Me 'n My Laptop

A Prayer of sorts

It's the heat that's making me so sick. 

Been nauseous going on a week now. 

A week ago, last Friday, I spent on the bathroom floor,

too weak to get up,

after throwing up a whole teaspoon of stomach acid. 

Barf, uncharacteristically, was winding himself around my legs,

jumping up on bathroom sink, to meow plaintively in my face.

Pulled the towels out of the cabinet

and made a pillow.  Fell asleep on the floor,

Barf sleeping next to my head. 

Wasn't till a couple days later I got the irony ...

Me feeling barfy, Barf taking care of me,

acting more like a service dog - worried about me. 

Was finally feeling somewhat human the last 3ish days. 

Weak as a kitten but human.

Tonite, it's 88 degrees outside. 

Started a crockpot of chili about an hour ago.

Frying hamburger. 

Washing a sink of dishes - hot water. 

And the nasousa is back full force, with a vengenence. 

Sick, dizzy, like vertigo, I think it is. 

SonOne asked for some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. 

I put the 2 big fans blowing in the kitchen.

Mixed the shortening, eggs, sugar. 

Had to stop. 

Sat on a stool in the middle of the kitchen,

both fans blowing on me.

Gagging.  Can't stop gagging, choking on my own saliva,

the numbness that lives constantly in my feet and hands

has moved up to my throat. 

Have lived in dread of the numbness

moving up to my breathing parts. 

Lungs.  Throat. 

Am terrified to turn on the fucking oven for the cookies.

Don't want SonOne to see me like this

but I absolutely cannot get up off the stool.

If I do manage, the nausea hits again, the dizzy. 

On top of all this?

Can't keep the pain pills down. 

I'm scared and alone,

knowing he will be home

unless he and his friends,

drink too much, then he will stay in town. 

Can't believe I'm hoping he drinks too much

so they'll spend the nite with the friends. 

His girlfriend hasn't seen me in full-blown flare,

and I'm so embarrassed for her to see. 

I want to be the strong mother

that I used to be. 

I'm torn between needing help,

but not wanting him to see me like this,

but wanting to make the cookies for him -

a mom wanting to do something motherly

for him - cause I miss him so much,

and we've had such a hard time lately.

Crawl to the computer to write this,

feeling my hands turn to stone. 

If there's a God ... God help me I can't live like this. 

Just a little update for the people

An email I just sent to SFM earlier today:

I'm watching a movie on Sci Fi.  Normally don't watch this channel, but when I was channel surfing, there was a picture of the Golden Gate bridge.  I don't know the name of the movie, but it's about "The Big One".  The earthquake starts in Washington, another in Oregon, then the lady scientist predits San Francisco, but no one believes her.  Sure enough, another earthquake levels San Francisco.  Fema and the President Bo Bridges finally believe her.  She says plant 5 nuclear bombs in certain places, to fuse the previous fault lines to the San Andreas.  Wouldn't you know, they don't get the 5th one deep enough, the cable breaks.  The Fema guy goes down to set it off manually, knowing he won't make it.

 

Wait.  Maybe you're seen it?  Or maybe you're tempted to turn it on.  Kids probably shouldn't watch it.  It's pretty scary and hits too close to home.  It's really good acting and special effects, so pretty realistic.  I'm completely in awe.  And exhausted from watching it - intense!

 

And terrified.

 

Get the hell out of there!!!  If the earthquake doesn't get you, the nukes or the flood will !!!  I better warn Ben too, in San Diego.  If they don't stop it, the entire California coast will disappear. 

 

Okay...

 

In other news, I just got an email with times I'm supposed to work at the Blogher conference.  They want me to confirm my presence.  I should have known better, cause the last 2-3 weeks have been a wake-up call - that I can't promise a damn thing in my life.  If it doesn't get better ... won't be able to help Linda, babysit my grand nephews, OR travel.  I've been laid out flat by this last flare, and am pretty scared.  I know I'm stuck in a vicious circle - losing weight helped.  , but moving hurts like hell. 

 

I need to move to San Francisco.  So we can die to together, friends supporting each other to the end.  Or else one or the other of us will die, without being able to tell each other we came to our senses and love each other after all.  Or we will declare our love to each other and survive against all odds, our newfould strong love carries us thru.  Or else we'll be torn apart and realize we've got to start living our lives somehow and get out of this rut we're in.  Or else, some hero will save me, and I fall in love with him. 

 

HAHAHA - rut.  No pun intended. 

 

Lord, the next movie is about a killer astroid.  Don't know what city it'll be. 

 

Ack, a small one just hit Montana.  There's many "baby" astroids that will hit all over.  This is just great.  You're gonna die in a earthquake, and I'm gonna die under an astroid.  One just hit Coulee Dam.  The big one?  (As in astroid, not earthquake) Kansas City and 70 - 100 miles radius.  Only 2 million people projected dead in this one. 

 

I'm blogging this.  Easier than writing a whole nother post.  People worry when I don't blog for days.  Obsessing over disaster movies is better than nothing.  Better watch what you say, I might blog it too.  I'm in a devil-may-care, fatalistic mood.  My judgement may be marred.  You better say you love me too, it makes for a better story.  Anything for my readers.  Then I will sigh, hold my arm to my head dramatically to my forehead and say, "Too late, I'm gonna jump!."  Jump where I don't know yet.  That is all.  I'm tired now.

Sincerely,

in case we die - love you. 

 

Laurie

 

PS.  Do you think I'm watching too much TV? 

I beg to differ. AGAIN, BEN

Last nite he said he was worried about me cause I haven't posted since the aptop post.  Ahem.  Check again, buddy.  So instead of being worried about me, he should know that I now realize that he doesn't read everyday like he always said he did.  Uh huh.  See how you are. 

But yes, I haven't been posting cause it hurts.  That's just how it is. 

Tonite, I had to tell SFM that I can't meet him in Reno with his kids in the next couple of days.  I think that, more than anything, tells you how bad it's been. 

I slept from 2am to 11am this morning.  Someone called and needed a ride into town, so I took her.  Was gone for a couple of hours.  Fell asleep in my chair when I got back from about 2pm to 5:30ish, when SFM called to find out if I was coming down or not.  And then I went back to sleep.  I don't know if I am needing the sleep or using it as an escape.  I do know the nite before last, at 2am, I was tossing and turning in bed, not wanting to go to sleep for fear of having to wake up again with the pain all over again.  MS pain is always better in the morning, it's like starting over with a clean slate and as long as I keep up with the meds, MS and I have made our peace.  But the arthritis pain is worse, because ... sleeping makes arthritis worse?  Hell, I don't know.  All I know is that I feel like I've been trampled by a cattle stampede.

