Remembrances.

As with anything in life, it's the unexpected moments that hit you the hardest. It's the unexpected disappointments, but also (and more especially) the stolen moments of joy. These moments appear, as if by magic, and light up a day, an hour, an evening.

You have to hold onto these moments.

The impulsive moments, the unplanned moments. The fortuitous moments: giving glimpses of a life that might, could be real one day. The unheralded moments, startling in their simplicity, full of sweetness and unlooked-for wonder.

And I don't mean sex, although it certainly will be remembered.

I mean the details. The smell of skin. The sound of breath, calm, then wild, then relaxed. The feel of soft cotton. The crashes, the crescendos. The silences. The whispers. The outbursts. The sly, slow smiles and the way they light up a face.

It's the stolen moments you have to hold onto, that you have to remember, because they are the map: to bodies, to secrets. They are the map to down the road, to forward in time. The map to happiness is in the abrupt and amazing grace of those moments appropriated for yourself, for no one else.

Hold onto those moments. They are remembrances worth having.

Mood Swing.

You come and get me when I'm all alone

On the corner, just skin and bones

Fever in and fever out

And you're the swinger who brings me doubt.

Lover boy, where you coming from

Down there, out back, always on the run?

Cool, cool, deep blue

And you're the shine on my shoes.

Is it in the damp heat inside of me

Or is it in the fire that we collide?

I feed you, mood swing,

But you're never satisfied.

-"Mood Swing," Luscious Jackson

I'm moody. Seriously. 

I'm swinging wildly at fenceposts, and mostly I'm missing anyway. I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm narcissistic, I'm insecure, I'm over it, I'm angry.

I can't help but feel as if I'm being unfair to the Manfriend by even *being* in a relationship with him. Because, honestly, in those quiet moments right before I fall asleep and I can be totally honest with myself, I know that I'm still in love with the Baby Daddy. I fight it while I'm awake and conscious. I fight it with everything I've got. He's gone, I've no idea where he is or if he's alive or if he'll ever be back, but if he did turn up, I'd take him back.

I'd run back to him with arms outstretched through a field of daisies.

Or maybe poppies.

But I have accepted (more or less) the fact that he's either dead, or never coming back, and so I rationalize moving on with my life.

And I do like the Manfriend. I could even fall in love with him, if I let myself. I don't let myself, for several reasons. One of them being that I know he's not there yet, and I don't really want to do the one-sided relationship thing. Another being that I am still in love with the Baby Daddy.

I can only hope that if the Manfriend ever gets there, I am *actually* over the Baby Daddy.

In the meantime, I get to deal with these lovely mood swings, exacerbated by the ongoing post-partum hormonal shifts. I want intimacy, I want sex, I want to be left the hell alone. I crack jokes about the disappearing act, then want to cry if someone else even alludes to it. I want to sleep forever, but I seem to have caught a nasty case of insomnia.

I'm kind of a wreck.

I have a dirty mouth, and it bothers me.

I gave up swearing for Lent. It has not been going well.

I have sworn like a little sailor from the time I was about 14 onward. My vocabulary is filthy, if extensive. For many, many years, I took a great and perverse delight in my dirty mouth. I was proud of it. I was also always aware when I was swearing and what I was saying.

Recently, that has not been so much the case. In the last year (probably more like 18 months, but whatever) I have noticed that more and more I do not remember swearing. Other people have pointed out to me that I have, on occasion, dropped some f-bombs and other choice morsels into situations that they were probably not entirely appropriate. Now, I'm not completely lost, as I have not yet sworn to my brand-new, shiny coworkers, nor have I sworn at a Church function. To my knowledge.

But I was sufficiently wigged out after swearing in work-related conversation with a business acquaintance (not nearly as stuffy as it sounds, but still) that I decided to give up swearing for Lent.

See, the popular culture version of Lent would have you believe it's about punishing yourself, and therefore you should give up things that you like to eat. That makes sense in someone's mind. Not mine, but someone's.

The thing is, though, that Lent isn't actually about self-flagellation. It's a time of spiritual discipline, much like any of the other spiritual disciplines that people have come to accept as way better than Christianity. It's a time to be mindful of what you do, to decrease the amount of time and energy and money that you spend on yourself and increase the amount of time, energy and money you spend on others. It's a time for stripping your life down to the bare necessities for a finite period, to shut out the distractions and focus on God and contemplation and your spiritual life.

So I gave up swearing. To make myself more mindful of the words that are coming out of my mouth, because we should always be aware of what we're saying and how we're saying it. And my own (personal) belief is that it might help make the world a better place. We can only control ourselves, ultimately, and so I can do everything to make myself the best person I can be. Which includes my language.

It's been going terribly, though. I can't seem to stop myself. I can't seem to make myself think about how I'm saying something- the words just fly out and there I am, left embarrassed and a little guilty.

So I'm thinking about giving up strawberry jam instead.

So, I bought myself a Blackberry yesterday. This is terribly self-indulgent of me, and I feel sort of ashamed of myself and sort of disappointed in myself, but gosh-darn, I *wanted* one.

Like, reallyreally wanted one.

I can rationalize why I need one, but it's all just rationalization. I do have two jobs, although one of them doesn't pay me except in theater tickets and happiness, and I do have a baby that has a schedule and I do have a Manfriend that I have to keep track of time spent with and I do have classes to take and I do have to keep track of the childcare-providers schedules and all of that.

But really, women have been managing these things for a long time without the aid of electronic devices that keep your calendar for you and nag you when something needs to be done.

Because that's really what I got it for. To sync with my google calendar, so that wherever I am and whatever I'm doing, if I'm supposed to be somewhere else and doing something else, the thing will beep at me until I acknowledge it.

Getting my email from anywhere is just a bonus. A nice one, but still. Icing on the cake.

Plus, I get to pull it out and flash it around and subconsciously tell people, "Look how important and indispensable I am. I have a BlackBerry."

I told you I was pretentious and self-indulgent.

I feel bad for this particular one because it's not just a one-time expense. It's an additional $30 per month in bills that I didn't have before. I've got this kid, and as great as it is to have a job that pays the bills, that doesn't mean I should be creating more bills for myself. It's not the responsible thing to do.

On the other hand, it is *only* $30, and I can't be responsible all the time or I'll lose my mind. I don't stay out all night anymore. I don't get ridiculously drunk anymore. Hell, I don't even talk on the phone while I drive anymore. I get something, right? Something that proves to myself that I didn't lose my entire identity when I had a baby.

Because my identity is all tied up with being able to do what I want, when I want. I'm a hedonistic hippie at my core, at the basest of base levels. My base instincts are selfish and pleasure-centered. 

So I got a Blackberry. In the grand scheme of things, there are way worse things I could do, right?