Lilith Saintcrow

There’s nothing quite like waking up out of a sound sleep at 7AM with your six-year-old announcing, “Mum, I’m gonna puke.”

He’s not sick and it’s not nervous stomach. I think it’s a touch of food poisoning–worrisome with a kid under 12. Apparently his dad took him to noodles last night after kendo, and the stuff he’s throwing up is noodle-y and fish-y. *sigh* We’ve talked about fish and the kid before. I guess we need to talk again.

Poor little Sir Pewksalot. He’s a little bit glassy-eyed. I guess re-tasting fish in the morning will do that to one. The UnSullen One got up and made me coffee. “When you wake up to puke,” he said, “you need something nice to counteract it. I’m going back to bed.”

What a nice kid. He’ll make someone a fine wife someday. *grin*

I am making chicken noodle soup today. Before you ask–the chicken yesterday was a SOOPER WIN. I added a little broth to the crock pot at the beginning, then halved some russet potatoes and put them in skin-down after a while. The potatoes were mashed later on, I steamed some peas, and pure deliciousness resulted. After dinner the skin and bones went back into the crock pot for stock, and I’ve got two whole crock-pots full of stock out of the deal. Soupmaking shall proceed apace, once I skim the stock that’s in the fridge. Chicken noodle is probably just the thing to soothe a troubled tummy.

I feel compelled to note that the chicken was free-range, cruelty-free, and fed organic. It was still very cost-effective to feed a family of five for a couple days (I have plenty left over for soup and sandwiches, even). I do try to buy organic when I can afford it, and the only reason I’ve gotten into cooking roasts is because that’s where the price break for cruelty-free meat becomes reasonable.

I feel like raising my fists and saluting the four winds while announcing “I AM THE CHICKEN MASTER!” But that would be hubris, for I know there are many, many ways of screwing up the chicken-cooking. One good dish does not a Chicken Master make. And since I had the discussion trying to define “hubris” with the Princess last night, I am determined to be humble about any Cluck Luck I have had. (The discussion was to prepare her for Prince Caspian. She’s going with me to the movies tonight, the little angel.)

All right. I’m kind of at an impasse with Weasel Boy, so I’m going to throw more vampires in. When in doubt, as Elizabeth Bear noted, send in the man with a gun. (She also says more roller derby, less girlfriend, but as this is a romance novel, I can’t have less girlfriend. I guess I’m just going to have to rework the girlfriend I’ve got.) I guess I’ll just throw more vampires at Weasel Boy and his Lady Fair and see what happens.

After, of course, I drain the crock pot and put the soup together. Wish me further Cluck Luck.

You know, I can feel them coming. Those bad, bad nights. It usually starts when the sun goes down and a wallop of anxiety hits. The anxiety builds, for one reason or another, until you go to bed and miserably realize, I’m going to be up all night. About 3AM I am no longer going to be rational and I will start worrying over stupid sh!t like “what if my teeth fall out and nobody loves me anymore when I’m toothless?” Oh, crap.

Just TRY to sleep then. I dare you.

I envy the people who can fall asleep at a moment’s notice and sleep all night. I really envy those people who don’t know that irrationality at 3AM is so much worse than at any other time of the day, because your defenses are down and you’re so tired you cannot restore proportionality to your thinking. I have thought the craziest things at 3AM.

A lot of people don’t understand that this type of anxiety isn’t just someone being nervous or wanting attention. There’s a lot of shame in our society attached to any stigma of “mental illness”, whether it’s PTSD or chemical out-of-whack issues. So suffering alone when one has a valid problem just makes the problem bigger.

I would like to go to the doctor, but no insurance makes that sort of problematic. And I don’t want to bring this up to a doctor until I’m sure they won’t pour Paxil down my throat. One of my family members is on Paxil or Zoloft (I forget which) and swears by it. “It’s the first time in years I feel like myself,” she says. The only trouble is she is not the same person now, I don’t recognize her and she thinks the Crazy Abusive Stuff she did no longer applies since she’s medicated; and furthermore, Paxil doesn’t work for me. It makes me want to do desperately dreadful things to myself. I’m glad she’s happy, but I don’t want that sort of bazooka leveled at my brain chemistry again.

I just need something for those nights I can’t sleep.

The Selkie and I talked about this once. And God bless her for stating the obvious. “At 3AM you’re not rational. You might be half-asleep or half-awake, but you’re not thinking straight. It’s hard to remember that when you’re worrying so hard.”

I was so relieved I could have cried. Nobody had ever said that to me before.

I also worry that the worrying in the deep dark shoals of morning is part of what drives the creative engine. I’m loath to disturb that equilibrium because I’ve been working with it for so long. I’ve done a lot of work in that state, and some of it is pretty powerfully affecting. It’s ridiculous to think my output depends on that–but still, it’s….worrying.