Speaking of which, I've been watching the CMT channel, with alot of cowboy movies lately.  "Unforgiven" for one.  So I've been dreaming that I'm the lady of the ranch, and somebody is trying to kill someone, and then I have to take care of the fever-stricken pigs by myself, and then somebody burns down the barn, and the neighbors, who all live in town 20 miles away by horseback come and try to put it out with buckets of water, but of course it's too late.  As everyone knows, a lone woman with fever-stricken pigs and a burned down barn is considered down-and-out, and she has to go be a whore in the local saloon.  That or a hero of some sort is supposed to come save her - the cowboy in the white hat.  I guess it says alot about me that so far, in my dreams, I've yet to be saved by the hero, and there's more fun in the whore business.  Wonder what it all means.  Maybe I should stop watching movies with cattle stampedes?  Maybe I should pay more attention to the chickens that run around loose, peacefully pecking the ground.  Then maybe I'd jump out of bed like a spring chicken, all spry-like.

Tomorrow's goal: get to a doctor.  It finally occurred to me that I don't have to see the "specialist" in town.  I haven't had good luck with "specialists" in this town.  Altho, "they" reccommend seeing specialists when one has MS, because it's a complicated thing figuring out what symptoms belong to which problem, but it's not like there's a choice where I live.  My neurologist quit, and is leaving town.  Another tomorrow's goal:  Get my records from him. 

THe Blogher conference is a month away.  Must. Get. Better.

SFM's daughter called to ask me to Reno, so it was extra hard to say I couldn't go.  After telling him I couldn't, I felt a horrible sense of defeat.  It's winning. 

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PS.

If you keep doing something the same way, it's pretty crazy to think you'll get different results.  Just a special shout-out to someone. 

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Sonoma

Will TypePad actually post my posts??

This is what the garden looked like in the beginning of May, when by some miracle the landlord had the garden tilled to the depth of oh ... about 2 whole inches AND before Mother's Day.  Quite the event around here. 

Then there was this.  On June 11th.  The white dots are snowflakes.

The weather has taken away my mojo as far as gardening and motivation are concerned. 

And TypePad has taken my blogging mojo ever since it's new changes.  I've had nothing but problems with it.  I just noticed that my last 3 posts didn't publish for some reason. 

Cross my fingers for this one.

Also - I'm convinced that the MS is mad at me, and is letting arthritis do what it couldn't seem to.  Cripple me.  Lordy, this hurts.  SFM wants me to meet him and his kids in Reno this weekend, and I really don't think I can go.  I have to go to San Francisco in the middle of July, and am saving up my traveling energy for that. 

Speaking of traveling, SonOne just got back from Japan.  He climbed Mt. Kil em mem jarro.  Too lazy to Google the correct spelling.  Maybe I should ask him to write about it, and put it on my blog?

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Pocono Raceway

Much blog businss to take care of today.  First, the race today is at the Michigan International Speedway, in Brooklyn Michigan.  I've missed the last 2 or 3 races, due to Nascar tricking me and holding the races on Saturday nite, when I am busy with a very busy social life.  Snort. 

This was spose to be last week's picture for the Pocono race.  I started the post and never finished it.  I've been doing alot of that lately.

This is Duke, taken when I was in Spokane a couple weeks ago.  Friend Linda and I had taken Duke and Jeff G to the Spokane River, for a bit of water play.  He loves the water as much as ever, and is so fun to watch. 

 

Throw it.

Seriously.  Throw it.

.

Yes!  She threw it!

I get to chase it into the water finally.

Wonder if she'll throw it if I give it back...

This is the dog we were worried about with little kids.  I guess the secret is water, tennis ball, and adult supervision. 

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I'd bake you a cake but you're too far away

Wishing SanFranMan a Happy Birthday today.  I looked all over for a t-shirt that said "I bought her a laptop, but all I got was this damn t-shirt".  Couldn't find one anywhere. 

It's nice that he's 4 months older than I am - he gets to lead the way into old age.  I can blame him! 

Speaking of SFM, his kids are coming for the summer, for the first long extended visit since they were whisked back east 4 years ago.  He's so ... cute when it comes to his kids - so damn giddy to be seeing them, it's practically impossible to bring him down to earth.  I've said it before and I'll say it again - he's the best father I've ever known, when it comes to loving his kids. 

Happy Birthday, SFM.  I'll bring the laptop to Reno, and we can argue all we want, knowing that we can resolve them all by getting on the Internet. 

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Lowe's Motor Speedway

Remember the Duke?

Today's race is at Charlotte's Lowe's Motor Speedway.  Jeff has struggled all day, running 13th for the moment.

I found this pic from a couple years ago - Duke's in Spokane with SonOne.  I'm going to go babysit him, leaving Tuesday or Wednesday and spend 5-7 days there.  I'm going to try to get a referral to a arthritis specialist in Spokane, as the only one here has a 6 month waiting list.  I've been really depressed this last week cause of the pain, thinking there were new symptoms come to stay, but I think it's more about the "severe" arthritis".  It's been seen in an MRI, in my hips, and the neurologist used the word "severe", but I've not been officially diagnosed. 

I was to babysit my great nephew (2 years old) yesterday, while my sister and niece got perms at the hair shop.  It took a good 10 minutes to gather the courage to get out of bed into the shower that morning, because it hurt so much.  In the shower, it let up a little bit, with the hot water and steam, but that made the MS wake up, and then by the time I left the bedroom, out of the heat, the arthritis set right back in.  What made me finally realize that it's not MS pain, but probably arthritis is the fact that the pain in my hips was also in my shoulders and knees.  Somewhere in my brain a niggling thought arose ... "this is arthritis and it's spreading, cause the shoulders and knees weren't involved last year.  If my remember right .. it was in my hands tho... but my hands are fine cept for the normal MS pain.  So hell.  I don't know what it is. 

Anyways, I can't take much more of this.  I let Ben down by not being able to visit him this trip, and I had to go along with my sister and watch the baby in the hair shop, cause I didn't dare be alone with him.  They got their perms, and I walked about with the baby out in the parking lot, where there was a water fountain, and I let him jump in the puddles.  My mind over matter self told myself that I could move if he was actually in danger, but I really don't know if I can fool myself like that again.  Luckily, the parking lot was empty and there wasn't any reason I would have to save his life, unless a meteorite fell from the sky on him, or he choked on a pebble ... or a stupid teenager came peeling into the parking lot, showing off his wheely skills to his passengers ... or the back-hoe tractor suddenly started all by itself and stalked us... or he fell in the fountain.  There was that.  Hmm.  Oops.

Point is, I let Ben down by deciding not to visit him this trip, and I almost had to tell my sister that I couldn't watch the baby.  I HATE my life being dictated by weather temperature, and how many covers on top of me, or the weather being 80 by day, and 40 by nite.  I'm going to Spokane because it's my son, (and Duke!), and I don't have to put on any manners when the pain is bad.  Pretending I'm okay takes sooo much energy, and SonOne will be gone most of the days, so me and Duke can handle the pain together, and I can be a bitch all I want if need be.  The older I get, the less patience I have for this crap.  I love Ben, and I love to visit San Diego, but he and I have a love-hate relationship when it comes to understanding the subtleties that come with me being me.  (Wasn't that a nice way of putting it?  Ben?)  Plus, it's just too hot in San Diego.  Besides that, I'm still mad at him for something he doesn't even know I'm mad at him for.  Mad at Jacob's doctors indeed. 

