Me 'n My Laptop

Someone explain to me why I go into a baking and cooking frenzy when SonOne is in town. It's not like I cooked much when he was a child.

It's been a frustratingly good day.  Not sure if that is a word ... frustratingly...?  Good day cause my son is in town, frustrating because it was a pain to get him here. 

He left home in Spokane at 4am Thursday morning, headed this way, flying free.  Which really means "stand-by".  Flew to Boise, and had a 3 hour layover, because my town was off the map evidently because of fog.  They decided to divert to Bozeman, Montana, which is 200.77 miles away from here, and 3 hours and 30 minutes away.  I guess the hope was by the time they got to Bozeman, our fog would have ... dissipated.  I do believe that's the first time I've ever used "dissipated". 

So at about noon,  SonOne sent me a text, "If you don't hear from me by 2pm, get ready to pick me up in Bozeman".  I went and gassed up the car, kicked the tires, checked the oil, and found a map to Bozeman.  At 2pm, I hadn't heard from him, so I headed out.  Suddenly, after 17.49 miles and 17 minutes out, headed for Bozeman, it occurred to me that something wasn't right.  Then I almost getting killed by an asshole driver.   After some nasty words, and several deep breathes, I pulled over near Sugar City to think.  SonOne said "If you don't hear from me by 2pm, get ready to pick me up in Bozeman".  Blink.  Blink.  That didn't make sense.  If he was stuck in Bozeman, he would be able to call me and tell me to come get him.  Why?  Because he'd be on the ground.  Can't use cell phones in the air.  I text-ed him.  No answer.  Which meant he was in the air, one would presume. 

In the meantime, my sister told me my route to Bozeman was closed because of winter.  Hmph.  I asked her to call the transportation department for a road report.  I called a friend, who knew the route to Bozeman cause her mom lives there, and she said yes, Yellowstone was closed, but I was taking the West Yellowstone route.  Uh.  Okay.  Sister called back and told me Yellowstone was closed, and you can only go there on snow machines.  That's how Yellowstone is in the winter - the residents drive snow-mobiles.  Cool, huh.  So I told sis about WEST Yellowstone, and she still said it was closed.

At some point, either she or I decided SonOne must be in the air and headed to Idaho Falls, because of the time elapsed.  The fog was upon me.  Evidently, it was lifting from Idaho Falls, and following me to Yellowstone.  WEST Yellowstone.  So his plane MAY have got diverted to Idaho Falls from Bozeman.  About 3 minutes later, he text ed me, "I'm here".  Huh?  Where the hell is "here".  Real helpful, son.  So I took a leap of faith in my reasoning powers and decided he had to mean Idaho Falls, which meant I needed to turn around and head back.  Text ed him that I was in Sugar City, and I'd be there after 40 minutes and 36.13 miles had passed.  Okay, I just lied.  It's not as if I could Google Mapquest to tell me mileage and estimated drive time from my car. 

Finally, after picking him up at the airport, he was here.  Boy, is that a brilliant sentence.  Of course he was here if I was picking him up at the airport.  Duh.  He was supposed to be here at 10:30am.  He finally made it at 4:oopm.  The plane circled Idaho Falls for 45 minutes, (sorry, I don't have the mileage for you), waiting for the fog to put us back on the map. 

Oh, did I mention SonOne worked till 1:ooam last nite?  And had to leave at 4am?  So he came home with me and slept till about 7pm.  His buddies came over to take him out to the bars tonite.  Tomorrow morning at 4am, we all go to the airport and try to fly to Spokane.  The reason SonOne came this way was so he could accompany his friends on the plane and they get to use his "buddy passes", so they could all fly free.  I'm going so I can babysit Duke.  Duke!  The rest of them are going skiing in Canada somewhere for the weekend.  As all of them walked out the door, SonOne was heard to say "Dude, you guys owe me BIG TIME, cause I've been thru hell trying to get here". 

My WeatherBug sent me a weather alert.  Can you guess? 

Dense Fog Alert until 11am Friday Morning. 

Yup. 

So we'll go, prepared to drive to Spokane if we have to.  Me and 4 "boys" and various ski equipment in one car.  Seven hour drive.  FUN! 

Oh!  I forgot part of the story.  As we were driving home from the airport, SonOne asked why I had been in Sugar City.  ???  Umm, cause he told me to come get him in Bozeman if I didn't hear from him by 2pm.  Turns out he meant that I was to gather up all the boys, one of which couldn't get off work till 5pm, and drive us all to Bozeman, pick him up, and head for Spokane.  HA HA HA.  Was that ever a miscommunication.  There I was, headed for Bozeman, without his friends, and he was expecting to be waiting for at least 8 more hours.  HEE!

Apparently, trying to organize a trip for 5 people is quite a pain in the ass. 

He is the Fastest Text(er) in The West.

My WeatherBug just popped up again with a weather alert.  Don't tell me - we're off the map again. 

Nite all. 

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Just a Little Diddy about Parenting. Because I'm So Wise

Having children is like

having therapy in your own home

cause they remind you of your own childhood.

Then you have to get therapy outside your home

cause your kid is driving you crazy.

And after they leave home,

you have to get more

therapy to figure out

where you went wrong

when they start blaming you

for all the problems in their lives

or if mother and child can't seem to communicate. 

.

Freud sure started something, didn’t he?

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Just Call Me “Cured”?   LOLOLOLOLOL

.

Happy Birthday SonOne

We Could Try It Again

Sometimes I think how lucky I am

to have a child who hasn’t had

any of those “childhood problems”.

But once, maybe twice –

you did wet the bed.

You’d wake up crying

in the middle of the night,

saying you were cold.

I stormed into your room,

and yanked you out of bed,

screaming, hissing, furious –

sleep comes hard for someone

with a dead baby.

I think my fury

scared you from ever

wetting the bed again.

Oh my little toddler son –

how I wish I could start

all over again with us.

I would be there for you –

instead of with

your dead brother,

those couple of years

after he died.

Go ahead little boy of mine,

wet the bed all you want

and let me show you

that I can be quiet and understanding

when a three-year old pees his bed

in the middle of the night.

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Just Call Me Reminiscing

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I've been tagged

Tag!
I was tagged by GreenishLady. Thanks! for choosing me!

These are the rules :
1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog. Done.
2. A. Share 5 random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog; or
B. Share the 5 top places on your “want to see or want to see again” list; or C. Share 5 things you never pictured being in your future when you were 25 years old.
3. Tag a minimum of 5, maximum of 10 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
The tagees have a choice of which they want to do.

A.  Five random and/or weird facts about myself:

    1.  I twirl a strand of my hair, supposedly cause I can't "feel" it.  2.  I used to own 7 cats at one time.  When I couldn't remember when I last saw Taz, I realized I had too many cats. 3.  I watch animal cruelty shows ... and I don't know why I do it to myself.  4.  I walk like Frankenstein in the mornings.  5.  I'm scared to death of birds. 

B.  Share the five top places on my "want to see or want to see again" list:

    1.  San Francisco.  2.  City of Rocks in Idaho. 3.  Ruidoso.  4.  Santa Fe.  5.  Sea World.

C.  Share five things I never pictured being in my future when I was 25 years old:

    1.  That at age 26, my youngest son would die at the age of 3 1/2 months.  2.  That I'd be divorced.  Twice.  3.  That I'd be married to a major drug dealer.  4.  That I'd be dx'd with a major and chronic disease and have to deal with chronic pain.  5.  That I'd weigh 220 pounds.  And lose it too.

So now I need to tag 5 others.  Yeeps.  Since I'm glad to see Friday is still with us, I'll nag tag her.  And mdmhvonpa.  And Bubbie too. 

While trying to link Walls page, my puter froze 3 times.  Grrr.  The link I have for her looks weird, so I'm not sure I should link it.  Walls?  64 something?  Looks like a forum of some sort, if you'd like me to link it, let me know. 

That's all - I"m all pissed off at the computer.

