Songs in the Key of…Something

She’s imperfect but she tries
She is good but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won’t ask for help
She is messy but she’s kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up
And baked in a beautiful pie

Sara Bareilles, “She Used to Be Mine”

I’ve mentioned before how music has re-emerged in my life to be something so important to me. I have hundreds of songs favorited and saved. I’ve gone through three sets of Air Pods. I listen constantly – even when I’m in the shower (no, my phone is not in the shower). And it’s interesting how songs take on different meanings depending on where you are in your life. And this is no ground that hasn’t been explored before, but I’m indulging my navel gazing.

I can be a bit pithy when I create and name playlists. I have one named “Ire and Rage.” It’s full of songs that make feel better when I’m angry. I guess a sort of reverse therapy?

I’m a grunge girl and no apologies for that. Hard not to be one considering when I grew up. But I like many different eras and genres of songs. My father loved music, and I credit him with why I love 60s music and just enjoy music in general. I love it all, and I’ll listen to it all. OK. Confession: I’m not a huge country fan, but I do like some songs, and I also enjoy quite a few hip hop songs.

I’ve been told in the past that my tastes are pedestrian. Well, isn’t music meant to be enjoyed? Maybe I’m not rocking out to some obscure song that 5 people know, but I like what I like. Isn’t that the point? I never suggested I was “cool”, whatever that means.

What I love about music is that you can always find something to fit your mood, your situation, your stage of life. That moment when you completely identify with what is being expressed as if they had been in your head…

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words

Roberta Flack, “Killing Me Softly”

It’s that moment when you realize you aren’t alone. Someone else has felt the same way you have and they have expressed your feeling, whether it be love or happiness or hope or sadness or despair or anger, so perfectly that you feel seen. You are validated. You aren’t ridiculous.

So, yes, as I cycle through various moods and seasons of life, I turn to music. I admit to being slightly embarrassed when Spotify revealed my most-played song in 2022 had been “Malibu” by Hole. I was never a big Hole fan as a teenager (we’ll talk about the fact that I have a “doll part” from a Hole concert senior year another time). There is a rage to both “Malibu” and “Violet” that speaks to me. Because I have a lot of rage about a lot of things. And it’s cathartic. Sometimes I do feel like some are trying to take everything (metaphorically). I have previously mentioned that I also suffer from anxiety, and it turns out anger helps me drown it out, so listening to angry songs helps me to focus and keep the anxiety at bay. It’s been funny watching Daniel start to sing along to some of these songs. And, truly, my playlists are eclectic. I have enjoyed being exposed to different music by many friends, and I can always find something to fit a particular mood.

A year or so ago, a new friend commented that they didn’t think a song had been written yet that described me. For some reason, that popped up in my head today. Probably because in my slightly anxious brain, I was trying to keep it all together and listen to songs as I drove into work today.

I know that statement was meant (I think) to be a compliment on my uniqueness. It was meant to be flattering. But. Today when it popped into my head, it struck me differently. Who among us does not want to feel…seen? Reflected? Included. Maybe that’s what it is. Included.

The thing is that I spent – well, still spend – so much of my life being told how different I am. And I’m not saying that to compliment myself. Sometimes…you want to fit in. Who doesn’t want to know a love song makes someone think of you? Or that rage-y anthem makes someone say, “this makes me think of you because you take no shit!” Or, as embarrassing as it might be, “this song makes me think of that day you cried in theater class because that guy broke up with you and we all kind of stared.”

I guess what I’m getting at is that there would be a sense of being recognized. You belong. You feel the same things we do. Or, maybe, someone else recognizes that you feel the same things regular humans feel. What’s wrong with me that out of thousands of years of music, there isn’t ONE song that could I could be seen in? I have become Other.

And I know that’s maudlin and likely overthinking (something I am also guilty of). But as I’ve said before, I make no apologies for how feelings hit me.

I’m not sure if any readers have noticed, but I’ve tried to append a few lyrics of a song that reflects my mood to my posts. Maybe I really am stunted emotionally at age 15, but they all reflect where I am at a particular time. And I admit that I tend to the darker stuff and wallow in my feelings and internalize and should probably use commas correctly for items in a series.

But that’s where I am. That’s who I am. And no worries…next song may very well be Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell.” I love that song. Makes me dance around my kitchen.

A few weeks ago, I went to a local music show with a friend and the music was great – very eclectic – all over the place. What I loved almost as much as the band was the “youngsters” dancing at the front to the music: headbanging AND moshing. I had the biggest smile on my face.

The kids are alright.

And so am I.

Fall and Decorative Gourd Season

And you just don’t get it, you keep it copacetic;

And you learn to accept it, you know you’re so pathetic

Local H: “Bound for the Floor”

I smiled after I typed “Fall” because of the dual meanings. Autumn! and also, literally falling. Which I have felt like with my legs. I think the two vein ablation procedures have helped some, but the doctor was adamant that it would not be a cure: at best a partial improvement. I understand that. And despite doctors saying this isn’t a thing, I can tell certain foods spark irritation: no more tortilla chips 😦

But there are lots of things to fall about and fall because of.

