afraid of worms

I’m ready to go off the grid and move into a cave and eat only fruits that fall off the tree and wear clothes that are made from skins of animals that are already dead that I skin and tan myself and not breathe anymore ever. I mean, come on. Biodiesel is WORSE than petroleum? What is there left? Aside from not driving any more and not using electricity and not having any more kids and letting all the cows and pigs go free?


Sometimes I meditate on the subject of what I would write on my postcard if I sent one to postsecret. Angela has tagged me for this 8 facts meme, and I’m ready. I’m going to try to remember all those “secrets” that I’ve been storing up for a rainy day. And I’m not saying I’m proud of all these. Most of them make me feel like a freak.

1. Every time I use a paper towel, I think about how I’m probably going to Hell. I hate being wasteful, but the convenience of grabbing a paper towel and then not having to wash it is too seductive. But I do save every single plastic bag I ever come in contact with. If I get one at the market, because I was dumb enough to leave the house without my canvas shopping bags or Mexican bolsas, and I have to get one of those crappy bags, I save it and use it as many times as I can. I reuse ziploc bags. I make Derek wash them. I save the bags from the bulk section and use them the next time I go shopping, and I don’t put veggies in any bag at all. Four zucchini? No bag. Dripping wet parsley? No bag. Twelve oranges? That’s what that canvas bag is for.

2. I wear my clothes until they’re visibly dirty. Don’t say ew. Americans have such a neurosis about being clean. Clothes last much longer if you don’t wash them every single time you wear them. So you use less water, put less soap into the water supply, use less energy for the dryer, spend less money on clothes, and have that nice, comfy feeling of not having to get into tight jeans every single time you dress.

3. I have to do everything myself. And then brag about it. I made a pie today from pumpkins that I baked. Next year, I’ll have pumpkins in the garden, so I’ll just run outside to get a pumpkin to make that pie. I made three and a half meals out of one tiny roasted chicken, including a great soup from the broth I made with the carcass. I made my kids their Halloween costumes. I’m knitting myself a scarf. I make our bread whenever I can. I’m planning on making all the Christmas presents this year.

4. I’m always deeply ashamed when I give people store-bought presents. Unless they’re from DI. Then they’re recycled, so it’s OK. I never send thank you cards, because I never get it together and actually make them.

5. I’m afraid of everyone. Even people I’ve known since I was 5. Even my own family. Even Derek. I’m always afraid they really know what a sham I am, or they’re just being nice.

6. Prepare yourself for this one. It will sound horrible, but read on. I think I’m smarter and more talented than almost everyone. Which is not to say that I necessarily know more, but that I have this inner demon that says, “I may not know that, but it’s only because I haven’t tried to learn it yet. It’s not like I can’t, I just haven’t had the time.” Don’t misunderstand me. I know this is a snobbery, and that it’s untrue, but my brain doesn’t want to change it’s mind. I was told at a very young age that I was very smart, by many people. Those things don’t just go away.

7. The people that I know are smarter than me make me the most terrified. Like they know I’m really just an idiot. I have to compensate for my feelings of inferiority by doing everything myself. Like somehow sewing puppy costumes makes up for my inability to even read the math Derek works on. Or speaking 9 languages makes up for my dismal lack of knowledge in pop culture. (It’s a total lie, I don’t really speak 9 languages. But for the record, I speak English as my native tongue. I lived in Mexico when I was 5, and learned fluent Spanish, which I lost in the years following, but regained in part when I went back to Mexico when I was 19.

I studied German for 5 years in High School, but I didn’t have my heart in it. I learned the vocab, but I never cared about the cases. Hmmm, how can you speak German without the cases?

I took Italian for 4 or 5 semesters in college, because when I was choosing my classes my first semester, all the Spanish classes were full. I went to Vienna, Austria for a semester abroad, and improved my German, then took 3 more semesters of it.