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Just Call Me Done

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Hell Hath Froze Over

There were two really major things that happened, and it's going to be difficult to write in such a way as to protect other people's privacy, and still express what I need to.  Because writing is how I heal, and there is some much needed healing. 

Hell froze over because I had dinner with the father of my children this week.  Let's all be silent for a moment - it was that big of a deal for me.

To be continued ...

There's an elephant in the living room

I live in a senior/disabled home facility.  The old people are dropping like flies around here.  I was taking care of a guy down the hall, whom I thought was about 70 years old or older.  Turns out he was only 55.  I'd make sure he was breathing every morning, fix him some toast, or help him into the bathroom.  Picked him up off the floor more than once.  He died.  There are 2 other guys in other halls who died within the last month also.  Then there's also PPGuy.  Who's 52 years old, but looks 65-70. Death by alcoholism happens more often around here than old age does. 

I've been taking PPGuy to the store almost everyday this month.  He had been calling a local taxi service, and paying $7.00 a day.  I needed money this month so I told him I'd take him, and charge only $5.00. 

My conscious is fighting with me.  He buys beer every day.  Our landlady had told him after his last "episode" where we had to call the ambulance for him, that he couldn't bring beer into the building anymore.  Now .. I KNOW she can't dictate that because alcohol is legal.  And our lease says nothing about no alcohol.  He probably knows the same thing.  For months now, he bought only 3 beers a day.  I knew the reason why he went every day was because that's how he limits himself.  If he bought 6 beers (enough for 2 days), he'd drink them all in one day.  I know he gets the DT's if he doesn't drink.  I know that going thru DT's without medical intervention can kill him - I don't remember the numbers, but it was around 40 percent, I think.  I know he'd walk to the store if he couldn't get a ride.  And I know he'd fall down on the side of the road if he did, because he's so weak.  He lies and says he needs to get milk, bread, butter, a newspaper, etc.  He gets those things, and then it all spoils.  The newspaper is used to "hide" the beer cans in the see-thru grocery sacks. 

This morning, I was out the back door of the building, taking the dogs out to pee in the garden area.  When I got back to my apartment, I could tell PPGuy had been there cause it stunk to high heaven in my doorway. He's pickled.  Pickeled?  He might as well be stuffed in a jar of ether, along with a rotten egg - to account for the smell. 

The seniors gripe at me for taking him to the store each day, cause they know the landlady told him no more alcohol.  A part of me delights in knowing she has no right to enforce it.  Another part of me needs the money - just call me an opportunist enabler?   Before this month, he'd run out of money halfway thru the month, paying the taxi service and would need a ride from me for the last 2 weeks of each month. Since he was out of money, he'd not be able to help with gas.  He doesn't remember anything from day to day, so I hated to set up any IOU's - he just doesn't remember things, and I have an aversion to taking advantage of that.  Hell, I could tell him he needs to pay me 200.00 for last week, and he'd fork it over.  I put a little calendar in the car and mark off each day I drive him, and when he pays me, so he knows he's not getting screwed.  I guess it comes from being married to my alcoholic.  We made good money.  He much more than I did, but I averaged $3,000.00 a month with my daycare business.  Before I went to treatment, I'd spend money just to get even with him for all the wrongs I perceived in our relationship.  Perceive, schmerceive!  I knew some things for sure.  He didn't come home 5 nites out of 7.  He said horrible, horrible things to me when drunk.  He'd hide cocaine in the house and I had 28 kids a day in my daycare.  He lied.  He took vacations in other countries without telling me.  I didn't care if we ended up in the poorhouse - it would serve him right, was my thinking. If he forgot that he'd already given me money for the house payment, and gave me some more, I wouldn't remind him that he'd already given me enough.  He'd be in the shower, and I'd tell him I needed 20 bucks, and he'd tell me to get it out of his wallet, and I would.  Then that nite he'd say "Hey, I forgot to give you that 20 bucks, here it is", and I wouldn't say a word.  That kind of thing.  I thought of it as my "fee" for putting up with a drunk. 

Then I went to Codependency treatment and got all healthy, dammit. 

I can't figure out whether I'm enabling PPGuy or not.  At first I thought I wasn't because I'm charging him for the rides, rather than just doing it.  He has to pay for it.  He has to be responsible that way.  He's either paying me or the taxi service.  Right? 

And yea, the beer is killing him.  But so would a walk to the store in the dark, should he not be able to get a ride.

I guess there would be some comfort in being able to say "Well, it's the Taxi service who helped to kill him, not me". 

When taking career testing, both times alcohol rehab counselor came up as the number one job for me.  I understand the dynamics of addiction, and I'm not judgmental about it.  I believe my boundaries now to be solid, and don't get sucked in, nor do I take the outrageous behavior personally.  My husband once told me he'd never have a baby with me, cause I produced monsters.  (In reference to Jacob's birth defects).  At the time, that crushed me, and for years I'd bring it up in every fight.  If someone said it to me now?  I'd walk away without looking back, ever, and feel good about it.  The lesser insults, like ... telling me I'm too heavy?  Whatever.  Or ... telling me I don't know how to fry chicken?  Yup.  What of it?  I just don't take things personally anymore, and I know where the line is of what I will accept and not accept.  I also know my heart won't be broke should I have to cross that line and leave that relationship or friendship because it's no longer about being abandoned, or abandoning (giving up on them), but it's about valuing myself enough to do what's best for me should the other person not care enough to do so with me.  That's all it is - nothing personal. 

Smelling PPGuy's smell at my doorway this morning, and seeing that he bought SIX beers today, and remembering that he couldn't carry his grocery sacks yesterday means that he bought six beers yesterday ... it was clear as day to me - he's killing himself.  Alcohol will kill him. The same as it killed my friend down the hall, and the 2 other guys down the other hall.  They're all the same.  They don't eat, they lie, they think everyone believes their lies, they stop eating, the food rots in their apartments, they fall and fall and crash all over the floors, they pee and poop everywhere but the toilet, they don't change their clothes, they don't shower.  Then one morning ... they're dead.

In struggling with my conscience this morning, I thought ... "What if I was in love with someone who reached this level of drinking, what would I do?  I remember telling my husband once that I couldn't stick around to watch him die.  At the time, it was an manipulative thing to say ... I'd never seen or known anyone who died from alcoholism. Knowing what I know now, I could have stayed with him.  But I had kids to raise, and my codependency healing hadn't taken full root yet, so I had to get out. 

I have a long history with alcoholics.  I could have become one myself after Jacob died, but I had 3 year old SonOne to take care of.  In my 20's, I'd drink once or twice a year to get drunk on purpose, like for New Year's Eve, or some other party.  I didn't drink at all during my 30's.  I got MS in my 40's, and tried like hell to drink, but could never get drunk - I think it has something to do with my medications, altho you'd think just the opposite. 

My father was/still is? an alcoholic.  I was married to an alcoholic.  One brother was an alcoholic, another was addicted to cocaine, speed, pot, and I think he tried heroin.  A sister is 11 1/2 years sober.  I think I stayed sober cause I had to be the designated driver.  Or be the responsible parent.  I also hated the loss of control.  My husband and I would go camping, dirt biking, or snow machining most weekends, and the entire camp would drink themselves stupid, while I got some sort of satisfaction in taking care of everything.  It fit real well with my codependent nature.  One of the "genetic" factors of alcoholism is the personality traits that are developed for coping, and they do get passed on down from generation to generation. 

While married to my alcoholic, I saw a commercial on TV for a treatment center.  It said "We can help the one you love stop drinking".  Ahem.  What a hook.  In fact, they had to pull the ad because it was so manipulative.  If you live with an alcoholic, it's a given that you're codependent.  Codependency means you spend more time thinking, worrying, taking care of, doing for the alcoholic than you do for yourself.  You think you're responsible for making the world work correctly.  You take on all the shame, guilt, and worry ... which works out well for the drinker - he/she doesn't have to feel anything cause the family members are doing it all for him/her.  If he/she falls flat on their face at a party ... you're the one embarrassed - not them.  At the same time, if you're the one who manages to cover for him/her and the family looks good on the outside, they're the ones who take all the credit.  The coda behavior then carries over to other relationships.  For me, it meant that I tried to control EVERYTHING.  Living with alcoholism is a shaky deal - you're never really sure of anything, so the more you can control (which includes manipulating), the safer you feel.  That need for control/safety doesn't bode well for healthy relationships.  Co-dependency = micromanage.  I think the meaning of micromanage would be having someone in the passenger seat giving me directions ... to my own house.  It also means self-sacrificing yourself until you disappear, even to yourself. 