Another member of my family bites the dust...

SonOne is at the Indianapolis 500.  Of course, it tickles me that he's at a race, because he normally mocks me for my Nascar passion.  I don't care much for open wheel racing, but just the fact that he was watching race cars go around and around in circle pleases me. 

I must admit to paying just a teeny tad more bit of attention to the open wheel seriers, thanks to Helio Castroneves, who danced in "Dancing with the Stars" last season (and won), and Danio Patrick, a woman driver, who placed 4th in the Indy last year.  Feeling like you "know" a bit about the drivers makes a difference. 

But today?  A text message from SonOne, who said he's sitting in the third row on the backside of the track, said "It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen". 

Snicker. 

I bet he's hooked...

It's a proud, proud moment for da Mama. 

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Hell froze over - Updated

This came in my email tonite:

From: "Dell Inc." <dell_automated_email@dell.com>
To: SFM@sheowesmealifetimeofblowjobs (not his real email address)
Subject: Dell Order Has Been Confirmed for Dell Purchase ID: 2000228659528
Date: Fri, 23 May 2008 05:31:44 +0000

!!!

It's a confirmation for a purchase SanFranMan made: 

And it's being shipped to me!!!

When I called to thank him, he was just as giddy as I was - so happy was he to be able to buy this for me. I wish he were here right now.  He is so good to me - it made me cry.  I struggle alot when he spends money on me, and sometimes we fight about it.  But it's important to him to pay for our trips, and he got me my first digital camera, which got me hooked on photography.  And now this.  He doesn't read my blog very often, so to thank him here is all for naught, but Thank You So MUCH, SanFranMan!  I love you!  You know  ... in that special way that we have... :-)))))

To be like everyone else at Blogher 2008 - $1000

To be able to have the Internet at the hotel in Reno so we can settle arguements ... $5,000

To be able to blog in bed on the bad days ... $10,000

To have someone like SanFranMan in my life ... Priceless

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Yea, Typepad. Oops. Maybe not so much.

Supposedly, we've got a bunch of new features.  Which might explain why I couldn't log on yesterday.  One of them seems be be not being able to keep up with my typing ... hmmm.  Funny... that one isn't listed in the update.  Very irritating.  And I have no clue why this particular sentence is starting at the right side of the blog and as I type ... it flows to the left!!!

Let's check out changing font ... nope, doesn't work.  Niether does the re-sizing.  The drop-down menu's don't drop down. 

This is way too irritating to write.  The typing is about 10 keystrokes behind.  Will try again later.  Or tomorrow. 

On getting a haircut tomorrow

Jeff:  Come on Mutt, quit being that way.

Muttin:  ...

Jeff:  She didn't mean it, she just meant that you need a haircut. 

Muttin: ... 

Jeff:  Frankly, I'm surprised you'd be insulted by being called a mangy mutt.  I thought you were tougher than that.

Muttin:  ...

Jeff:  Besides, why won't you talk to me, I didn't call you that!  I think you need to mature up some, don'tcha think?

Muttin:  ...

Jeff:  Cause of you, I'M gonna have to get a haircut too.  Thanks a bunch, sis.  You ARE more shaggy looking than I am ...

Muttin: ...

Jeff:  I'm going out for a drink.  She said she's gonna do the haircuts tomorrow, so I'm headed out for one more nite on the town before she makes me look like a drowned rat.  Hard to catch the ladies looking like that.  Wanna come?

Muttin:  ...

Jeff:  (thinking to himself)  Just once I'd like to win one of her silent treatment gigs.  She can be SUCH a bitch!

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MS Monday

Good thing today is Monday, because I've designated Mondays to be about MS.  I don't remember if I told you that I'd come up with a new plan to help me write everyday, but it's all about the days of the week.  If I write something about MS, men (dating), or moods, it'll be posted on Mondays.  Also, because I still take pictures of hearts, they'll be posted on Memorial Monday, for Jacob.  You get the idea.

I was doing really well on my marathon (something else to post on Monday!) training (no wait, that was going to be on Tuesday Training ...) until I bought new running shoes.  Which gave me blisters, which is almost impossible to prevent when buying new running shoes, and the reason I'm seriously considering buying a second pair of the same kind right now because I think getting blisters threw me into a flare-up.  A #*%$&*^%$ blister!

I think when you have MS, the body over-reacts to injuries.  Hahaha, who am I kidding?  The body over-reacts to anything.  Ever since getting the blisters, my heels have become more and more ... stiff?  Like the tendons are tightening, and walking is excruciating.  I know I've been in pain before and written about it, but this is one of those times when I am not being over dramatic or exaggerating. 

Yesterday, I woke up around 9am, and checked the Internet to find out when the Nascar race was.  Damn.  It was on Saturday and I missed it.  Went back to bed, and was going to call my mother to see if she would pick me up to go to my niece's bridal shower, which was at noon.  I picked up the phone and ... fell back asleep.  Take a wild guess as to what time I woke up again.

5pm. 

Unfreakingbelieveable. 

So I missed the shower, which I had baked a loaf of bread cause we were spose to bring something edible with the recipe. 

Turns out my mother didn't go, and my niece doesn't like bread.  Fine. 

I can only think that I slept that long because it was a mental escape from the pain.  It's so bad that I'm seriously considering not going to Spokane to babysit Duke if it's not any better next week.  Can you imagine me not wanting to babysit Duke?  Yea, that's how much it hurts.  I am/was planning on going to San Diego after Spokane to go see Ben too, so he can get mad at me now too, if I can't go.  Which reminds me, I need to check the temperature in San Diego.  It was 97 in San Francisco for one day in San Francisco last week, and I had to pretend I didn't hear that.  Because not even I, with my crazy SF love, could not bear 97 degrees. 

It's hard to explain how the temperature affects my MS.  It's not all in my head, I swear.   In Googling heat and MS, I came across this little ditty about sleeping ... .  Well, that might explain the 5pm thing. 

For me, when I get too hot, I can feel my spine begin to tingle or "boil".  I can come to a boil by 5 minutes with the sun on my back, getting my period, getting a fever, taking a shower, or anything else that involves heat.  Like how the temperature is 40 at nite, and 80 during the day.  HATE that.

So, between having blisters, the abrupt temperature changes, working at Wheelie's house, and my garden, marathon training, and my weight gain ... I'm being slammed with MS much like in the very beginning. 

Speaking of the weight, I'm convinced that is the core of the issue.  I'm within 15 pounds of my heaviest weight and it hurts to carry it around.  My back hurts and the only thing that helps is ... a heating pad. 

I feel like I'm caught in a vicious spider web, going around in circles - anything I do makes me pay for it in some physical MS'sy way.  Mentally and emotionally - it's hard to be chipper while trying to make it look "normal".  Because there's a Black Widow hovering over me, just waiting for any weakness so MS can sink it's irreversible symptomy fangs into me. 

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A Horse of A Different Color

At age 50, I'm not quite sure I know what a Wii Fit is, but my son assures me that I want one.  Jenny at Three Kid Circus (whom I found via Joy Unexpected) is having a contest for most embarrassing weight loss machine story. 

