening. We all talked about it afterwards, but when we were going through it? We kept it quiet.

Were we afraid of being dramatic? Were we worried no one would believe us? Were we trying to "be strong"? Were we aware of how irrational our thoughts and feelings were and so figured we had a handle on things? Were we convinced that what we were going through was shameful and foolish?

Yes, to all of the above.

But you know what? I don't even want to talk about those things. Being depressed is a catch-22 and everyone knows it. The more depressed you are, the less likely you are to seek adequate help. The more depressed you are, the less you realize you even NEED help. The more depressed you are, the less you even care about getting help.

Let's get really personal. I'm going to tell you a little bit about my worst PPD. and I'm going to describe it, somewhat how it felt to me: random, non-sensical and without connection to my actual situation.

I believed my child hated me. I believed everyone knew I was a terrible mother. I believed scientists were on the verge of altering reality so that time could be reversed and changed and any minute now reality was going to come to a dead stop. I believed strangers were going to break into my house and hold my children at gunpoint. I believed my house was going to spontaneously catch on fire. I believed my child was actively trying to break my will. I believed my husband was resentful of me. I believed everyone thought I was lazy. I believed I would never feel "normal". I believed monsters were going to be awakened from my subconscious and given life and come to eat us all alive. I believed that if I didn't clean something every day I would wake up alone. I believed nothing was good in my life. I believed my husband looked down on me. I believed my friends were all disgusted with my decision to have a child since i so obviously could not take decent care of it. I believed one day I'd wake up and discover I had missed decades of her life. I believed if I took her outside, her "real" mother would discover her and take her from me. I believed everyone was laughin at me. I believed millions of roaches were hiding under my porch and delighting in my terror by darting out, one by one and if I went outside alone, they'd all descend upon me at once. I believed I was ingesting something that was slowly poisoning me and someday they'd discover what it was after I was already dead. I believed my other children were going to live forever and forget me someday.

 

I was afraid to go outside in the daytime because when I did, nothing seemed real. I was afraid to go out at nighttime because I couldn't see well enough to be ready for when the monsters starting pouring out of a hole in space-fabric. I was afraid to talk to anyone because they'd know how horrendously inept I was and everything would be taken away. I was afraid I'd tell too much and be put away and worse, I'd like it. I was afraid to ask for help with anything because people would lie to me and what I needed wouldn't happen and then everything would fall apart. More than anything, I was afraid to go to sleep because I knew I would die in my sleep and my baby girl would die too if that happened. That was why I never took a nap if I was alone in the house.  That was why I had my husband wake me up whenever he left for work. He thought he was just kissing me goodbye while I slept but I woke up almost every time and got out of bed once he was gone.

Everything was my responsibility and I knew I could not possibly do any of it adequately. Everything was my fault. But the whole world was trying to beat me down. I was a terrible person and no one liked me, they only tolerated me. Even my own child did not act "normal" towards me and that was the proof that I was horrible AND that the world hated me.

Yet all the time, I knew I was wrong about almost everything. I knew I was being irrational. I joked a few times with very close friends about a couple of thins then blew it off before they realized the extent of... my crazy.

There was never any danger that I was going to hurt myself or my child. Not directly.

but you know what makes me weep? thinking of all that time wasted.

There were moments I'd look at my baby daughter and just feel like i was going to burst with all the love and pride and awe in me. I couldn't imagine there was anything in the universe ever before or after that was half so beautiful as my child. I didn't care about anything because she was everything.

But then there were moments where I just wanted her to disappear. JUst stop NEEDING me for a moment. Then on the rare times when she didn't need me, someone else was always there, needing me. And I was angry about it but guilty too. I am mother to three other children. I am a wife. I am a friend, a sister.... I had no right to ignore all those others.

but looking back on it, I see.... everyone did need me... they were just doing what they always did.Because no one, including me, told them any different. No one told them that what needed to happen was for someone to realize I needed someone too. I needed to be taken care of. ANd not just for a day or so. I needed a lot of help. and I wasn't getting it. I coudln't realize that at the time. I wish someone had.