I went on a religious mission to the Philippines when I was 22, and learned Tagalog fluently. One of my native companions said that when she wasn’t looking at me while I was talking, she would forget that I was not a Filipina. I also studied Ilokano, a regional dialect, while I was there. I was never fluent in Ilokano, but I could talk about church and God pretty smoothly.

I stayed in Holland for a few weeks with a Dutch friend, and learned a bit of Dutch, after which I got some books in Dutch and studied it on my own. My friend once told me that it was funny hearing me speak Dutch, because instead of an American accent, I had a German accent.

I took a semester of French following my trip to Holland. Only one, but with the background in Spanish and Italian, all I had to do was learn the spelling and pronunciation idiosyncrasies.

After I met Derek, I took a semester of Russian. The teacher only let me in because I had the same last name as he did, but I turned out to be a crack shot at it, so he liked me all the more. Even when I skipped about two weeks… after getting engaged. Yes, I was one of those. Don’t make fun.

But since I’m afraid of everyone, I never speak any of the languages, so they pretty much don’t count anyway. Oh, I started learning Greek this summer. Yay for me.

8. I want to know everything. I honestly cannot think of a subject that I don’t want to know more about.

Are you sad you wasted your time on that?

I’m tagging Elizasmom, Kalli, my fantastic aunt Barbara, Sketchy, Honeyvine, Yardbird and that’s gonna have to be all! Because who else can I tag that hasn’t done this one or hasn’t decided to renounce all future tags?

I think I’m going to protect all of my future posts that include photos of my kids. I will give the password to friends and family (that includes cyberfriends, although I won’t be offended if you don’t really care about the pics). I might be turning a little paranoid, but there’s always time to repent of that later. I think I will send the password via email to everyone that comments regularly, as well as all the family members who read but don’t comment (shame on you!).

Does anyone know a good way to upload videos but still keep them private? Because I’ve only used youtube in the past.

I’m not afraid of spiders, as long as they keep their distance. I don’t want them on me. If I find them in my house, I will gently escort them outside, but I cannot kill them. However, I am easily susceptible to the creepy-crawlies. Once, my mom and I were at Utah Lake when we noticed the ground moving. Millions of spiders were zooming all around, and even after I beat a hasty retreat to the confines of my car, I could still feel them crawling all over my skin for hours. So I don’t think I’ll go visit Lake Tawakoni State Park.

I have looked forward to this day with great anticipation for several years, and now that it is here, imagine my surprise as Calvin gets on the schoolbus for the very first time, and I get choked up that my baby is not a baby, and he’s leaving me for the world. (OK, it only lasted for a split second, but I almost shed a tear. And I know that kindergarten is not really the world, but I’m leaving my son’s care and learning in someone else’s hands for 3 hours a day!)

He’s been ambivalent about school. So excited one day, and sour and unwilling the next. This morning he woke up and the first words out of his mouth were, “Mom! I’m going to school today!” Within an hour, he was crying about how he didn’t want to ride the bus, or learn to read, or meet any new friends.

But when we went out to meet the bus, he with his name tag and backpack on, he fairly danced about until he finally spotted the bus. He gave me two hugs and two kisses, and jumped up the steps without turning back. He didn’t even wave to me out the window. And no, I didn’t get a picture of him getting on. Zeeb, on the other hand, shed great tumbling tears that he couldn’t go with Calvin. He kept telling me, “I’m five too!”

Zeeb and Kiki are both asleep now, and I’m terrified to take a nap, because what if I sleep through the time we have to go meet the bus when he comes home? It’s in 2 1/2 hours, but I’ve been know to take amazingly long afternoon naps.

* * *

Ha! I won’t have to take a nap after all. The UPS guy just arrived this second with my copy of this:


We took the upstairs apartment that was cheap, which means storage for Henrietta. Ah, well. The house thing seemed so great, but the owners were totally not ready for renters. That’s a long and boring story. So in the end, Derek and I were so stressed and scared that we decided to take the place he had put a deposit on, just so we would have a place. And so we would not loose the $400. It’s not so bad, except for the smokers downstairs, which, nothing against them personally, but I just have a constant headache whenever I’m at home. And we have ants. And no microwave. But for $700 a month, what can you do?

