I'm copycatting C. Dale and updating a meme I did 5 years ago (in December):
Fifteen Years Ago:
Chris and I are doing renovations on our new "starter" home (that fifteen years later we will still live in) and planning our upcoming April wedding. Lots of bickering over silly details. Annoyed with friends and co-workers constantly asking me "why?" I want to get married. For the first (and only time), I'm excited about the projects I'm assigned in my new position as "Assistant Producer" for AOL's Reference Channel. I launch my first "major" area -- "Que's Computer and Internet Dictionary." It's a hideous design. My manager loves me. I'm the perfect corporate monkey. I believe I am going places even though an Ocean City, NJ psychic recently told me that I have already reached my career pinacle with the company and am really supposed to be a teacher. He also calls me a smart ass.
Ten Years Ago:
I'm preparing my graduate lecture on duende and editing my thesis (defunct manuscript my old blog was named after). I'm submitting my manuscript to hoards of contests that I have no chance of winning. I'm sending out resumes to rejoin the workforce I left for grad school. I'm not particularly excited about the prospect, but feel like it's something I should do. I'm seeking guidance from a psychic and disappointed when she tells me there is no book in my immediate future. She also tells me that my spirit guides are showing her the image on a doormat, implying that I'm one. I scoff at such a notion. I believe I'm one tough motherfucker. Ten years later it is very clear to me: I was totally a doormat.
Five Years Ago:
I give birth to Gideon in February. The first 10 weeks are really difficult, then things slowly get better. I'm likely suffering from postpartum depression but will not acknowledge it. Chris' work travel exacerbates the situation. During this time I receive several unprovoked hate mails from a "prize winning" poet that hurt and upset me. I do what I normally do in such situations. I pretend I'm tough and perfect my "go fuck yourself" retort giving myself the facade of awesome. When Gideon is six months old, Chris and I leave him with his grandmother and aunt and go to Europe for 10 days. Paris, Geneva and Milan. The first 6 or 7 days are wonderful and a much needed vacation (for me, Chris is working). Around day 7 I wish the vacation is over. I miss Gideon too much. For much of the year, I'm working on the first Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel that will mark the beginning of No Tell Books. I'm also writing a lot of poems that end up in Your Ten Favorite Words. In December I receive the shocking news that one of my poems will be included in BAP 2006. This conveys a message to some of my relatives that perhaps I'm not sitting around smoking pot all day. Others are still not impressed. I learn a lot about envy and the projections of poets. I begin to discover who are my true friends. This is the year I form the beginning of close bonds with several important friends (including Jill Essbaum and Bruce Covey). Carly Sachs and I start Lolita and Gilda's Burlesque Poetry Hour. I'm Gilda. I'm also a consistent blogger.
One year ago:
Gideon's appendicitis almost kills me. A few months later when he gets swine flu, I recognize in the doctor's waiting room that my demeanor (compared to the other mothers of swine flu kiddies) is a bit intense. I'm angry because the vaccinations did not get to my doctor's office in time. I silently rage against the Goldman Sachs employees who were reported to have received the shots months before most children. I'm dumbfounded by continued bailouts. I put Cackling Jackal to rest and begin this blog. I'm finishing God Damsel and am both impressed and totally freaked out at the result. I'm in the midst of making radical edits to my life and things take a turn for the better. I identify and dump a whole lot of baggage. I dream of suitcases and boxes on a regular basis, among a thousand other things. I become healthier. For much of the year I devote myself to energy visualization and healing. An unintended, but happy side effect, is that I lose 15 pounds (the rest of the "baby weight" and then some). I leave pilates and return to yoga after a four year hiatus--a needed switch. The three of us go to Stockholm. It's a happy trip and I'm both pleased and relieved to discover that Gideon can handle long distance travel. My niece, Tabitha, is born.
It's raining. Gideon has a cold and a slight fever. I'm feeling sluggish too. I give mixed signals about watching Ironman 2, but the boys really want to see it. As the movie plays, I regret exposing Gideon to "asshole as hero" at his age--he still operates in good versus evil mode. He loves the movie, of course. While it plays, I read most of Tim Gunn's Gunn's Golden Rules: Life's Little Lessons for Making It Work on my Nook. It's excessively chatty, anecdotal and kind of annoying, but I decide to take Rule 1's advice: "Make It Work!" I'm going to take my 40-50 crap poems and fragments I've written this past year and make SOMETHING out of them. I look at my "to-do" list and decide to focus on something else for the day. I realize that I gained 6 pounds back slowly this year as I slacked off the energy visualization. I console myself with the fact I now have a lot more time in the day to return to it.
An hour (or so) ago:
Flipper, Gideon's stuffed turtle, threatens to bite Chris for making a turtle soup joke. I say no, let's make turtle cupcakes! Flipper threatens to use his laser beam eyes to melt me. As the verbal violence ensues (I blame Ironman) I notice that Gideon is a rather skilled ventriloquist, his lips hardly move. I ask Gideon if he knows what is a ventriloquist. I suggest to Chris that Gideon is good enough to be in a talent show. Chris tells me to stop projecting my childhood fantasies onto our son.