Because what i went through? was hellish. Really. I look back and I HATE those first six months of her life. I wish so bad I could do it over again.

I wonder though.. if I did it again, would I really know better to do things differently?

Because feeling that lack of support and being flushed with hormones really does a number on your perception of reality. When you look down at the most fragile thing in life and realize "this is all you, man" its the biggest burden you'll ever carry. Then if you look up and realize you're not just alone carrying it, but you've got even more burden to be laboring under?
Good gawd.

Then I hear about other mother's battles with PPD.

Recently, I heard about a mother who was friend to a dear friend of mine. That mother hung herself. That's not even outlandish. Postpartum suicide in the USA is about 10% (and that's just the ones they KNOW are suicide)

You may not think that's a big number but I do.

Because it isn't just about suicide, its about pain.

And depression that gets like that? Its painful. Make no mistake.

And the biggest factor in making sure it doesn't get that way?

Partner/family support.

So if the most important thing in a new mother's life (to prevent painful depression) is other people, why is it that all the literature warning about PPD is aimed at the new mothers?

Where is the campaign to educate partners?

but I have to say I'm getting kind of tired of the CONSTANT push for donations on Facebook. Every time I turn around its a new crowd-source plea. And most of them, while perfectly decent and acceptable, aren't even close to being dire. Yes, cool I understand, the only way to get funds in crowd-sourcing is to make the pitch in social media but COME ON. I do not want to fund every new cool idea you come across. I've actually got real life friends who are afraid of becoming homeless and I'm being bombarded every day by more requests for crowd-sourced funds. Not only that but there are some real legitimate charities who always need funds too.

Give it a rest people.

Just because something looks beautiful to you, does not make it a good thing. Using butchered ASL to make a music video is not a good thing. Telling people that you are using ASL when you are actually transliterating from a dictionary is not a good thing. Discounting and dismissing when Deaf people themselves tell you you are being disrespectful is not a good thing. I don't give a flying fuck how "beautiful" her videos are, she's butchering a beautiful language and passing it off as expertise. Her videos aren't even Pidgin or baby signs level, its BULLSHIT.

Example: she signs "hard to fall asleep" as
"rock-solid to trip (I)sleep" because apparently she is unaware (or doesn't care) that some words which have many meanings in English do not have the same range of meaning in ASL. Like the word "fall" - it has three main meanings but one word is used in English. Well in ASL you don't use the same sign for those three meanings. Even Signed Exact English doesn't butcher the language like that, SEE has a specific sign for every English word so "fall" will not transliterate three ways. Because SEE isn't a language, its a code. At least its a proper code, what she's doing isn't even that. Fuck me.

I commented on one of her vids as blandly as I could that she isn't using ASL. SO of course her adoring (ignorant) masses jump up to defend her. She, wisely, says nothing because she knows full well what she's doing and she doesn't care. I google her and find several blogs and other mentions by Deaf people who despise her because they've told her straight up what she's doing is wrong but apparently she either doesn't answer them or blows it off like its no big deal with "well everyone signs differently"


Let me ask you something, if you heard someone say

"Book blue it he give me for to read"
and everyone around said "OMG what beautiful English Poetry!!"

wouldn't you be a bit peeved? Now imagine you tell them "um, that's not English, that's English words used in Spanish syntax. You can't do that, its not the same" only to be called a naysayer with no heart because you can't see the beauty in it? Fuck me. You can say "look, people who speak English don't USE it that way" and some jackass tells you "oh everyone speaks English differently"

There are RULES in language. Ignoring those rules means you don't respect the language.

I know why she's doing this, because she doesn't take ASL as a real language and neither do any of her adoring fans. They just think its gestured English. Christ that really riles me.



So, hearing people? Don't fucking do that. ASL is not gestured ENglish or even signed English. Its a fucking LANGUAGE and it has RULES. Either learn the rules or put your hands down.