I have MS, and I've been lucky - exercise actually keeps my MS from getting worse. I used to be MUCH worse, staggering around like a drunk without the fun of the drinking part. After working out at Curves, and walking up to 4 - 5 miles a day, I've learned that taking care of my health is a full-time job, in order not to let the MS come creeping back in. However, I got lazy last winter, and need to start up the exercise and weight loss all over again. As my son said "Wii can do it together, Mom". With him in Washington, and me in Idaho, I'm not sure how that's gonna happen, but whatever. If it's something he wants, and technology is involved, I'd be thrilled to be one-up on him. Him with his Ipods and Blackberry and laptop and Roomba Robot Vacuum ...

But on to my most embarrassing weight-loss purchase. Luckily, it was a garage sale purchase. I like to tell myself I was far too smart to buy it from the TV with a real live credit card, as I knew that the reputation of exercise machines in homes was not a good one.  Seems they turn into coat racks all by themselves. 

My teenage passion was horses. So you know I had to have the iGallup after the birth of my son 16 years previous - that pesky pregnancy weight, you know. Besides, I figured I had a leg up on the iGallop (punny!) by thinking that having been an experienced horseback rider way back when - it wouldn't kick my butt and I could gallop my weight away, like the pro that I was. My iGallop wasn't going to turn into a coat hanger, no sir-ree.

So one day, shortly after buying the damn thing, I overheard my then boyfriend talking to one of his buddies out on the deck, where the iGallop also sat.

Buddy: What's that contraption?

Hubby: Dunno. Think maybe it's a Kegel machine.

Buddy: Duuude. You're a lucky man.

... I couldn't look Buddy in the face for days afterwards, and was too embarrassed to use the iGallop ever again.

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A new beginning

I've got a new name for the blog!!! 

Am working on it now.  Am finally excited about blogging again!!!

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MS is stupid, but Jeffrey is cute

Today/tonite was frought with frustration.  Everything I touched, I either dropped it, dropped it, or dropped it.  Or I put it down and burned myself on it.  Then there was the tripping over everything I dropped.  And the tripping over things that have been in the same place forever. 

Walls and furniture seem to jump out at me.  When I turn around, I start to fall in the direction that I turned.  This running into everything is an odd sensation.  It feels as tho the floor comes up at me at a slant...  I'm not making sense.

I've got to move to somewhere that has a pain clinic. 

I saw auras around Jeffrey last nite.  Perhaps 2 nites of not sleeping would cause that? 

There's new symptoms going on. 

Sigh. 

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Wordless Wednesday

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A new feature in my blog

In order to motivate myself to blog every day, I've come up with various subject matters for each day.  There's several categories for each day so that I'll have a choice in order not to be nailed down to one thing for each day.  Cause as soon as I do that, I seem to rebel and refuse to do what I've told myself to do.  It's a weird onery thing. 

I've come up with Talky Tuesday where I will write about some major or minor event on the news.  Or when I'm not feeling very talky, I thought Teethy Tuesday would be cool - and then I thought if I'm feeling particularly clever, I could get my teeth into talky tuesday ... !

So without further ado ...

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SFM, if you're reading, you might want to skip this category ... you know how you are ...

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... or you could consider this therapy in order to get over your little hang-up.   :-0

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Mother's Day Monday instead of Sunday

Today's the 12th of May.  Do you realize what that means?  Well, besides the fact that I missed "Hurray for the 8th of May, National Outdoor Intercourse Day", it also means that I "missed" Jacob's birthday. 

Jacob ... Born May 6th, 1983.  Which would make him, had he lived ... egads.  25 years old.  Why do I have to figure that out each year? 

I didn't actually forget his birthday.  I thought about it for several days before the 6th, because there was a sign in the lobby saying so & so was doing haircuts on May 6th.  So every time I walked by that sign, I thought about Jacob.  But the actual day ... someone took the sign down, as it was no longer needed, so ... I forgot. 

I have been overly bitchy lately ... but I've been blaming the weather.  And Mother's Day.  Don't really like Mother's Day much the last 2-3 years.  Mother's Day, Jacob's birthday, and Idaho's May weather contributes to me being bitchy and alone in order not to inflict myself on happier people who drive me nuts with their chirpy-ness.

Both my sons have been on my mind alot these last few days.  A couple of times, in the last 3 years, when having difficult discussions with SonOne, I had asked him if he'd ever read the Jacob Poems ... having forgotten his answer the previous time/s I've asked him.  I had interrupted and/or side-tracked whatever it was that we were arguing about to ask, because I wondered how he could be acting like I was the stupidest, dumbest person alive - as if were someone who didn't know a thing about life, and how could he be treating me like that if he had read the poems and knew what I had gone thru all by myself at one time.  I thought going thru that life experience, SonOne should respect me for it, knowing I wasn't talking out my butt - I knew a thing or two about losses, etc.  I eventually realized it was a moot point ... I think SonOne should be more respectful simply because I gave birth to him, and am his mother, and I wasn't a bad mother - which was the message he was giving me. 

Motherhood has been a land-mine for me the last 3 years.  SonOne did something wrong - a rather large something wrong, and since then, he's not been the kid I knew all the years previous.  He used to call me most Sundays, and actually talk without prodding, or me doing most of the talking.  He was considerate, asking me if I needed anything, etc.  He'd laugh.  He was easy to talk to.  But since the bad thing that he did, and keeping a rather significant secret ... he's been ... mean and thoughtless at times.  It's been okay on the surface for the last several months because I've chosen not to address the damage as I need to before I'm okay about it again.  For me not to talk a problem out is like asking me not to breathe.  He knows that, but he can't get past his own ... guilt? and anger at me for calling him on his shit, and expecting an apology (sincere being the key word there), and/or a promise that it won't happen again (the lying to me).  That trust needs to be rebuilt and the way to do that was not to continue with hiding the very secret (for 2 more years) that caused the original damage in the first place.  He didn't "man up" certain decisions he made - and had he ... I would so much have respected his decisions much more than having to live with the damage I do now - damage that affects most every conversation we have now, no matter how benign, or how I feel about his girlfriend, whom I can't help but blame more than I should.  On the outside, it looks like he was a good, happy person before he met her, but since then, he's lied, and hid things, and been mean and thoughtless.  I wonder who the real SonOne is at this point, and can I believe anything at all.  He doesn't realize that I would MUCH rather had been angry for 5 minutes or 5 days ... but instead it's been distrust and distance and avoidance going on for 3 years now.  The fact that his girlfriend lied to me also doesn't help the situation at all - I find myself refusing to know her because it feels like it was all such a sham in the first place and the way he brought her into his life doesn't reflect all that is good and happy and truthful and sincere where relationships are concerned. 