I always used to tell my support groups that "You pick out what you need to work out".  Meaning, like likes like.  Good grief.  I need to find a better way to say it.  It meant that I chose alcoholics and/or drug users to be with, because they were familiar.  I unconsciously chose my relationships based on MY own issues that needed working out.  My first husband was emotionally distant and unavailable.  As was my father.  My second husband was an alcoholic, and it was the smell of beer on his breath that brought back memories of my father.  It wasn't until then that I realized what the family secret had been (one of them) ... it was his drinking.  I'm not even sure if it was hidden necessarily ... but it certainly wasn't explained that he was a jerk because he was drinking, nor was it understood back then what the effects of drinking were on families. Each man that I was with had a major issue that triggered mine, and by being with them, my memories of childhood were triggered, and I began to heal, once I knew what the label to the problem was.  Maybe that's another reason why I don't hate alcoholics - to me, it was a healing journey. 

When my step-son started to blame me for the problems in our family because I wouldn't let him go places with his father (drinking and driving), I listened to that commercial ... "You can help the one you love stop drinking", and I went in to see how I could get my husband to stop drinking ... by hell, I was JUST the person to do it!  What a perfect hook - it fed right into a co-dependent's need to fix everything.  I took a damn test, answering 50 questions.  I didn't like the results of the first one, so I asked if I could take the test again, pretending I wasn't married to the alcoholic, because I was sure the problems  were because of the alcoholic.  The counselor said "Sure!" with a little smile on his face.  Asshole.  Because sure as the sun rises in the morning ... the score for my second test?  Only one point difference!  I wasn't the way I was because of him!  But wait one damn minute, buster, why in the HELL was I taking a test???  I wasn't the one with a problem - I came in to help my alcoholic husband, so why was I the one being talked into treatment? 

The bottom line was that I chose to go into treatment because ultimately it wasn't about the alcoholic.  The REAL problem was why did  I choose be with/stay with an alcoholic.  I couldn't change him, but I could learn to change me. 

I learned my lessons, and took SonOne and my stepson with me to the family treatment also.  They learned it was a disease and were able to separate the father from the disease, and not to take it personally.  In fact, that is the gift I believe I was able to give to both our boys - we all learned that we could hang on to our love for the alcoholic, but hate the alcohol, while learning to set our own boundaries.  So often it turns out that the alcoholic ends up all alone, having burned out all the friends and family and children, etc. 

Today, looking at and smelling PPGuy, I didn't have any answers. 

If I loved a man who'd reached that level of illness ... my first gut answer would be "just love him".  In sickness and in health stuff comes into play, doesn't it?  But the truth of the matter is ... 3 beers vs 6 beers makes it a whole 'nuther story.  At three beers, he could still take a shower, have a conversation, focus his eyes on me, and remember he loved me.  At six beers ... none of that.  And without him being able to remember he loved me, I'd be committing  personal suicide, having to take care of someone who couldn't shower, who smelled like pickled rotten eggs that had been peed and shit on. 

And the second truth of it is that 6 beers ALWAYS turns into 9 beers. 

Maybe not personal suicide, but murder ... helping facilitate 6 beers into 9 beers, forcing the issue in order to end the agony? 

There's more than one alcoholic in my life and I can't help but wonder if they saw what I saw, these 3 people who have died by alcoholism in my world - if it would make a difference? 

Altho my boundaries are strong and I will not ever be hurt again by someone's drinking ... I do struggle with ... understanding perhaps too much?  Does my understanding and 100% acceptance feed the problem?  They are able to be honest with me about it, but does that make it seem like it's okay?  Am I smiling as I watch/help/support/understand someone to their death?

I know I'm being dramatic at the moment, cause I freaked out alot this morning.  Looking at PPGuy today ... I was looking death in the face.  And today ... it really hit too close to home. 

*
Just Call Me Torn
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Should have been posted last Friday, yes, I know, but I was busy, so Just Call Me Sorry!

SonOne is here, got here nite before last.  As usual, he's off having his own life with his friends, and he comes here when he needs to sleep.  Cause I'm so calm and peaceful and quiet that way.

Last nite, I had profound thoughts to blog, but can't remember them.  Had something to do with the talk I had with my mom and sister a couple of weeks ago.  I was thinking alot about MS too.  How much it's changed my life, and how much I hate it.  Even when I'm doing well, I hate it cause I can't count on doing well enough to have an 8 to 5 job.  I'm sick of being poor and the more I do for WheelChairLady, the more I know I NEED to feel useful.  Doing nothing leads to laziness and sloth, because I tend to think "oh, I can do it later, there's nothing else to do". 

For instance, knowing SonOne and SanFranMan were coming, I tackled projects that had nothing to do with your basic cleaning to prepare for having company.  I did some decoupage, replanted some plants, washed blankets, reorganized closets, sorted thru some clothes and tossed them out.  Things I enjoy doing.  Twas fun.

Should have been posted last Thursday

I'm all grumpy.  Hands hurt.  And my hands hurt.  Oh, and my hands hurt. 

Ben called yesterday? and said he has next week off, so wanted me to come visit him in San Diego.  But my son and SanFranMan will be up here visiting me next week.  I think, and I think this is so clever of me ... that Ben should come up here instead.  And then?!  He can help us with the garage sale, and help SFM move heavy furniture around!!!  Isn't that just the BEST idea?  That's 2 men for the time of one!  I'd only have to clean house once.  I've got a quilt made for both SFM's daughter and Ben's, so no extra work getting those done in time, so that's covered - no extra work there.  I so brilliant. 

Actually, SonOne will be here too - all that help!  Hell, they could all just pack me up for San Francisco and call it good.  It would save them ALL a trip later on.  Right?  Of course right.  I don't CARE that I don't have a place to live yet.  I'm sick sick sick of waiting. 

Every mother's nightmare

Where did I go wrong?  And why won't he listen to me when I told him NO! 

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Just Call Me Worried Spitless
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The Talk

We had our "memories talk", my mother, sister and I.  It's fascinating how each of us remembers or doesn't remember certain things.  Mostly I'm confused, cause it's so disturbing to me to not know my own time line while the other two were spouting out "This happened in 1973, and that happened in 1960, etc."  I end up feeling like an outsider in my own life, like I wasn't even there most of the time. 

What it boils down to is low self-esteem.  When you have low self-esteem, stemming from childhood, you grow up taking everything in the most negative way, because you think you deserve it.  And you take everything personally.  So many hurt feelings and misunderstandings evolve.  It was a good talk.  Whether it accomplished what I needed it to remains to be seen.  Possibly at 2am in the morning.  Certain incidents with SanFranMan, the experience with PPGuy and Father's Day coming up has got me stirred up and I'm tired of it.  I trust my gut and I trust my training and I trust my knowledge to know that there is something left for me to do in regards to my father.  There was a time when I couldn't even say "my father". 

So bring it on 2am in the morning!

This is the way I feel -

I know what the big picture is, but something is staring me in the face, and I can't see it clearly.

*

Just Call Me Evolving (at the freaking age of 50 for hells sake)

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It's not nice to pick on cripples, but try telling her that

As previously mentioned, our local races started last weekend.  Sister and I counted laps, as always.  And as always, she was mean to me.  Let me explain.  In detail.

First, she was late.  That's expected.  She has time management issues.  Luckily, she followed my instructions by calling me when she left her house, so at least I knew that she was actually on her way.  Late, but hey.  Then she yelled at me at the copy store when I had a better solution to getting the lap sheets copied.  We did it her way cause it's easier just to give in.  And we were late. 

