As the clock ticks down...

You tell me there's an angel in your tree
Did he say he'd come to call on me
For things are getting desperate in our home
Living in the parish of the restless folks I know

Everybody now bring your family down to the riverside
Look to the east to see where the fat stock hide
Behind four walls of stone the rich man sleeps
It's time we put the flame torch to their keep

Burn down the mission
If we're gonna stay alive
Watch the black smoke fly to heaven
See the red flame light the sky

Burn down the mission
Burn it down to stay alive
It's our only chance of living
Take all you need to live inside

Deep in the woods the squirrels are out today
My wife cried when they came to take me away
But what more could I do just to keep her warm
Than burn burn burn burn down the mission walls

--Elton John

Do what you must baby, then come on home.

Waiting...

Today is nesting day. I'm not getting out of my jammies; I am enjoying flitting in and out of the kitchen while listening to Season Eight of Friends. I'm not answering the phone; I am paging through my cookbooks to find some lovely recipes for tonight's dinner. (Choices: Homemade Chili, Cheese and Onion Soda Bread and Chocolate Gingerbread for dessert. I rock.)

I know what you're thinking: Every day with you is nesting day. And you would be right. However, I have a good feeling about this last resume I sent in. I'm torn whether I should say anything else about it because that's usually a fabulous way to jinx the entire deal. So I'll tell you that much, then post again if something comes from it.

Love to love ya, baby

Coleen has invited me to participate in Februarium this year and I have gratefully accepted. It will give me something to do while I wait for the job interview phone calls to come rolling in.

I don't think it's outside the rules of play to start these entries early, so I'll probably flesh out a few this afternoon after I get back from the market. They tell me it's a lot harder to write about love than I think, but I immediately pooh-pooh that statement. I'm a Pisces, Ruler of All Things Romantic and Idealized, so I anticipate that I will smoke the other participants. [/sarcasm]

This afternoon I will be making a metric tonne of meat sauce, most of which I will freeze in little zipl@c bags for later use when I'm in a pinch. I tried this same experiment about 8 years ago when I was first in the house, but as I have a predominance of my uncle's genes I'm a stickler for making a fresh new creative delicious meal each and every day. Well, each and every other day. So I kept forgetting about the little bags of goodness that were just waiting to fulfil their culinary destiny on our table. And they burned, man. Freezer burn extraordinaire.

So I've altered my plan a tiny bit, opting instead to keep the upstairs freezer for such things. That way I can head there in desperation when I cannot come up with a suitable recipe for the next day and get some inspiration. Also, I expend the energy to make sauce but am able to reap the rewards time and time again? Score!

Tonight we will be having a lovely meatsauce with penne, mesclun mix with homemade honey dijon dressing and garlic bread. Not bad for one of those pre-spring days when the temperature deigns to rise above the freezing point but just barely. Because that's when you get to enjoy the slushy remnants of snow and a dampness that causes my knees to swell and yell and send me running to the medicine cabinet for anti-inflammatories by the fistful. Fab-oo.

Apparently you also get Smog Days, which honestly blows my mind.

Hiding in plain sight

Things are seriously heating up for me right now, and I honestly can't say whether it's a hell of my own making or not.

I think I've told you I've been through three pretty severe bouts of depression in my life, the last one being about 15 years ago. While I thank all the pestilent gods it's been a long while since I've had to deal with The Drama, I suspect I've somehow awoken the giant again. Possibly the miscarriage skewed my hormones to the point where they didn't know how to return to whatever I had considered 'normal' before. Whatever it is, it leaves me with a bit of a problem.

The IUI Program The Boy and I are involved in wants me to see a psychiatrist about the miscarriage and they've been pushing it pretty hard. They now want me to see the big cheese, Dr. P**** before we're able to pass go and collect $200 in the form of starting another cycle around the beginning of March. I've been telling all and sundry that I'm fine, I made my peace with it and all I want is to look ahead and no one seems to believe that I know my own mind. That, or they see something in me that tells them I'm off my nut and need help. And I might just be.

My sleep has been fine and my eyes and hair are bright; those are the flashing, blinking lights that tell me I'm sick again. Thing is, I'm turning into a raging hermit and can't seem to stop myself. I screen phone calls, avoid people online and haven't seen my best friend in far too long to be considered polite. I also spend the better part of the day concentrating on my mounting list of Life Failures; I don't think that's healthy. (duh)

So if I see someone primarily about the miscarriage, I don't want all the Poor Me stuff to leak out and they kick me out of the program because I have to go on meds for months. I doubt I have the energy or the mental acuity to be convincing enough at this point.

I seriously need a job, if only to get my ass out of the damn house and to achieve some balance.