This is a rough time of year for me now. And I hate it because I LOVE Autumn. It started last Sunday with J’s birthday. And some other tough conversations. And it will continue for all of October.

And then I was sick this week. Not Covid (tested negative) – I think just a good, old-fashioned cold after a work trip to Chicago and a busy August and September. And I just feel exhausted. In every way possible. I’ve boarded cats, moved furniture, overseen contractors, given 4 presentations, travelled for work, vacationed…there has been a lot going on.

I said last year that I call this season “Deathiversary”. It is. I don’t think it will be as acute as last year, but there’s a lot focus on. To dwell on. To deal with. To feel.

And I don’t ever want to pretend that it isn’t fucking hard to try to do all this by myself. I’m trying very hard to be so good at everything but feeling like I am failing at everything. And failing everyone. And overall not feeling good enough.

I did some good things this year: I hired a handyman to do some painting and other improvements. I hired people to fix some things on the back porch. I hired floor people to do some major improvements. And I’m proud of myself for that. I can do this! Plenty more to do. But it’s hard. And often I feel like my decisions are second guessed and I need to run the gauntlet of how not to offend this or that person. And D is 13, and isn’t that pleasant? And be at minimum, a competent employee at a leadership level. Oh and maybe try to have somewhat of a social life – even simply hanging out with the neighbors. I keep rubbing my “Relax” stone.

I should probably delete all of this. It’s a vulnerable moment for me, and I dislike that. But. The entire point of this post actually was that I don’t think I’ll be able do my usual fall decorating: because of the floor stuff, I have no furniture in my living room. My furniture is in storage and I’m trying to decide if I want to bring it back or buy stuff *I* like. And you know what? I think I’m fine with that. But I did bring out one item, and I think that will do for now.

So thank you to my dear friend, Erin, for this. It was a birthday gift last year, and I laughed my ass off when I opened it. It will be a staple of my Autumn decorating for years to come.

Each day, I try to put one foot in front of the other and do what I need to do while also dealing with recalcitrant children and needy cats. And coworkers. And sometimes family.

Also I need to buy a new Christmas tree, but that’s a post for another day.

Also I got another tattoo. I will post about that too.

Thank you for bearing with me.

Remembering the Other

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.  In years past, I would have a moment of silence for my friends and anyone else who had reason to observe this day. It never occurred to me until this year that I was one of them.  Our surrogate pregnancy with Daniel started out as a twin pregnancy.  Our first ultrasound was at around 9 weeks, and we were able to see clearly two sacs and two embryos but only one heartbeat.

I don’t know why I never considered that we had lost a pregnancy.  Maybe it was because we never had the opportunity to think of our pregnancy as a twin pregnancy; by the time we had the ultrasound, the other embryo had died.  Maybe because I preferred to focus on the huge positive that we still had a wriggling embryo who became a wriggling and active baby and now little boy.  After all, that was one more wriggling, thriving embryo than we had ever had before.

The truth is, though, I’m still haunted by the vanished twin.  The other sac and embryo is present in our ultrasound pictures from weeks 9-12.  My excitement at being able to show Daniel his first “baby” pictures is tempered by the fact that I’ll have to explain what is so clearly visible next to him.  I didn’t expect to feel so gutted that day when I saw the the lifeless embryo.  When I find out someone is having twins, I feel slightly envious.  It’s like a sore that has never quite healed all the way.

I suppose on a practical level, it would have been nice to have twins in order to have our parenting journey reach a neat, tidy end. It’s something I think about a lot lately as Daniel grows older and I wonder if our family building efforts will peter out quietly, the victim of circumstance, finances, age and time, despite having 5 embryos on ice.  Having another child requires us to make a lot of decisions, decisions that will force us to weigh the needs and potential of our existing child against what it will take to bring a potential child into being.  And as many of us in the ALI community know too well, what worked once may not work a second time, may never work again.

It may be that what I mourn with the loss of our twin is the belief that for a few weeks, the decision of having two children had been made for us.  No need to try to roll the dice again. No need to long for a second child, yet feel guilty and worry that the longing means that Daniel is not enough. No need to try to justify the financial hardship to achieve a “spare,” no matter how desired.

When we were about two years into our infertility journey, I was in a dark and desperate place.  There was someone in an online forum to which I belonged who was psychic and would perform readings.  I paid her and asked my question: unsurprisingly, it was “will I have a child?” Her answer was that she saw twins or maybe one very active, strong-willed child with a lot of personality.

I might be reading too much into it, but I think her answer describes Daniel perfectly.  I never asked about a second child and if given the chance, I’m not sure I would.  I’m afraid to.

So tonight, I’ll light a candle for us too.