February 11, 2008

John told me once that often, just before he starts to notice changes beginning, he dreams about animals. He dreams about the soft underbellies of rabbits, the hot, metallic scent of lambs' blood, the ragged sound of a cow's hide tearing open, spilling out meat and organs. These dreams are not symbolic. Sometimes I wake up to the sound of him growling softly. This is often our first sign, telling us to walk softly, to take out our checklist, to be ready. It is the beginning of the time when John must not be viewed as a partner but as a predator.

February 10, 2008

John has always been able to see the positive side of everything. Not in an annoying, Candide kind of way, either. He is able, almost always, to legitimately shift his thinking to incorporate whatever circumstance and turn it into good news. For instance: when we were gearing down from our first or second cycle, however many years ago, John was looking at himself in the mirror one morning, and he said, "Okay, so that kind of sucked. The nice thing, though, is that I seem to have found the cure for male pattern baldness!" I snorted. And just like that, the trauma of the past week was neutralized. I have come to depend heavily on this ability of John's. It is like magic, how he can turn a lost job or a fight or an illness into an opportunity, or at least a joke. It is not magic that I am capable of without him.

February 9, 2008

I spent all day today working on health insurance paperwork. What a nightmare. Our premiums have gone up, and shopping around is difficult. No one is quite sure how to categorize us. I keep turning up with weird injuries, we've run a bunch of genetic tests on the kids over the years that must raise some red flags, and John -- well, what the hell do you do with John? I believe that he is described in the paperwork as having a pre-existing condition, which is actually kind of funny, if you think about it.

February 8, 2008

This morning, while I was making the bed, I saw a coarse red hair on John's pillow. I have not seen anything else that is worrisome, but I am worried nonetheless.

February 7, 2008

This is generally the quietest week of the month, and I look forward to it. Actually, that's a gross understatement -- I depend on it. It's the only time I really sleep well, the only time I can take the kids to the park or wherever without getting jumpy, and the anticipation of it keeps me going the rest of the month. You can imagine my irritation, therefore, with the neighbors in the apartment across the courtyard from us, who are currently disrupting my opportunities for sound slumber with a loud gathering of nimrods. Nimrods with highly questionable taste in music, by the way. Most annoyingly of all, John is somehow sleeping right through the whole thing. And snoring. I will be formally declaring a blood feud with all of them in the morning.

February 6, 2008

Years ago, before we were married, John and I watched a B Sci-fi, horror kind of movie, where zombies were overtaking the planet. I don't remember much about the movie, but I do remember that at one point, the hero tucks his young daughter under one arm, wades into a giant sea of zombies, fights his way in to where his wife is about to be overtaken (she was either in a car or in some small building, I can't remember which), rescues his wife, kisses her tearfully amidst the undead, and then leads his family to ragged but still sexy victory. "If we're ever in a similar situation", John said, "I'll be really pissed if you endanger our kid in order to rescue me."
"I'd throw you to the zombies in a heartbeat", I reassured him.
This conversation was called to my mind today by a phone call from my mother, asking me if we would consider moving in with her and my dad for awhile.
"We can't", I told her. I was surprised that she would even ask. "You know the rules."
"Actually," she said, "I was thinking of just you and the kids." She paused, and then said, "Just think about it, okay? I'm not saying forever, just, you know, until ..." She trailed off then, as we both contemplated how long 'until' might last, how many obstacles it contained.
"John and I both think that it's important for us all to stay together for right now", I said, although John and I have never actually discussed this. "If things get worse, I will think about it, okay?"
There followed one of those long silences which are especially aggravating on the phone, when you can't even assess facial expressions to get a sense of what's coming next. "If things get worse than what?" my mom finally said carefully. "Don't you think, Honey, that maybe it's selfish to stay there when you know what might happen? Just --"
I hung up on her, but I've been all agitated ever since. John and I made our deal before we were married, before we had kids, and obviously, we were at least half-joking. I did promise, though. I promised to save our potential children and to throw John to the monsters if circumstances required. It was the first promise I ever made to him. Am I breaking it?

February 5, 2008

Our two-year old daughter, Pearl, woke us up this morning by jumping on her father and growling in his sleeping face.
"Grr! Arr!" she bellowed, spraying toddler drool everywhere.
"Chip off the old block, huh?" John said.
Very funny.