Of course, being the contrary person that she is, THEN she decided to go UNDER the speed limit for the majority of the drive.  An argument ensued about how long it takes to drive from the Maverick to the track.  I won.  It's no wonder she has time-management problems - she doesn't know how long it takes to drive from her house to town!  Wouldn't that be the first time-management skill to nail down?    Would that be stating the obvious? 

When we got to the front gate, she lied to the money taker, and told him that I was a spectator, so I had to pay $10 to get in!  Unbelievable. 

When it was time to announce for the drivers to go to the Drivers Meeting, she unplugged the microphone, which somehow broke the electricity, and we were powerless for the show.  No announcing, no lights, no cooking in the hamburger cooking place.  The beer and cokes went warm.  The crowd took it out on me!  I almost got stoned - by 55 whole  spectators.  (Yes, only 55 paid spectators.  Ridiculous, but that's another post.)  Eventually, we started the race and the power did come back on about half-way thru, thanks to ME saving the day by calling the power company.  Which no one had thought of doing.  Which my sister YELLED at me for thinking of and doing so!  Honestly, the trials I bear.  But I do it for you, dear readers, so I'll have something to blog about.  It's the least I can do. 

The Modifieds had 17 cars in their class.  Which is just great, but a bit much for the first race out - we're not in the groove of counting quite yet.  There's a certain rhythm we have to get in order to write the car numbers down as they cross the line every time they go around.  We were out of practice.  Well, one of us was out of practice.  My lap sheets were stellar, but ... one of us was not.  And that's all I have to say about that.

In fact, I better stop now.  I have a feeling my ass is grass. 

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Just Call Me Martyr For the Cause

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SweetieGirl and The Duke

Duke is off with his real mom, SweetieGirl.  She's spending the day at Craters of the Moon with friends and he gets to go.  So this morning when I took him out to pee and poo before she got here, he wouldn't cooperate.  He always does his duty after about 5-10 minutes of fetching the tennis ball.  But not this morning - he absolutely refused to play.  Or poop.  We were at the far end of the courtyard, and he lay down and just watched the patio doors.  It was kind of creepy cause it was as if he knew she was coming.  Which is cool, but how the hell did he know?  There was nothing different in our routine and I didn't tell him she was coming.  He had absolutely zero interest in me, didn't even wag his tail one bit when I spoke to him.  Being Mr. Aloof that he often is, he would still do a polite tail wag when I talked to him.  Not this morning.  He also rarely makes eye contact, but this morning he would look at me as if asking a question and look towards the patio door again.  Gave me goosebumps, I swear.  I'm so glad we're able to make it so she can see him.  I prepared a doggie bag with some treats, frozen water, water dish, poop scoop baggies, etc.  Felt like I was handing over a diaper bag to her, saying "he hasn't pooped yet". 

I just love her.  She's such a sweet girl.  And I'm so glad she's getting out and about, meeting people and doing fun things.  She's going to nursing school, after deciding not to do pharmacy school or medical school.  When I was her age, and my stupid husband left me, I had two babies, and sunk into a 20 year depression, faking my way thru life.  I did start nursing school a month after Jacob died, but I couldn't handle it - it was too soon to be back in the medical world.  She and I are so much alike in so many ways, but she is the smarter version.  Just love her.  As does Duke.  My hell, he's happy to see her - it brings tears to my eyes.  He's so aloof most of the time, it's just a joy to see him act like a giddy puppy.  I'm kind of curious to see how he acts when she brings him home.  If he'll be one iota as happy to see me.  I love that damn 3rd dog, I do. 

I'm open to new suggestions for what to name my blog.  I'm not getting many hits with "Seeking San Francisco".  Or rather I am, but they don't stay but for a few seconds, which probably means they did a search for "San Francisco" and once they see I'm a mere blog, out they go. 

There were more hits when I had MS in the title and/or the dogs. 

What you think?

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Just Call Me Duke's Biggest Fan

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Help help, and help

I usually watch 'Live w/Regis and Kelly' in the morning.  By default, because I'm too lazy or busy to change the channel when it's over, the celebrity news rag 'The Insider' comes on.  And I use the word "news" with a snort in my voice, btw.  But I end up listening on the edges, and it always makes me insane just a little when they say something like "Breaking News! This Just In!", and go one to say that evidence has suddenly surfaced to suggest something haunting, and worth much concern... Was Anna Nicole Smith abusing drugs???  It just might seem so, according to a memo detailing 72 different drugs.  Let's be clear, they're "legal" prescription drugs tho. 

Or like when one of the dancing instructors on "Dancing with the Stars" states "I'm the youngest professional dancer in the HISTORY of the show.  When the history of the show is only 3 or 4 seasons old.  That's history, all right.

Oh dear.  My sister, who is my dog-sitter, cannot watch my dogs after all.  Her stupid boss, whom I've always really liked and admired before now, wants her in Boise Sun - Tues.  When I'm spose to be in Reno.  When I've already sent money that could have paid for boarding to the people of Idaho who are keeping my driver's license away from me just cause I didn't pay some dumb ticket once upon a time.  Or was it twice upon a time?

AGHHHHHHH. 

Ben?  Could you come up from San Diego and watch the little darlings?  I'll have a very stern talk with Muttin about slapping people, and she'll promise never to slap you again.  I swear.  (At this point, I'll say anything). 

Okay, I'm off to make more friends.  Or sleep with someone new.  Completely sincerely.  So they'll watch my dogs this weekend. 

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Suckity suck updated (the dentist)

My mother beat me to it, cause I wanted to say all was well and not to worry, as a couple of you emailed me.  I want to say more but later.

I did well at the dentist, breaking down only after the work was done, and I could feel several? hands patting my back, as I was sobbing into my hands, and I heard someone call me "hon" cause they felt so bad for me.  But I was able to maintain the grown up in me, while the dentist did his thing, and I'm so proud of myself. 

Then I slept.  And my sister helped me, bringing me ice, water, drugs, hammer, and those large fuzzy dice that one hangs from their car mirror.  She was good to have around.

Slept all nite with the dentures in.  Drooled.  The bottom one kept popping up, so the next morning I went in for an adjustment.  Perfect fit, no pain meds needed. 

Visited BFriend, slept on her couch.  Visited my mom, tried to sleep, but she said cottage cheese, so I had to eat something, since I hadn't ate anything yet that day.  Talked with her, then slept on her bed for awhile. 

Came home, dog care, refrained from screaming at SanFranMan while we figured out how to get me to Reno at the end of the month, and went to bed.  Without the dentures in, as they had told me. 

Woke up this morning, and couldn't get teeth back in.  Went to dentist for an adjustment.  Dog care.  Then writing here. 

I'll do a picture when the swelling goes down.  I look like a chipmunk with my face full of peanuts on one side.   I am super pleased with the dentures, but the emotional toll it took has sucked all my energy and I'm going back to bed!  To practice not drooling. 
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Fuckity Fuck Part Two

I was supposed to be at the dentist at 9am this morning.  I called my sister at 7:30 to find out when she was coming to pick me up to take me.  I'm supposed to be doped up on Valium right now, but I'm afraid to take it cause of my other meds, plus I don't want her to have to carry me out to the car.  Her daughter answered so I left a message for sis to call me back to let me know what time to be ready.  It's a 24 minute drive into town, so I figured by 8:30 at the soonest. 

My sister has a thing about time, and I'd love to get into it, but she reads the blog and is mean to me.  Suffice to say, if I hadn't been as on the ball as I was, and waited for her to call me back, I would have had to be ready in 7 minutes.  Knowing her boss is out of town doing senator duties in our state capitol, I just took my sweet time getting ready.  Threw the tennis ball many more times, peed when I didn't really need to, even changed my clothes again.  Wandered around aimlessly, looking for my Ipod and camera and purse, even tho I knew exactly where they were since I had PREPARED ahead of time.  That'll teach her. 