He doesn't understand that I don't judge him for the decisions he made ... they are his decisions to live with.  He does seem happy.  Even tho it seems on the outside, to outsiders, that what he has now is not any different that what he had before.  I keep my emotional distance in order not to be hurt again - not to be lied to again.  Since he doesn't talk to me like he used to, I'm an outsider, so I don't understand his happiness, since it looks so much like he used to have before.  Mostly because I can't trust that he tells the truth when I ask how he is.  After the bad thing he did ... I would imagine he's got to save face by being happy even if he's not.  But like I said ... he SEEMS happy, and I really, really hope that he is.  I believed he was before, and I was wrong, because he was always "fine" when I asked.  A land-mine, I'm just say'n.  He wants to be treated like an adult, yet his excuse was "all kids lie to their parents".  Yup, they do.  Keyword being "kid", twenty-seven year old son of mine. 

If he understood to what level the distrust affects me ... I wonder if it would bother him, or if he'd want to fix it between us.  But at this point - all that I got when I attempted to talk to him is anger, so I've left it go for the time being. 

It's painful to not know the boundaries - is asking "How are you?" too nosy?  Do I have a right to expect the truth?  Is "I'm fine" acceptable, when I know that's what he told me before ... only it turned out he wasn't really fine?  Is a surface "I'm fine, how's the weather out there" normal between parents and grown-up children?  Will he tell me when something is wrong and he needs help/to talk about it/advice/support/unconditional love, like he used up up until 3 years ago? 

Besides that ... he hit below the belt by telling me that I was a no better parent to him than the father that ignored him for 23 of the first 25 years of his life.  Ironically, the whole episode has brought his father back into his life, and for that ... I am grateful.  Now my son knows he's got 2 parents for the first time in his life, and that is worth all my current angst about being a mother these days.  I'll especially be glad about it on Father's Day, but this Mother's Day?  Selfish, I know, but it sucks. 

It didn't used to matter, because I knew he loved me - this Mother's Day thing.  We're not the sending presents or flowers type of mother/son relationship.  But the last 3 years?  I don't like wondering whether he'll even bother to call.  Painful.  I spent most of the day gearing up my Strong Mom Shield - in case he didn't call.  I even let him off the imaginary hook - leaving the phone outside while I worked in the garden all day.  I don't like the hurt part inside of me that thinks flowers would be appropriate ... considering the damage that needs to be healed. 

But I do think that because I am what I am.  Today, Mother's Day ...  a mother who hurts because it feels like she's lost 2 kids now. 

*

Edited to add - he did call.

Snicker. It was fun messing with my sister's head. Cause if my head's gonna be messed up, then hers might as well be too

Yes, there is enough left in there to pay the power, cable and cell phone.  But ONLY after I drove most of the way home, pulled off the freeway so I could think extra hard and do the math.  And realized I would have to run back to town and re-deposit half of what I had just withdrawn.  Gahhhhhh. 

The bills are paid.  There is chicken for the dogs.  And tuna in the cupboards for the cats if need be. 

The next option to try in order to avoid this emotional trauma of losing my brain because it stutters and leaps and jerks and gets stuck on one fact or percieved fact ... is to do things in the same order each and every month, with no exceptions.  Don't throw in anything new, like helping my sister who is helping me.  Also, I'll reset the online bills to be paid 5 minutes after the Magic Money comes in.   

The worst part is being proud of myself for doing it good this time.

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My monthly roller coaster, and we're not talking PMS

I wonder if I can write well enough to relay the frustration in my head because of my head, without being confusing or boring?

All last month, I kept a note up on the fridge of the things I needed to do with my next disability check, which comes on the 3rd of the month.  Usually, I forget what I need/want, and so there's always something I've forgotten when it comes time to do my monthly bill-paying and/or shopping.  I hate driving the 25 minutes into our "big city", so try to go only once a month.  With gas now up to $3.54 right now, it's getting ridiculous to drive much anyways.

So, yesterday, the Magic Money came in, early because the 3rd fell on Saturday, so it comes a day early.  I was prepared.  I was ready.  I was proud.  Not only was I ready, but I had it typed up - a list of groceries, and a little budget typed out on the back page, to show my sister what the plan was, and to make sure I knew what money I had left to play with after paying the bills and groceries. 

So do the math with me.  Humor me. 

780.00   (hmmm, there's more in there than usual-must have not spent it all last month.  Cool)

Minus 160.00 for rent = 620.00.  Minus 140.00 for cell, power and cable = 480.00.  Those are the done deals, no messing with, pay every month bills.  So we're at 480.00, and looking good. 

(Now if it were me reading this post, I'd move on, already overwhelmed with the numbers.  Should this happen to you, feel free to skip the details - evidently that's what I do in real life!)  (Just skip to the last 3 paragraphs - and two of those are only a sentence long - bear with me, I promise there's a point).

480.00 minus 90.00 for blogging service (once a year) = 390.00.  Minus 70.00 to my sister for 2 little bills she takes care of so I don't forget and get in trouble again = 320.00.

So!  Those are the half to take care of for the month.  Plus I bought computer memory from Cowinky last month (75.00) and owed him for it.  That and 2 months at Snap Fitness cause I forgot to pay last month ... so let's see ... 320.00 minus 75.00 and 64.00 = 181.00.  Minus 25.00 for chicken (dogfood) and 12.00 for canned catfood = 144.00.

Okay.  There's that.  But here's where it gets screwy.  I went to the bank and withdrew 260.00 cash, 160.00 for my sister, and 100.00 for me for the grocery store.  I bought 2 books for less than 20.00, found the chicken for 1/2 off normal price, and the catfood was also on sale, so I'm still on track. 

But in my mind, my sister is paying the bills.  So, because I gave her 160.00, I'm thinking ... my bills are paid!  I tried to help her out by doing the driving part and getting the money to her, saving her a trip to the bank. 

I've just got to STOP it.  I HAVE to do the same thing, each and every month, but when something goes different ... my thinking serves off-track. 

At Sam's Club, I got my groceries, etc., knowing I had 260.00 in my purse.  Forgetting that I had already given my sister her 160.00.  Wheelie paid for part of my stuff, and we'd stop at the bank and pay her back, right?  She told me not to worry about it, but I knew if I didn't pay her back right away, I would completely forget.  And she wouldn't remind me cause she thinks she owes me for all the housework I do for her, etc.  That wasn't the deal tho.  Anyways, the bank closed earlier than I remembered for a Friday nite, so I promised I'd go this morning (Sat) and get her cash then. 

This morning, I drove into town to the bank to get her cash, and also the Snap Fitness and CoWinky's computer memory money.  That's 64.00 plus 75.00 plus 90.00 for Wheelie = 229.00

Go back to the 8th paragraph - where I end up with 144.00, after paying for petfood, Snap Fitness, and the computer memory.  The balance in the bank was 359.00, so I withdrew 300.00 - thinking all was good!  I'd come out right, and everything was paid for!  I was proud!

I wonder if my sister can see the error of my ways right now? 

Let's just wait to hear from her before I go on.  More fun that way.  I like making her panic. 

*

Oh, and by the way?  I can't find the rent check that the bank prints out for me.

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I wish I could say GreenishLady is gonna be sorry she's busy visiting Paris andwill probably miss this post.