We can’t hear anything from the outside or downstairs. The air-conditioning works great, I never have a cold draft, nor is it ever too hot. Washer and Dryer! Dishwasher! Those are luxuries that I think I will get addicted to.

And we’ve only had one thing stolen, because Calvin left it out overnight. And I think I’ve lost a couple of pounds from hauling stuff up the stairs. And the local elemantary school is the coolest place I’ve ever been. It’s actually a Primary Village, where there are only Kindergarten and First Grades. They have a cooking classroom.

I’m disjointed because we still have no internet, and I’m at the public library, with a time limit, but at least we have a place to live. Yay! One of these days, I’ll go for a run.

Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken…

As the day nears, I’m getting more and more terrified of moving. I haven’t found a place for us to live, yet, and it seems like I spend hours every day on the internet searching. We have our flights and the truck is rented, but we don’t have anywhere to call our destination yet. Do we just arrive there and hope we can find something? I’m not even positive I know which area I would like to live in. I don’t know anything about the schools, and Calvin will start Kindergarten this year.

We also need to buy a new vehicle, since our one little Honda Civic is not very comfortable with two car seats and one squished 5-year-old between them. And with Derek having to drive to work, I don’t really want to be stranded every day until he gets home.

In the past, I’ve been known to develop certain ailments relative to the stress level of my activities. On my mission, I had stomach pain that never let up. Once, while preparing an educational evening with the women from church, I got something that looked slightly like a boil, though I really don’t think it was big enough to be a real one. I get rashes, joint pain, shakes, and depression, to name a few.

So I’m almost to the point where I will have to withdraw from society, just to avoid having to talk to anyone.

In three weeks, we will move across the country. Between now and then, I have to find a place to live, decide if we should take all of our furniture, and if not, which pieces we should take, pack everything up, which includes tossing a lot of junk, keep my three monsters out of the boxes and my hair, figure out what to do with my piano, drive to Colorado and back in the lovely Honda Civic, book a rental car for when we get to Cincinnati, since even if Derek were already there with the car, we wouldn’t fit with my mom and the luggage, clean the entire house, hire a carpet cleaner and possibly a piano mover, and not go insane.

I’m not even going to try to not cry, since I think it really does make me feel better.

*Update: So far, I’m not having any luck keeping Calvin and Zeeb out of the boxes.

Chasing. Losing. Stumbling. Wounds are festering. Kids are yelling. I’m yelling back. Plate crashes, omelet goes in the trash. I’m losing.

I’m too mad at words. (Worms, Roxanne.) People’s words. My words. God’s words. My brain doesn’t think in words. Words are not the best medium of communication. There are too many interpretations of words and combinations of words, too many languages, alive and dead.

I want God to read my thoughts, and give me something. Something.

I want to understand why people say their words, when they are clearly not the words they want to say. I want people to understand the words I’m trying to say, not the ones that come out of my mouth.

I’m chasing. I’m teaching the use of words that are elusive. I’m teaching meanings that are not pumapasok (entering). They lick the icing off, but don’t delve into the cake, never realize the whole for the sweetness of the glaze. They see what it looks like, round and tall and snow-capped, but never experience the spongy, squishy, pocketed interior. Never understand the complexity of the entire combination. They say “hate” and think they are saying “dislike” or “anger.” They say, “I just have to…” when they mean, “I am unwilling to stop for you or anyone.”

They ignore me. (They are ignorant?) They do not respond, if my words are not to their liking. I yell. Then my words are surely not to their liking. I yell, threaten. My threats are meaningless, even to me. I say things I do not intend. I think things I do not say.

I am afraid of my thoughts. They are not my friends.