The dentist office called and changed the time to 10:30, so all that I just wrote was unnecessary. 

I was soooo pleased with the dentist after the last appointment, but now I've lost confidence in him.  He specifically said no sedation, then called to reschedule because he hadn't set up the sedation at the hospital.  ???  I decided to keep today's appointment to get it over with - I haven't slept decently since the last appointment - nightmares and flashbacks waking me up. 

And knowing about my trip to Reno 4 days after getting the dentures, he didn't seem to think pain or eating issues would be an issue, so I didn't ask him about it.  He was all "oh yes, we'll get them done, cause you need to go have fun in Reno, you'll deserve it, no problem, we can do it".  I looked dentures up on line and discovered that yes, just 4 days after having all your teeth pulled and dentures set it might be an issue interfering with pain and with eating.  ???

He also said to take the Valium last nite, and no food or water after midnite.  Umm... it's not going to be sedation, so why the no food or water?  ???

Then they called to reschedule it to 10:30.  I guess his understanding of this "ordeal" only went so far. 

I cleaned up most of the comments so I'll have no unfinished business.  Cleaned under the fridge, changed the sheets, cleaned out the aquarium, and vacuumed.  I don't have a will, tho.  Guess there is still some unfinished business left, but by hell, my apartment is clean!  (by hell?)  What kind of phrase is that? 

Bye.  See ya'll later.

(If I don't make it, will somebody throw the tennis ball for Duke?)

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Fuckity fuck

I've got some messages saying you want more regular posting.  Well, I totally resolved last nite that I would do so.  In order to do so,  tho, I'm going to have to pretend my mother doesn't read here. 

So resolved, how nice of it of the dentist providing me with my first opportunity to be bad.  The receptionist called to tell me the dentist hadn't set up the sedation for tomorrow's teeth extractions.  (Did I tell you that I need dentures, and tomorrow was the big day for them to pull all my teeth?  I didn't?  Can't imagine why I'd blank something like that out.  Or... I did?  Hmm, wonder why I can't remember telling you).  I've been pleasantly blocking out all thoughts of it, except for the couple times my mother was so thoughtful as to offer to bring soft foods by for the recovery period of not having any teeth.  Grrrrr (but thoughtful!  :-)

She wondered if I wanted to reschedule. 

She:  blah blah blah

Me:  Sedation?

She:  Yes, he has to set it up at the hospital. 

Me:  But but but I thought thought thought that we weren't weren't doing sedation.

Me:  (When discussing the options with sedation NOT coming up, his assistant suggested it over my head, and he looked over at her, and shook his head.  I didn't say anything further, because I hate sedation because I have a really hard time coming out of it, fighting like hell evidently, and no one can touch me.   As my sister can tell you.  Evidently. 

She:  So if you want to just do the nitro gas and valium and keep tomorrow's appointment?

Me:  But but but... maybe I want Sedation AFTER ALL !!!  (In an increasingly high pitched tone of voice)

She:  If you want the sedation, we'll have to do it after your trip.  (Reno)

Me:  Hmm.  I should have asked this before, but will I be able to eat by the time I go to Reno?  (and other things?  Heh)  Shhh! 

She:  You'll probably be pretty sore. 

Me:  How soon could we schedule the sedation then?

She:  I'll go ask the dentist.  (off she goes while I sit on hold freaking out)

Me:  (Freaking out)

She:  It'll have to be next Tuesday.

Me:  (Unbeknowest to them, I had already changed the trip to the 25th so that I would be able to perform my rendevous type duties, cause I think ahead when it comes to sex.  I shave my legs and everything) 

Me:  Okay.  Well.  Let's. keep. tomorrow's. appointment. then. 

And that is why I said fuckity fuck and hinted slightly of sexual activities that might hurt a recent body part.... 

That is all.

.

No wait.  This is just one more reason to be in a fight with SanFranMan.  Cept I don't think this will be such a secret cause I'm gonna make it WELL KNOWN what I am doing for him.  Valium/nitro gas vs. sedation?  AM I FUCKING CRAZY???

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Flu times

Did anyone notice that the Queen Mother is amoungnst us?  I'm completely honored and intimidated now.  Shouldn't she be getting ready for the Oscars? 

And that TC person - she's being all mushy cause she's my sister. 

Now, just to make it clear, I did get the Valentine's phone calls and/or emails and/or the IM chatties.  It was the dogs who were waiting for a phone call, which I think the picture made PERFECTLY clear.  Isn't it amazing how I can get them to pose the way I want them to?  Betcha can't figure out how I got them to stare at the phone, huh huh huh?

It's a bitch having 3 dogs in the spring time.  It's muddy outside, they bring it inside, they're starting to shed their winter coats, so there's black hairs everywhere.  (they're, their, there! all three in one sentence)  And they're going stir-crazy cause they want outside ALL the time. 

One of these dogs has got to go.  Cept I love him so much, dammit. 

His favorite place to play fetch?  You're looking at it.  You can see the little round granny rug just beyond his head?  That's my front door.  We play fetch in the space of ohhh 15 feet?  Lots of fun.  I've tossed the ball down the hall, remember my hallway? 

 

But he's very loud running and sliding and catching the tennis ball.  When old people start poking their heads out, we go back in. 

Going now.  Muttin just threw up.  The flu is going around and I've had it for the last 2 days.  Fun times. 

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Blah

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Unbeknowst to me, February 4th is National Wear Red Day.  This is supposed to make us aware that heart disease is the leading cause of death for women in the United States. 

   I just happened to wear red on Sunday, Feb. 4th.  Scuse the skinny picture, it's for another thing I did. 

Hmm.  Now I have to fill in this space so I can post another picture.  It's all about symetrics, people.  I can't stand unbalance, uneven, unright visual anything.  Which will also come into play when I organize my sister's walk-in closet.  Which isn't so walk-in at the moment... which is why it needs organizing.  I'm going to do it like the make-over shows.  She leaves the building while I do the work and surprise her with how wonderful it is when she comes back.  If we did it together?  We would fight and argue too much.  Why?  Because one of us is a control freak, and one of us can't see the possibilities because one of us is pretty damn rigid.  Just say'n. 

Yesterday was my brother's birthday.  He was one year younger than me.  I think?  He was killed in California........oooooooooooh.  Hmmm.  That's right, I'd forgotten.  People get killed in California.  I remember when me and my sister went down for the funeral, we felt like ducking/running for cover when we were walking on the streets of Orange County.  Orange Country has the highest crime rate per capita in the US.  Anyways.  He was killed and it's so weird to think of him alive and still one year younger than me.  Cause I'm almost old, and he would be too.  He had a drug and alcohol problem that he was growing out of and I wonder what he'd be like now.  He wrote poetry that he mailed to me once, and I was astounded at how 'deep' it was. 

SanFranMan is planning another trip to Reno in the middle of this month.  And what SanFranMan wants, SanFranMan gets.  Mostly because I like what he wants.  Heh.  So tomorrow I will be calling boarding kennels for the dogs, because my sister said she "isn't sure about keeping the dogs again".  Sniff.  I know!  It's unbelievable to me too. 

I may have a place to take the little dogs - one of the old ladies who used to live here, moved out to a house a few blocks away, and her little cha wa wa (I can't spell it, sound it out) used to play with my dogs.  She's got a fenced in yard.  Last time I researched boarding dogs, it was dismal because nobody would take dogs who ate raw chicken, even if I provided it. 

Is this the most boring post ever?  Boy, am I in the doldrums.  Is that a word?  Because of the Internet, I can't ever just ask a question.  Because in my brain, there's a voice that says "look it up yourself, you're sitting right there, right now, and all it takes is a click or two or three".  And I want to whine that it's too hard today. 

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Multi-Tasking? Not Her!

TC here.  MsShad gave permission to post this one. 

On many occasions, MsShad has said that she just cannot multi-task anymore (cause of the MS).  She needs to work on improving that particular skill. 

First thing, she came into the office so we could go shopping in the same car.

