in the past few days i have been so deep in mental quagmire that i have probably watched about 60 episodes of a show called ‘say yes to the dress’. this is noteworthy because:

1- i don’t usually watch drivel;
2- if i spend time watching or reading something, i try to make it something where i can at least learn or derive some benefit from the experience;
3- while i can’t say that i have a life that is packed to the rafters with busyness every second of every day, i don’t either lead the kind of life that easily lends itself to spending hours in bed zoning out doing things like watching brides pick out wedding dresses;
4- while i don’t claim to be a perfect example of humanity, i do try to conduct myself in a way that i can be proud of and in a way that sets an example for my children. let’s just say that saying yes to dresses for multiple hours day after day doesn’t readily fall into this category…

and so, here i am, taking a break from my new pastime, blogging about my new pastime. in my own defense, i did read a book by malcom gladwell today (blink) and i started a book on neuroscience research into why people are altruistic. but, overall, i would say that i have the brain function of an avocado.

friday i got up and made a pot of stew and went back to bed. when a friend called and offered to make us a salad i almost cried with happiness because i didn’t even have the wherewithal to go out and buy vegetables, let alone clean them and put them into a bowl.

i have spent a lot of time trying to come to grips with the plea bargain in the molestation case, and trying to get to an okay place with the whole thing. i know in my heart that the deal was made to save the victims’ families from a boatload of suffering, and not because the perpetrator wasn’t guilty. i know that it i should think of this as a case of rescuing the victims rather than a case of a sick person being free to possibly hurt other people. i know that, even though i am very black and white, the world is rarely black and white and that we can’t just wrap things in neat little packages and have them always look like they make sense. i know that i should have much more clarity about this than i do, and it bothers me that it bothers me.

so i watch bride after bride choose the wedding dress of her dreams. one happy ending after another, all in 21 minute increments, each one a tidy dose of joy in a neat little parcel. and i stay in bed.

and then once in a while i go throw up and my kids get totally stressed out.

my older girls told me today that they are pretty constantly worried that i’m sick all the time and they feel like they alway have to make it better and they can’t. i heard my little one on the phone the other day telling *h “mommy’s throwing up again…” and i felt like a naughty kid caught doing something bad. but the saddest part was how resigned she sounded when she said it. she was so sad, but so matter-of-fact. what a cruddy week it’s been…

at the beginning of the jewish new year there is a ritual where you take a chicken and basically say that your sins should be transferred onto the chicken. then the chicken is ritually slaughtered and donated to the poor. i always feel like this is sort of superstitious and creepy and hocus-pocus-y, and i’m explaining it really really badly. (for the record, you can also do this by donating a sum of money to the poor, and this is what our family does…) about a week and a half ago, a racoon got into our chicken coop and killed madge in a fairly gruesome way. it took macy grey, and i never found a trace of her. madge was my oldest and dearest chicken- the one who had been in at least 2 previous homes, who has been debeaked and was dowdy and sweet and just so wacky that you had to love her and want to protect her. macy grey was so docile and wonderful and she was always getting picked on by the other chickens, but she was so beautiful. she was like the gawky kid in middle school who you knew would grow up to be a stunner, but she had no idea how gorgous she was, so she was amazingly humble and kind. when they got killed i was amazed and angry and shocked and i thought, well, maybe this is some kind of sacrificial thing. i don’t know why this happened, and it was awful, but i hope we are done with that sort of terrible business forever. and we talked about getting a peacock or barn cats or some sort of guard animal for the chicken enclosure and we kept the light on outside for the next few nights.

and then- no kidding- the night of the molestation plea- a horrific screaming came from the chicken coop and in the time it took me to throw the window open and *h to run outside a raccoon managed to pull twinkle out of the nesting box and to mangle her so disgustingly- to literally rip her to shreds- and then left her in shattered scattered bits in the bushes next to the coop and ran away into the night.

and i thought to myself the next day when i went out to get her body that it looked like a demented serial killer had gotten to her. it wasn’t like an animal tried to eat her. it was like she had been tortured. it was like a sick crime scene. and i was blown apart by the violence of it. and i gathered up the pieces of her and all i could think, was, ” okay, maybe this insane amount of evil will create some equal amount of good somewhere in the world because this is just off the charts…”.

i know that is a big reaction over a chicken, but i’m telling you what went through my mind at the time. it was almost inconceivable to me.

right now lacy is the only surviving chicken, and she seemed lonely and bored in the coop, so she is back to free-ranging, neighbors be darned. i just can’t have any more unhappiness around me right now. i borrowed *h’s computer so i could blog in bed, and when he asked me what i was going to write about i told him i honestly had no idea, but i knew i needed to write something, or i was going to go mad.

sometimes 1+1=2 and sometimes you just have to lay in bed and let the world wash over you. i tried to read a neurology book earlier and it made about as much sense to me as this blog post probably does to you.

but sometimes it just feels good to write stuff.

sorry you all have to witness the carnage…