February 4, 2008

I attended an FFW Meeting yesterday. Mostly, they are a waste of time -- they go over stuff that I've already figured out for myself, or they buy into stuff that I already know is untrue. In spite of this, though, it is occasionally soothing just to sit there, and not pretend that it isn't happening, or that it isn't stressful. I never tell John when I go. He thinks that they are for the weak-minded. "We're coping," he says. "We're coping beautifully, all things considered." And we are, all things considered. But I feel so alone sometimes, in this Absurdist Horror Movie made real. So sometimes I go to the Civic Center, or some church, or wherever, and I sit and I listen to the reassuring lecture that is mostly bullshit, and I confess with my presence that these meetings are for the weak-minded and sometimes I fit in that category.
Yesterday's lecture was on defense.
"The bad news," intoned the elderly gentleman who was the speaker, "is that there is no absolute pattern that we can trust. Most of us have learned this at some cost." He looked around the room discreetly. One woman was missing part of an arm. There were a couple of downturned, hat-shadowed faces, shiny new scars barely visible. Most of us were wearing long sleeves. "You'd be amazed," continued the speaker, "how many people put complete faith in the mythology." I am not, in fact, amazed by this at all. Once you have been forced to accept the unbelievable, why wouldn't you grasp at any talismans that present themselves? I did. We all did. "When we first recognized this ... this phenomenon for what it is, many of us went to the library, or the internet, or even to the movies. We tried to find information in whatever corners we could think of. Much of what we read has turned out to be useless, or worse. I beg you; do not waste your money or allow yourself a false sense of security based on untested fiction. Why, a friend of mine, who works in the gardening section of Home Depot, told me that she received seventy-two inquiries about Aconite in one week. Wolfsbane," he added when we all looked blank. "And, of course, you might as well plant turnips! Utterly useless." I have conducted my own experiments with this plant (the wolfsbane, not the turnips), and I know that the speaker is at least partially incorrect, but I didn't say anything.
"The moon seems to be the most consistent trigger, although not everyone responds to it in exactly the same way. Some people report severe and debilitating changes beginning as soon as a week before the true full, some experience only mild discomfort in the two days surrounding the night itself. Signs to watch for: thickening of the hair, especially around the eyebrows. Reddening of hair or eyes. Lengthening of limbs. Shortness of temper. Although," the speaker paused for a hearty chuckle, "most of us have been accused of this last, with or without the moon's interference." I did not laugh, although years ago, John made a similar joke about PMS and I did laugh at that. But years ago, this all seemed funnier, and more temporary.
"Silver is no more effective than any other weapon." This got some nervous titters, considering where we live. "But actually, this is good news. There is nothing magical or supernatural going on here. Should you be in a position where the unthinkable is required, you must remember: the basic rules still apply. Arm yourself, prepare yourself, but also remind yourself that you are facing a human being, subject to human weakness. We are not dealing with a mythical beast with mythical strength, and no extraordinary mystical measures need to be taken."
I have been thinking about this ever since. To me, it is not reassuring to think of John's basic humanity remaining intact during his periods of illness. Should I be in a position where the unthinkable is required, I want to be able to think that I am up against something rabid, insane, inhuman, clearly evil. Human may mean vulnerable, which is good, I suppose. But it also means my husband, still there, still himself. How can I arm myself against that?

February 3, 2008

John and I went to see Cloverfield last night. We both loved it. The hand-held camcorder style was pretty convincing, and it made it all the scarier that you couldn't really see much of what was going on a lot of the time. John and I have both always loved scary movies. Even now, when we are sort of living one, they provide a mental escape. A couple of years ago, after we saw Underworld 2, John snorted and whispered to me, "We're just a couple of vampires and a pair of leather pants short of being this movie." The couple behind us heard him and looked at us grimly. I am not sure if one or both of them had been compromised, or if they were just mad that we were talking during the movie. Or both.
The movie was awesome, but I was almost too nervous about leaving the kids to enjoy it. They were with my mom, and this is, of course, the safest possible time of the month, but I worry. I worry mostly about the usual stuff: what if one of them gets sick, or gets hurt, or misses me, and my mom doesn't know exactly what to do? I realize that my mom knows what she is doing. As she often points out to me, I myself am living proof that she knows what she's doing. Still, though ... I worry.

February 2, 2008

I had the worst fight with John this morning. He found the kids downstairs, playing in his den, and he was furious. Not at them -- they are only four and two 1/2, they don't understand how weird all this is. He was angry at me, for not keeping them upstairs. I get it -- it is a disturbing place, and the fact that they don't know that it's disturbing makes the whole thing even worse -- but I can't be right on top of them all the time. I don't think that John realizes that I have to watch him, too. When I told him this, he said, "The twentieth isn't for three more weeks! Give me a break!" It's actually less than three weeks -- eighteen days from today. From tonight. And there is no guarantee that John won't start breaking down before that. It's started as early as three days before, once or twice. I have not told him this, though, and I can never be sure exactly how much he remembers, afterwards. Hopefully not much.
We have made up now. John came upstairs and told me that he was sorry, that he knows how much strain I'm under. There is enough strain to go around, obviously. We both need to try to be understanding.

February 1, 2008

Obviously, there are risks to continuing to interact with the world. No matter how careful you are. But if we isolate ourselves completely, why are we even continuing on at all? Besides, being careful is no guarantee of safety. Look at John. I got a flyer in the mail today for a playgroup, meeting three times a week (afternoons, obviously), and I just can't decide what to do about it. Even before the city got all nutty, I had a hard time with all that Mommy and Me crap. But we do need to get out, especially the kids. John has already been compromised -- it could easily happen to me, too, and it would be good to have people to call. Just in case. There is nothing quite so scary as a large group of women, however. Even normal women. Especially normal women, maybe. I don't know. The playgroup starts Feb 15, so I'll have to decide soon. I'll keep you posted.