Shad:  Where's the bathroom?

Me:  (looking at her funny, she's been here before) Umm.  Out the door, and across the hall.

Shad:  (Walking towards the door, pauses)

Me:  (Looking at her strangely again.)

Shad:  (pats her, umm, parts)  No, I didn't pee my pants.  I thought I did. 

Me:  (laughs and watches her come back in and sit down next to me. )  Ummm...

Shad:  What?

Me:  Why don't you go to the bathroom so you DON'T pee your pants?

Shad:  Oh. Okay.  (leaves)

THEN:  Yesterday, after going from $1.00 store to $1.00 store looking for storage alternatives for my closet (that she is going to reorganize for me for my Christmas present), we stopped to get some food from a fast food place.  We got the meal ready and then I put the car in gear and started driving.  We were headed for another store.  I was eating.   Taking too big of bites,  hurrying.  Started choking, sort of.  Not really choking because I could still breathe, but I couldn't get the food all the way down and it HURT!  It was stuck!!! 

Me:  (sloppy burp) (sloppy burp) (sloppy burp) (burp)

Shad:  Are you okay?

Me:  (Nodding?  Shaking head?  (Don't remember)) (Sloppy burp, burp, etc.)

Shad:  Are you breathing?  (she's still blissfully eating and drinking her meal)

Me:  (Nodded) (Sloppy burp, burp, sloppy burp, you get the picture and it was UGLY!)

Shad:  It's like...your mouth is farting.

Me:  (Not amused)

I finally get a chance to pull over and I opened the door to throw up.  I got out, and the car was not in park so it started to roll forward.  I looked at MsShad, she was staring at the foot pedals, holding her burger, with a look of panic on her face.  I held my vomit, got back in and put it in park.  Got out and finished my business.  Yuck. 

Shad:  Here's some napkins.

Me:  Thanks.

Shad:  Are you okay?

Me:  Yup.  Just peachy.

Shad:  Do you want me to drive?

Me:  Nope, doing fine.

Shad:  I couldn't do anything with the car.

Me:  I noticed.

Shad:  I had a burger in my hand.  I couldn't do anything.

Me:  I noticed.

Shad:  I can't multitask.  I didn't know what to do.  I couldn't do anything.

Me:  Yup.

Shad:  See, I REALLY CAN'T multi-task!  I'm not kidding.  I really couldn't figure out how to DROP the hamburger out of my hands so I could DO something!

Me:  I could tell.

On the up side, we got some really cool storage stuff for a small amount of money.  Now she can go to my house and redo my closet.  I hope she doesn't get side tracked and try to multi-task.  God knows what will happen to my closet.  Luckily, the bathroom is just right there, too.  In case she needs it.  I may have to call to remind her, tho. 

And I'll have to hide my grahm crackers, cause she's addicted to them.  It's my fault.  She says I'm enabling her. 

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SonOne

It's my baby's birthday today.  Happy Birthday, SonOne!  His birth made me a mother, and it made me realize I was a wife too.  Cause while they were trying to get him out, with one nurse leaning over me, with her arms on my belly, pushing, they all kept saying "Mrs. MyName".  I was so pissed off to think my mother-in-law was in the delivery room with me.  It wasn't until much later that I realized that I was also "Mrs.Myname", too.  Since I'd married her son and all...

Maybe... geez, here's a thought.  Maybe that's when the MS started?  Hahaha.

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Serenity serenity, wherefore art thou?

I went "out" today.  To Curves!  Can I quit writing now?  Okay, inside joke.  You'd have to read this post to understand. 

Theresa of Paper Rock Scissors described what I want for myself by going to a Yoga Class.  I don't think Idaho has ever heard of Yoga.  There's one on every corner in San Francisco. 

I'm in a bit of a depressed funk because of SanFranMan.  He made a serious mistake this morning in his email to me.  I don't remember the words exactly but it was something to the effect ... reading one of my  conversations with the dogs (complete with pictures) was a bit... tedious???

Sniff.

For some reason, I just now remembered that I promised him if I ever wrote about him, I'd let him read it first.  Ooops on the K-Y Jelly post.  Well, because of his email?  Paybacks a bitch. 

I'm all over the place today. 

As I was walking down my hallway, keeping my hand on the wall to be steady, as I was somewhat MS'y after my workout at Curves, I thought I don't think about MS hardly anymore.  The only time I really do is when I'm blogging, when I pee my pants, and when I take my meds. 

Blogging:  Damn the title of the blog, what can I come up with today?

Peeing pants:  Damn this.  Now I have to take a shower, and find something else to wear cause I haven't done laundry, and I hate doing laundry. 

Taking meds:  This I do almost by rote when and if I remember to take them.  It helps that I'm taking them only twice a day, instead of every four hours.  I guess because of the pain, I can't really say I don't think about MS anymore.  I'll amend it - I don't think about MS 24/7 like I used to.  Someone told me, when I was squirming about going on Disability, that I would have to make my health become my 8 to 5 job.  At the time, the thought of doing that was beyond my comprehension, because I could barely walk with a can or a walker and the pain was taking over.  But it's true - by walking the dogs 42 times a day, going to Curves and doing Pilate's and yoga at home... I'm taking care of my health pretty much 8 -5.  And it shows.  I've lost a total of 58 pounds last year, and kept it off.  Keeping it off is the challenge, and it's fairly easy for me.  I've got another 20 pounds to lose and then my weight will not be an issue anymore.  It goes up around 7 pounds each month with my period and fun times like Reno  and San Diego, but that's okay, because it's fairly easy to lose it again.  I don't come unglued about it. 

I feel another rant coming on.  Who the hell came up with calling it a "period?"  Another insider story - new readers would have to read the "Secrets I Should Keep" category.  Did I already rant about this? 

Seriously now, about Theresa's post.  I've been to yoga classes and remember the serenity.  I want that back.  During my recent massage, there was soothing music and aroma therapy going on.  I could feel my body relax so easily.  In fact, the masseuse told me that he didn't feel any knots or tightness anywhere.  Between me not being able to feel some parts of it (I couldn't tell what he was doing to my feet or hands) and him saying I was very relaxed - kinda makes a $90 massage a bit too expensive.  But as SFM said, now I've tackled an issue that was troublesome (because of the abuse, the thought of having a massage made me squiggy)   When I went back to my room SFM had set $50 in my drawer cause he wanted to help pay for it.  So, really it was a fantastic $40 massage! 

I want serenity back.  There is none in Idaho.

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To Better or not, that is the question

I recently apologized to someone I don't like much, but I really was sorry for the situation we both found ourselves in thru no fault of either of us, really.  But I apologized because I felt bad, and then afterwards, I felt better. 

I recently was accused of believing I am never wrong and don't know how to apologize.  As luck would have it, these two episodes happened on the same day.  So I recounted the story of my apology to show that yes sir, I do too know how to apologize thankyouverymuch.  Then I was asked if I did it because I was truly sorry, or to be a better person. 

???

My response was "both".  The response back was "exactly".  As if I had just lost a point, and he had gained one. 

???

What am I not getting?  Besides the fact that the  person of recently  said conversation and I have a difficult time communicating in general. 

Upon further reflection, I think the statement may have been did I apologize because I was truly sorry, or to" be the better person", as opposed to "be a better person". 

Awful how one little word can change the whole meaning of an argument. 

To apologize, in order to be the better person, implies one-up-manship.  That I was trying to be better than the other person.  It's not true - I truly did feel bad and felt in the wrong, and that I should have handled the situation differently.  After apologizing... I felt better.  Not as in feeling like I was the better person, but as is feeling less guilty. 

Is that so wrong? 

Blahg This:  Can you remember a particularly hard apology that needed to be made, and did you do it, or not do it.  Details! 

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Top of the morn'n to ya

If you click to enlarge the picture, you just might be able to feel how soft and luxurious the fuzzy side is. 

I made this for my daughter-in-law, whose birthday is Friday.  Her favorite color is green.  Green?  Like forest green, or pea green, I ask?  No, like the color of grass.  Okay.