Part of the trouble with this sort of anxiety is that it doesn’t make sense. The body is upset and worried, and you start looking for reasons because if you’re feeling that way, there must be something wrong. Enter another round of desperation, and before you know it you’re chewing your own legs off to escape a trap that isn’t there.

There were lovely things that happened last night, the signing among them–and a totally beautiful hemp cuff that did help get me through the shoals early this morning. The cuff’s from a Reader, Scockercrew, and is knitted in an awesome herringbone pattern. Last night I had it on while reading in bed and when the bad shakes hit at about two AM (body declaring mutiny against what it knew was coming), I just started looking at how she knitted it, how well it was put together, the beautiful button, and I thought about how wonderful it was to have a gift from someone. I was glad to have met her, and glad to have written something that gave her a little joy.

It didn’t make the shoals any less toothy or dangerous. But it was really nice to have it to focus on, to take a deep breath and have a physical reminder that there was a sunlit world where order would be restored and things would be okay again.

This morning is sunny and bright, and I’m trying to remember to be gentle with myself today. It looks like another 60 degree day (about 15C, *grin*) and I might be able to open up the windows and let a nice slight breeze blow through.

Sometimes that’s enough.

Another mostly-sleepless night. I want to take the opportunity to thank Reader Amy for posting the links to the anti-stalking sites. The stalking guide in particular was awesomely useful, both for the family member currently being stalked/harassed and for me. I hadn’t thought about the stress taking a toll on physical health, but a lot of things in it really rang true. I realize that the stress has been affecting everyone in our household, and has been playing merry hob with my sleep patterns (not that they needed it) and my ability to be coherent. It doesn’t make the stress less, but recognising that it IS having an effect on my body and mind takes such weight off, weight I didn’t even realise was there.

In other news, there are two discussions at Smart Bitches that I really recommend reading. One is about an article in the New York Times, finally expressing that genre writing isn’t easier than “literary” writing. The other is about pirated ebooks, and well worth reading through, including the comments–and I don’t just say that because I commented. I say that because the discussion is remarkable, in that it focuses on the issues and the disagreements, and does not degenerate into personal attacks. That’s pretty rare in teh interwebs, and a tribute to Candy and Sarah setting the tone for their site.

On the bright side, I got some proof pages done this weekend. And I took some sanity time just for me with the Selkie. We played around in Portland for a bit and went to dinner. Both of us were low-energy, and needed a day just to noodle.

Today’s going to be busy, so off I go. Again, wish me good luck if you can. I could use all the good luck I can get my hands on today.

Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for personal reasons, and guess what? I can’t sleep. *sigh* The general stress is telling on me. Dealing with Crazy People is always time-consuming, nerve-wracking, and awful. I know we wouldn’t have police or a legal system if everyone was responsible, adult, and sane; I am very glad both institutions exist. But being under siege and not being able to do much except wait is…well, nerve-wracking.

Consider my nerves wracked. Heh.

Posting is likely to be spotty over the next couple of days while we get paperwork together and make preparations. In the meantime, waiting for the other shoe to drop is just absurd. And no, I cannot be more specific about the situation. Maybe later, probably not.

I still haven’t managed to touch that mound of proof pages. Blasted crazy people messing with my work schedule. It is not to be borne.

I’ve reached the point where everything I type seems like a Bad Idea, so I’m going to sign off. If you have any extra good protective juju, we could use a pinch over here at Casa Saintcrow.

Be back soon…

After a lot of stress, the emotional snapback can be murder. The body, performing under great stress with grace and alacrity, takes its vengeance afterward. The snapback attacks the weak spots in health, and the urge to lie on the floor and stare on the ceiling for a great length of time returns. When the last of one’s strength is utterly plumbed, both physically and mentally, the road to recovery begins…with a complete and total frockin’ breakdown, often masquerading as the flu.

Body aches. The feeling as if one’s thinking through cotton. Dry mouth no matter how much water one drinks. Stuffy nose, and the persistent feeling of chill that accompanies a slight fever.

One needs to be gentle with oneself sometimes. This is one of those times. Time to turn the heat up, drink a lot of juice and mineral water, and moooove verrrrrry slowwwwwwly, stretching every twenty minutes or so. Going to bed early tonight. Very early. Will make teenager do dishes too, since I am a Mean Mum.

The kids like this sort of slow sleepy day, since I fix snacks all day instead of insisting on proper meals. And they also love it when I say, “Let’s take a day off/a day slow.” They work so hard learning all the time that it feels like a vacation when I put on DVD lecture on art theory. Little do they know they’re learning incognito. *ebil glint*

A slow day ahoy. I’m feeling good about the prospect. I’m not going to work on anything hard, but I am going to write for my own enjoyment instead of for a deadline today.

I can’t think of anything better.