Despite being determined to make GreenishLady rue the day she told me she didn't read the racing/Jeff Gordon posts by saving my most brilliant and witty writing for these posts ... it ain't happening.  Partly because that wicked Nascar throws in a race on a Saturday every so often, without telling me, so I'm caught by surprise when I'm shooting the remote at the TV, looking for the Kentucky Derby (because I am a well-rounded racer of many ... species?  Diversity?) only to stumble on "GENTLEMEN.  Start.  Your.  Engines" and cussing because you hadn't yet taken the Gordon picturefor the week, so were unprepared to post with any wit whatsoever - much less present the beloved pictures of my man - well, this sentence is so running on, I don't know how to stop it, so I'm just gonna do so by using a period.  (.)

Sigh.  Don't like short-track racing anyways, but here's Richmond.  Jeff isn't doing any good again today.  I'm thinking that wife of his is the problem.   Must be.  Can't think of any other reason.  Haven't paid much attention to how Johnson and Dale Jr. are doing because ... well.  Because my house stinks. 

It smells like there's something dead in here.  Or else it's the broccoli in the freezer.  When it comes to stink, spoiled brocolli ranks right up there in being one of the worst stinks.  But since my beloved cat/s like to bring me dead animals of the rodent and/or the feathered variety, I can't with any assurance say the current stink is kitchen related.  But it's bad enough to make me want to leave the apartment, which is a problem cause the RACE IS ON.  Grrr.  Then I feel guilty, because what kind of Nascar fan am I, if I can be irritated by a little stink going on during the viewing of the race?  Not much of one, is all I can say. 

*

Tuesday Topic - What Comes Around Goes Around

Let's Talk

What was said on Oprah today, confirmed my deep belief that I gathered during my recovery process - Oprah's show said it better than I ever could. 

If you don't deal with the past, the past stays in your present and re-enacts itself in your behavior, your relationships, and/or in your child/children.  You will do this unconsciously, and then your child will pass on the dysfunction caused by your dysfunction ... along with your original dysfunction.  Maybe you deal with your past pain by being addicted to painkillers.  Your child may grow up determined not to by like you, but lo and behold ... she's addicted to shopping or people-pleasing. 

Also, we seek out partners who display the same characteristics of the past dysfunction because that is the most comfortable.  Again, we do this unconsciously.  We unconsciously seek the partners most unhealthy for us in order to heal our lives in some sick, twisted unconscious sort of way. 

I've given this example many times as a result of personal experience.  Several women in my various support groups would lament "why oh why is my 13, 14, 15 year old daughter pregnant?"  They would wonder this, even tho they were there to work out issues such as giving up a baby to adoption (and keeping it a secret).  Or dealing with having an abortion (and keeping it a secret).  Or finding out their mother had given up a sibling for adoption (thereby living with a secret). 

I've often thought that the expression "What goes around, comes around" is expressed far too lightly.  It's often said when somebody deserves to be punished somehow.  The most recent example I can think of is about the guy in Austria who held his daughter in a basement hideaway for 24 years, raping her and producing 7 children with her.  I read a comment board where someone said "What goes around comes around", and that he should be put in prison, where the other prisoners will bestow oh him what he did to his daughter for 24 years. 

Because we repeat our pasts unconsciously, of course "what goes around, comes around". 

When we fall in love, the first flush of love and romance pretty much serve as an anesthesia - everythingis perfect, he's perfect, we love each other so!  Even if the red flags are there, you're too busy looking at him Thur rose-colored eye glasses.  The chemicals of falling in love minimize the red flags.  When the problems start to crop up and can no longer be denied, there's two options; to break up, or heal it.  If you choose to break up, the same scenario will happen with the next partner.  It is not until you choose to heal the past, with or without a partner, that you'll begin to have a happy life. 

Those are the words I've repeated to clients back in the day when I facilitated support groups. 

On Oprah today and on her website: 

"[Imago] (a therapy technique) helps couples understand how the problems they have in a relationship in the present are connected to issues that are left over from childhood," he says. "Most of the stuff that's going on in a relationship has its roots in the past—we say about 90 percent in the past, and it's triggered by about 10 percent of the behaviors in the present."

"Subconsciously, that person is also attracted to their partner's negative traits that are connected to the unfulfilled needs of childhood".

"When you start acting out in adulthood with hurtful behavior, you're actually acting out of that pain. If you release the pain, then you remove the power [that pain holds]."

"It's not a coincidence you're attracted to your partner. "You lost [happiness during childhood] and you'll never feel fully alive again until you get it back. We think that committed partnership or marriage is the context within which those issues can be restored."

Contrary to our culture's model, Dr. Hendrix says intimate relationships are not really about romance. "It's an amazing thing that you're drawn together, in the romantic phase, to somebody who's similar to the worst traits of all the negative traits combined of all your caretakers," he says. "A romantic phase is an anesthesia. It's like nature is keeping you from knowing what it's about to set you up to do, which is to heal each other's childhood wounds."

Dr. Oz says Dr. Hendrix's theory has medical backing. When you are first in love, he says your body releases natural chemicals like dopamine, which is related to addiction, and oxytocin. "That makes you feel love and warm and cuddly," Dr. Oz says.

*****

Yup.  That's just what I said.  Only I said it about 15 years ago. 

*

Is it any wonder why I get so frustrated?

This week's goal was to do some blogging housework.  I was going to get all my widgets working, join the networking sites so that I could spread my blog love around, and set up a blogging schedule of various topics so that when I'm braindead, I could fall back on my topics.  One of which is a new feature called "Tuesday Teeth".  Doesn't that sound intriging?  You damn betcha.  But this is what happened that caused me to running screaming from the room, with my hands tearing out the hair from the top of my head.

1.  My Twitter won't work, so I went to fix it.  It won't update.  Tried and tried.  Tried to contact help.  Their help page won't load.  Made a new account, just to see.  The new one won't work either.  Checked my cookies.  They are enabled, which I'm assuming is necessary. 

2.  Then the Internet went down. 

3.  Then it came back. 

4.  Went to take a picture for Tuesday's blogging assignment, and the batteries were dead. 

5.  Wondered whether I dare tried something else.  Checked my email.  Internet down again. 

6.  Turned on the TV.  Remote wouldn't work. 

7.  Decided to get sewing on a new quilt.  Set up sewing machine.  Got the material and laid out design pattern.  Turned on sewing machine.  Didn't work.  Can't fine the electrical cord that goes with it. 

I give up. 

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That cat

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Talledega

Oh yes, I had a good time.  I should have mentioned that no matter how angry I might be with SFM ... he'll say something so outrageous and it's usually pretty raunchy ... I cannot help laughing my fool head off.  And that gets us talking like humans again.  I tried to make this little spat last longer than usual tho - when normally I'd just go with his flow. 

... hmmm.  "Go with his flow" ... boy if that's not a perfect segway for a PMS or Aunt Flo comment.  Unfortunately, I can't come up with a thing. 

But I have a good excuse ... the Nascar race is on.  Talledega is my number 2 favorite track. 