Then I went shopping for green.  And realized grass green can be different shades of green.  So I hope I've got it covered.  Cause it's definitely green. 

And I've re-discovered a passion of mine.  I LOVE to sew.  And it wasn't as hard on my hands as I thought it would be. 

The quilt was supposed to be something else, but do to my contrary nature, I chose fabrics that wouldn't work well with the original plan.  But I'm super pleased with what I ended up with, and want to do more.  It is so lightweight, yet cozy warm that I think the entire Internet would like me to make one for them, and I could move to San Francisco and quit messing with the Housing Authority WHO NEVER RETURNS MY PHONE CALLS. 

Dear Shadow,

Please find enclosed a check for $500.00 for five custom made quilts.  I would like one to be different shades of red, a fall colored one, one with Christmas colors, another with lilacs and purples, and one with all the colors of the rainbow.  We trust your impeccable sense of matchy-matchy, and look forward to seeing the results.   

Thank you very much.

Sincerely,

Sir Internet

*****

Dear Sir,

On the way!  Thank you so much!  You will be receiving your quilts within the week.  You just happened to choose the same colors I would have done for myself, had I not been so busy being thoughtful towards others. 

Impeccably yours,

Shadow

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Self Improvement 101

Me:  I wonder if Arby's uses all those garbage crates.  (As we're in line at the Artic Circle drive-thru).

Quiet.

Me:  What?

She:  Nothing.  I'm trying not to correct you.

Me:  What?  I can be corrected.  If I'm wrong.

She:  But I'm trying to stop correcting everyone...

Me:   ... ahem.

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Bringing back the innocence

My entry for Photo Friday's "Sister". 

I remember the dress and how I felt in it.  Exposed.  And unsafe.  My little sister had one too. 

This also reminds me of one time during church, I was the oldest of four, and my parents were not sitting with us at the moment.   The service hadn't started yet, and people were still being seated.  Some of the other 3 siblings started to fight, and I stood up sat between the 2 who were fighting.  After church, an old man/woman? came up and told my parent/s? what a good little mother I was... sitting between the dueling sibs without a word, and stopping the child war. 

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More damn birthday

I had to come up with something birthdayee that didn't cost any money, since yesterday, I had to ask to borrow some money from her, which she totally couldn't/wouldn't which is a pity, since I was going to buy her birthday present with it, but hey, this is just as good.  Special even.  Both crafty AND personal! 

However, it was a BITCH to do.  Let me tell you about it. 

First?  I had to find the pictures.  Thank god I started 5 days ago, because I got ... wait....

wait....

wait for it....

I got DISTRACTED!  I know.  Shocking, isn't it? 

So after I filed each and every picture I've ever taken since SonOne was even born (proof) of which there were approximately a million, then I had to find a better place to keep them. Which somehow morphed into me deciding that I needed to take the spring motif down and put up the fall decorations.  Which is normally a 3 day process.  First day - gather up old season's blankets, pillows, curtains, silk flowers, paintings and decorations.  Second day - get down the new season's blankets, pillows, curtains, silk flowers, paintings, and decorations, and put old seasons stuff in it's place.  I call it recycling my storage.  Third day - put up new season's stuff.  Be tired and sick to death of it.  Eighth day - finally get around to hanging the paintings.  It hasn't been eight days yet, so that one is still questionable. 

Anyways.  I got distracted.  Started out trying to find ONE DAMN CLOWN PICTURE and ended up remodeling the house. 

Found the picture/s.  Tried to scan them into the computer.  Scanner doesn't work.  Probably because in the re-decorating, I also had to change the furniture around, and so the scanner had been moved too, and was unplugged.  Easy fix.  Plugged in the scanner.  It still didn't work.  In the interest of time, and so this post doesn't melt down into a vat of ugly swear words, I'll just say that it took @^%@&#^&%! 2 days to figure out what was wrong with it.  Not only would it not scan, but after I fixed the scanning part, then I couldn't find where the scanner stored the picture.  Two days, and an entire bottle of Kalua later, I now know how to configure scanners, and a whole lot of other things, like oh say... building a birdhouse, and performing heart surgery on lizards.  And I'm here to tell you - performing heart surgery on lizards was MUCH easier.  Just goes to show you where perseverance will take you.  One minute you're looking for a DAMN CLOWN PICTURE and the next you're performing brain surgery. 

What?  Did I say heart surgery?  I meant brain surgery. 

Somehow, in the fix, ALL my pictures got re-filed into a different photochop program, one I didn't even know I had.  Which meant that I didn't know how to resize pictures, or enhance them, or how to store them.  Or get them on the blog.  But I did discover that the new photochop program would let me make collages.  How adorable I thought.  I could do a collage of all the little school pictures too.  How clever of me.  Only... and I know... this is getting old... I couldn't figure out how to do it.  Plus I got distracted!  I know!  Real life intruded and I had to do things like go potty.  Which somehow would lead to ... getting thirsty for more Kalua and Cream.   

My sister will be proud of this next paragraph, because it's gonna bring in more readers via Google.  Which means all that more people seeing her pictures!  See how special this birthday is? 

If you clicked on the link above, Kalua and Cream, here let me link it again, you may have noticed towards the bottom, a list of different drinks that require Kalua.  I am THRILLED to note that listed among them is Quick Fuck, Screaming Orgasm, Better Than Sex, Blow Job #4, Chocolate Orgasm (double score!), Kinky Orgasm, Deep Throat, Cum in a Blender, Fucking Monkey, oh I could go on and on.  Let the Google hits begin! 

It thrills me that my favorite drink is so suited to my nature.  I know I don't share that side of me much here on the blog (there's something about having your mother as a reader that squelches the kink, imagine that), but talking about Kalua is perfectly innocent, right?  Of course right.  It makes my sister all squiggy when I mention S-E-X, specially O-R-G-A-S-M, so I better get out of this paragraph.  So sorry to get distracted again.  Sue me. 

After a good nite's sleep - hey! who knew that drinking would help my insomnia,  I tried to get the computer to file my pictures back into the old photochop program and it just argued with me.  The entire operation wasn't pretty.  And I'm not talking about the brain and/or heart surgery. 

Well, as you can see, I did finally figure it out.  But it takes no less than 732 clicks of the mouse, in and out various programs to get pictures into the blog now.  Since I was drunk the first time I clicked on the magic formula, the next morning I didn't remember how it was done.  That was yesterday.  I no longer have any hair. 

So today, as I wish TC a happy birthday, I'm trying not to grit my teeth behind a grim smile. 

Oh, and the dress in the big picture?  The dark grey and white one?  That's mine. 

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HB to TC

Happy Birthday to TC today!  She is... let me see do the math 5 years younger than me... but I'm the cute one.  And the smart one.  She?  Just a clown. 

This'll have to do till I get permission to post it clear. 

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Grandbabies

My son got married a year and a half ago.  Before the wedding, his future mother-in-law came over to help me with addresses cause I was too addled in the head to do it myself.

She told me I had to stay well enough to be able to hold grandbabies. This caught me by surprise.

I have watched BFriend's grandchildren a few times. Now ages 5 and 2. It's just understood that it has to be a good day for me, and I cannot drive them anywhere, unless it's a really, really good day, and that is rare.

I've picked up the 2 year old several times, and have to use the wall to brace myself so that I don't fall. Sometimes I can't stand to be touched, so when they hang on me, I'm gritting my teeth. I absolutely can't stand for my feet to be touched, and they're both pretty good about remembering that. But I know the parents refrain from asking me to babysit more often, assuming that I'm having a bad day, or they don't want to risk stressing me, which will make my symptoms increase. I reassure them that I'm not offended if they're worried.

I have so looked forward to babysitting my grandchildren. I did daycare out of my home for 7 years - I loved holding the babies.

How I hate the thought that my son and daughter-in-law will have to worry about whether I'm able-bodied enough to watch their children.

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Now THIS is interesting...

Counting laps at the race track Saturday nite with my sister.

Me:  So.  Sister.

Me:  So help me figure out the time line about this...

She:  Okay, what?

Me:  Did Mom decide to move...

She:  Gives me a apphrehnesive look...

Me:  Did Mom decide to move back here...

She: gives me a nervous look...

Me:  Did Mom decide to move back here, back here to our little home town...

She:  looking like a deer caught in the headlights...

Me:  Did Mom decide to move back here, back here to our little home town... blink.     blink.    blink. 

Me:  Before or after...  blink.   blink.  blink.

Me:  Before or after I said I was moving to San Francisco?

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She:  We wondered how long it would take you to connect those dots. 

Me:  feeling proud of myself for connecting those dots.  It only took about a week. 

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She:  Totally mere coincidence, swear. 

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A Stake thru the Heart

Sometime shortly after I was diagnosed, SonOne invited me to his finance's (SweetieGirl) birthday dinner at the Sizzler, along with the rest of her family. We sat in booth seating, with SonOne, SweetieGirl, and one of her brothers to my right. I was on the end. Across from us was her mother, father and her other brother. A good time was being had by all.

And then the food came.  A steak was on my plate.  Which is exactly what I ordered. 

I picked up my knife and fork, to cut the steak as I'd been able to do since forever. I never knew there would come a time when I couldn't cut my own food, so this was a surprising shock.  Who knew?  But I couldn't coordinate the two utensils. And , THEN, I was too weak to cut thru the meat.  I was so frustrated, concentrating so hard on the task, but also trying not to show my frustration, because the tears were so close, and I was in shock at how weak I was - I put down my knife and fork very, very calmly and deliberately, because what I really wanted to do was throw them across the restaurant. The rest of the table had ceased to exist during my struggle, so focused was I on cutting the steak.  The filet mignon, the most tender of cuts.  I looked away to my left, torn between anger, exhaustion and tears, not wanting anyone to see.

When I looked back at the blasted plate, my son had slid it towards him, and he was calmly cutting my meat while continuing to talk to everyone. I looked up across the table at SweetieGirls's parents, embarrassed that they were seeing this.

They both had tears in their eyes.

Later, as we were leaving, her father pulled me aside and told me he'd be proud to have my son as a son-in-law.

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Some Higher Learning

Sometime after I was diagnosed, my son and I got up on the roof of my large, 3 bedroom mobile home. We were taking the cover off the .... I've forgotten the word.... the thing that cools the house. It was an ordeal to get me up there in the first place - I used to be able to scamper right up there.

I'd forgotten about the heat. Up there on a asphalt roof....

There was a piece of .... damn, just the memory of this is causing my brain to weak out. The thing that catches the rain, (and leaves) and the rain goes down the spouts...one of those was sticking out wrongly, so I was sitting on the edge of the roof, trying to kick it with my foot, so it'd break all the way off.

I couldn't do it. I was too weak. I was a limp noodle. Then I happened to notice my back yard. There was no escaping the fact that the grass was dying, and the sucker trees were taking over. My yard used to be a showpiece, my pride and joy, my way of paying tribute to my son, Jacob each year, but I'd been unable to take care of it in the couple of years. 

I stood up and slithered back down again, my body was confusing itself by shaking like a bowl full of jelly and turning into a limp noodle.  I started to cry.  SonOne came over and asked me what was wrong.

Me:  Lookitmyyard, it's dying, I can't takecareofanymore.   Blubber blubber, sob sob, choke choke, drama drama. 

He sat down next to me, and put his arm over my shoulder, clumsy in the way grown sons who aren't used to seeing their mother fall apart on the roof.  I finally let go and cried and cried about having MS, and tried to talk about all the things I couldn't do anymore.  Choking with sobs, and run-on sentences in my mouth.  In between sobs, I'd kicked at the rain-catcher thing in anger, and he made it worse by finally kicking it off with one kick. 

Me:  Look at the sucker trees, they're getting huge, I can't pull them out anymore.  It used to be so pretty and perfect.  Sniff sniff, choke choke, sob sob. 

Me:  He:  Just do the little ones then.

Me:  But the big ones need out tooooo, wail wail, sob sob, kick kick, melt melt, sniff sniff. 

He:  Mom, just do the little things, and I'll do the big things.

Oh. What a concept.  I was so used to doing everything on my own.  Of course he could help, and did help, and had been helping, but since my brain and the rest of my body seemed to be pouring itself into little desert cups to be made into jello, my sudden grief and denial broke wide open, and had me convinced I was on my way to the place where they put useless people, wherever that is, which not knowing where made it all that more horrible.   

I looked at him, and he was trying to hide tears.  He knew more than anyone else how his strong, independent, single mom had always did EVERYTHING around the house.  And he was seeing the worse I'd ever been, right there on the roof, and it seemed to dawn on both of us that this MS was no joke, it was damn serious and wanted to be noticed and taken care of and respected for the superior adversary it was, and the sooner I admitted that it had taken me prisoner, the better. 

It was the first time he and I had actually talked back and forth about the MS.  Before, it had always been me telling him things about it, and him going "hmm".

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Disturbing Turbulance

I know being around Jorge's family is triggering my family issues.  Hence the following dream. 

It was one of those dreams that won't let go of you, even when you stir awake to avoid it. I'd go back to sleep and it'd pick me up where it had left off.  It was persistant, to say the least.

I dreamed that my parents woo'd me and my brothers and sister back to the fold with a new double-wide mobile home. Odd in itself. All us kids were all grown up. It was my father's effort to bring the family back together. (in real life, both my brothers are dead). I was the focus of attention, since I was the one blamed for tearing us apart by telling the big, bad secret of childhood sexual abuse.

The wonder of this mobile home was never-ending. All our childhood wants were fulfilled, bedrooms of our own, a trampoline for each of us, toys galore. But we were all grown-up. It was obvious to us kids that he was "buying us off".

As I write this, I'm trying VERY hard to hang on to the memory of the dream. I have an amazing ability to forget this unpleasantness, and I can feel it ebbing away even as I'm typing this.

Since I have spent most of my adult life without parents, and realizing that with the MS that I'm going to be a bit more dependent on other people, I, much to my awake shame... in this dream was soaking up being bought off by my father. He owed me, I figure. And I was hoping he'd changed.

But I was always on edge, in the dream, much like I was in real life, during my teen years. I spent my teenage years "on guard" in my own home. Listening for his footsteps. I became "hypervigilant" always watching out. It took alot of energy, energy that should have been spent growing up, doing normal teenage things... like maturing, for instance.

In the dream, he called for a group hug. Instantly I kept an eye out for my sister, making sure he didn't try any of his nasty hugging, touching, comments. In real life, he'd done the same thing after my brother's funeral. He spoke words, crying, hoping we'd hang together tight. When he hugged me, he nibbled on my ear.

In the dream, I was torn between wanting a real family, believing in the pretty picture they were painting for us kids, but knowing he still gave me a creeped out feeling. Knowing the kids wanted it too, but they were following my lead. Plus the fact that my brothers were alive! I WANTED this family to work. But sure enough, when he hugged me, he touched me wrong, and I looked over at my mom, hoping she hadn't seen him.

I'd been waking up on and off several times, on guard, at age 47, feeling dirty and angry. When I fell back asleep, the dream resumed with even more fabulous enticements to live in the brand new double-wide mobile home. The enticements had changed into more grown-up themes, wrapped up and labeled in decorated boxes. Money, new appliances, even a house for each of us. In the way of dreams, of course it made perfert sense that'd we'd live in this fabulous mobile home with our parents, AND our own houses.

There were also presents, wrapped in beautiful paper, labeled "Support". Another labeled "Unconditional Love". Another labeled "Babysitting". Etc. All the things that would have been nice while I was raising my son, going to doctor visits, losing Jacob, getting diagnosed with MS. I moved from room to room, watching my brothers and sisters fall for the happy dream.

All nite long, I kept dreaming and waking up, wanting to throw up, wanting to get away from him.

Just damn. Still.

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