Lordy.  Lap 18 or so?  Major crash avoided - two drivers could have caused the "Big One", as Talledega is famous for.  But they managed to save it, and it was amazing to watch.  '

I gotta post this - Jeff is 2nd right now, and he needs my full attention.

*

I'm back. In more ways than one...

Woo hoo!  I'm back.  Back from Reno, and back from TypePad No Man's Land.  They reactivated the blog, kindly resetting my account to come due the first week of May.  Yeaaa TypePad! 

Naturally, while I was locked out of the blog, I had dozens of blog posts in my mind.  Now?  Not so much. 

Had a good time in Reno, as always.  Altho, I was a bit snippy, wondering why some things that I normally ignore ... infuriated me instead.  SFM has a bad habit of asking questions out loud, and completely ignoring me when and if I answer the question.

Him:  How do we get to the car? 

Me:  We go to the front desk, turn left to the elevator and go up to floor 7 to the garage. 

Him:  No, I mean from here.  (We had gone out a door and were out on the street)  (We had been using valet services the previous 2 days) (But we had decided to park it ourselves on the top floor of the parking garage just for kicks and giggles)  (For some reason.)

Me:  I don't know.  I just know how to get there from inside the casino.

Him:  How is that garage even connected to the casino?  Blah blah blah.

Me:  Grrrrr.  I don't know, you're expecting me to know the architectural design of the damn building.  I KNOW HOW TO FIND THE CAR FROM INSIDE THE CASINO. 

He:  (Walks on down the street around the corner)

Me:  (Left fuming with the luggage) 

Me:  (Still fuming with the luggage)

Me:  (Consider leaving his luggage and taking mine to the front desk, turn left and taking the elevator to the 7th floor of the parking garage)

Me:  (Seriously consider it)

Me:  (Decide I shouldn't stoop to such childish behavior)

He:  (Pulls up in our red rental car, and gets out all happy and triumphant)

He:  I tol...

Me:  Don't EVEN talk to me right now.  I'm furious and talking would not be a good thing.  For you.)

He:  But I tol ...

Me:  SHUT UP.  (Altho it came out more like F*** Y** )  Oops.

That is the end of that story.  I won't even get into what he's like when we're driving and trying to find out where to go when we want to go somewhere.  We both really enjoy just driving around and getting our bearings and seeing what we can see.  But if there's a specific goal in mind?  It's best I just keep my mouth shut, even tho I have the better sense of direction. 

Oh, yes I do.  SHUT UP. 

When I got home, it was discovered that I had been under the influence of PMS. 

*

I hereby commit to personnally lighten the load on my plane

I'm leaving for Reno this Sunday morning for a sexfest love-fest with SanFranMan.  We'll eat, sleep late, gamble .25 cents here and there, and give each other massages with the hot oil I will provide, while listening to ... Merle Haggard. 

Yep.  That's what I said.  Good ole Merle.  He likes Merle Haggard, and ever obliging sweetie-pie that I am - I mixed him a CD with some of Merle's finest country tunes.  Lordy.  Romantic - NOT. 

I am DETERMINED to gain a handle on my over-packing tendencies.  It's only for 3 days.  Well, five days if you count the travel days.  Wait.  Four days.  At home I wear jeans for 2 days at a time before I send them to the laundry.  What makes me think I need a morning pair and a daytime pair of jeans?  And let's not forget the evening pair of dress pants in case we decide to leave our room for dinner.  Here's where it gets ridiculous.  Not only will I pack dress pants but I pack a pair of dress pants for each day ... even tho I may not have worn the dress pants I packed for the day before.  Does that make sense?  Four days = 4 jeans, and 4 dress pants.   

???

The point is ... even tho I provide myself with 3 separate outfits for each day away ... I NEVER wear said outfits!  I put on a pair of pants, and lo and behold - the same outfit is worn all day long - even dinner.  I might change into a clean shirt for dinner, but that's rare. 

So this is what I'm saying.  From henceforth now, I pledge to pack one pair of pants for each day, and ONE pair of dress pants. 

In the past pack-list:  3 daytime pants, 3 dress pants, 6 or 9 or 12 shirts.  Various shoes to match.  2-3 skirts or dresses, 3 pairs of shorts.  Various underpinnings.  3 sexy nighties, 3 comfortable nightgowns, 2-3 pairs of lounge pajamas.  Oh, and a sweatshirt for each day too. 

In the future pack-list:  3 daytime pants, 1 dress pants, 6 shirts, 1 dress or skirt.  3 pairs of shoes.  Sandals, water shoes, and flip-flops. 

The color theme is denim, black and white.  So much easier when everything goes with everything else. 

Scuse the sloppy photo-shopping.  I took out the clashing background in a hurry.   

Actually, I should switch out a pair of jeans for a pair of white pants, and add a couple of white t-shirts.  SFM bought me the reversible jacket - isn't it cute?  LOVE it. 

I'm done packing! 

I guess the only color will be at nighttime ...   

*

Oh, the reason why I have to pack so light is because I have to fit in room for the bag I left at SFM's place the last time I was there, because the airline wouldn't let me take 2 carry-ons that day.  So SFM took it home with me, and I'm hoping that's where my lime-green bra is. 

And a CD player.  We want to listen to Merle Haggard  music in our room.  Now how am I going to pack that???

I will try to post while gone, but no guarentee - the wireless is somewhat iffy in some rooms.  But when I come back on Wednesday, there will be some big changes in the blog - beginning the following Monday. 

That is all.

*

We were stalked by an owl. Or the post that sucked Gosling in.

First I have to set the scene. In my effort to feel productive, I've been getting up by 8am for the last 3 mornings. This hasn't proven difficult at all, but about 5:30pm, but today I needed a nap. I set the alarm for 6pm, just wanting a tiny, short nap - a power nap.

Next thing I know, it's 10:00. I thought it meant 10am in the morning. I lay there for several minutes, disgusted with myself, telling myself I failed at my new plan to reform after just 3 days. Imagine my horror when I got up and it was DARK. Instead of thinking I'd overslept that nite and into the next morning, I thought I'd overslept that nite, into the next morning and into the NEXT night again!!

So to say I was disoriented is an understatement. If I said I was disoriented ALOT, it would still be an understatement.

The next horrified thought was the dogs hadn't been outside for... I had to pause my panicked disorientation to do the math... from 5:30pm yesterday to 10pm "today".... 28 hours!! Does anyone know how difficult math is when one is mathimatically challenged and had the grades to prove it, AND disoriented from taking a 28 hour long nap.  AND with MS???  I swear MS took any ability I had with using all versions of thinking with numbers.  Clocks included. 

The next problem was deciding what to wear when one is just GETTING UP at 10pm after a 28 hour nap. Regular daytime clothes or pajamas? While believing one's dogs haven't peed in 28 hours, which puts an element of HURRY into it?

Finally, I got outside with the dogs. Who oddly seemed more interested in the refrigerator than going outside after 28 hours of not peeing, which should have been my first clue. But I figured they must be disoriented too - they thought it was time for dinner. Which only makes sense, since supposedly they'd missed last nite's dinner and tonite's dinner was late. But still. One would think after not peeing for 28 hours, peeing would be priority. I certainly skipped my own need to pee, in my efforts to get them peed.  I'm sure I've mentioned MS giving me pee problems.  Peeing them first is how much I love my dogs.  The sacrifices I make. 

As I walked out to the field behind the apartment, wondering how in the hell I slept thru 3, yes THREE piercing cell phone alarms... one for waking up from the nap at 6pm, the wake-up alarm at 8am, AND the 3pm Physical Therapy alarm... I felt a WHOOOSH over my head. The kind of whooosh you can both hear and feel from the air rushing by. Muttin ran to my side, whining. Since I was still in Disoriented Hell, I didn't pay attention. As I continued to walk down the field, trying to justify a 28 hour nap, and wondering if I should report such a nap to someone medical, since I blame MS for everything wrong in my life - Muttin continued to whine. Eventually I saw something out of the corner of my eye, above us, flying to the top of a telephone pole. The moon was bright, and with it reflecting off the snow, it was bright enough to see that it was a HUMONGOUS owl.

From the time of the first whooosh to the time of seeing the owl was the length of 3 telephone poles. I kept walking, watching both Muttin and the owl. That owl flew ahead to the next telephone pole. I stopped dead in my tracks, and called Jeffrey to me. This whole time, Muttin hadn't left my side and hadn't stopped whining. Now normally, I am Miss Facinated by Every Single Move My Dogs Make, since they are so adorable, and would have noticed out of the norm behavior, but did I mention my 28 hour nap? I realized Muttin knew all about that owl, from the first whooosh to the 3rd telephone pole.

I started walking again, cause I didn't want that owl to mistake me for a tree, rather than the Protecter of My Dogs, and I figured walking was the best way to show the owl that I wasn't a tree, because being a tree would make it okay to swoop down and grab a dog by it's wicked talons. Notice how danger sharpened my previously disoriented mind... I knew the word for owl's feet.

As we continued to walk, that owl flew ahead AGAIN to the next telephone pole. It didn't care about my Walking to Prove I Wasn't a Tree impression. It was biding it's time. It was stalking us. 

I tried to remember everything that I'd learned about owls, and realized it was next to nothing. The two things I did remember created a quandry. 1. They were wise, and 2. they had good eyesight. I recalled something about radar senses, but I think that's for bats.  And I wondered if they had a good sense of smell, cause that would sure be nice if they did, cause surely then it would smell the Human Protecting The Dog Meat, therefore, it would be stupid to do any more whoooshing anywhere near me and the dogmeat dogs.  So the quandry I settled on was, if wise, surely it knew better than to do anymore whoooshing and/or if owls have such good eyesight, surely it saw that my dogs were too big for it's wicked talons. Right?

Or maybe, God forbid, in the things that I didn't know about owls, when I was supposedly learning about owls, IF I ever did learn about owls, and had forgotten everything I ever knew about owls, not knowing that someday I'd be stalked by an owl AND my lack of eyeglasses for my own poor eyesight, maybe it was bigger than I thought, even tho it already was humongously, freakishly LARGE.

Jeffrey was scampering around like a carefree dog who didn't know he could be ate up at any moment, so I called him near, picked him up, and marched us home, the length of 5 telephone poles.  Singing loudly, "Ahunting we will go, ahunting we will go, hi ho, the derry-o, a hunting we will go". Probably not the best song under the circumstances, but you try to find an appropriate song when you need a motivational marching in deep snow while being stalked by a man dog killer in the middle of the nite type of song.  While disoriented by MS and a 28 hour nap. 

Normally, it's Muttin I have to pick up, since she is the rebel and will take off running, but she was still glued to my heels. In fact, she was so glued, she kept tripping me, her own version of kamakazi games she normally plays on her brother, throwing herself cutely under his feet.  Which made for 2 falls into the 8 inch crusty snow with Not a Care in the World Jeffrey in my arms.  Who would scamper off between falls, putting himself in unknown to him, danger.  Dumb dog. 

We got all home safe and sound, where I finally realized that my nap had been from 5:30pm to 10pm of the same day, it wasn't the next day after all.  My brain hurt. 

I fed the dogs.  I decided to have oatmeal for dinner, just to play games with my head some more. 

As I ate the oatmeal, I went to the Internet to find where I could report a humongous freakishly large owl who stalks people and their dogs. I'm convinced it's a mutant and needs to be turned in to the proper authorities to be studied. Or at the very least, put in jail a zoo. 

Amazingly enough, there wasn't much to find about Idaho owls. There is a guy doing research on voles, lichen populations, and voles use of lichen. This makes perfect sense, how owl research turned into vole's eating habits, as one would think voles are a owl's natural diet, rather than dogs. So to know about voles eating lichen seems vitally important. Lichen being the mossy green stuff on trees and rocks. I think.  As always, with the Internet, lack of knowledge on one subject just leads to lack of knowledge about another and I wasn't about to look up lichen. I was determined to keep my vole in check. (Vole being a kind of mouse.  Not the mouse that does the clicking all over the Internet). Tell me how funny I am.

For the first time since feeding my dogs raw chicken, which is a whole nuther story involving Jeffrey's anal glands, I relished the sound of doggie jaws crunching on raw chicken bones. Normally, I cringe. And have bad dreams about bone splinters rupturing their little tummies. But tonite, I said "Take THAT, you damn chicken, who's got to be related to damn owls!"

And to think, not too long ago, I've had communion with wolves and ravens, as totems. At another time, I would have seen this owl as a sign of some sort, a message to my life. Ha! From here on out, let it be known that owls are my enemy, and I shall speak to no owls. Or listen. Ever. I'll use my own damn wisdom thankyouverymuch.

Maybe researching owls who eat voles who eat lichen will lead to a cure for MS. What other reason can there be for actual dollars being spent on such a study???

*

Pressing my luck

Today I got my official notice that I'm volunteering for 4 hours at the 3 -4 day Blogher conference in San Francisco.  I didn't realize how expensive it was to attend - but I get a special "get in free" code.  I'm SOO excited.  SanFranMan and I are trying to find a laptop for me.  I think I'll go sit on the curb with my hat out for donations. 

The last two days were wrapped in pain, and I'm beginning to realize that this could get bad.  As improved as my general physical outward body - ... , .  Hmmm.  I don't know what I'm trying to say.  The pain may be a really large factor as I get older.  It never lets go.  Imagine being badly sunburned, hitting your funny bone, and thawing your hands when they've been too cold all at the same time.  Welcome to my feet.  And hands.  Being too warm or stressed or sleepless or over-worked makes it worse, with an added wooden numbness that moves up my legs and body.  Being too warm might involve taking a shower, my period starting, or having a sheet over me.  Being stressed might involve my period starting, and wondering what the hell, because I'm tired of it disappearing for months at a time and coming back for the weekend I'm meeting SanFranMan in Reno.  Or trying to figure out what to wear to bed, and just what is it going to take not to get to warm while sleeping in order not to wake up in pain from being too warm.  Being over-worked might be from vacumming 3 small rooms.  Cause that heats me up.  And weakens me for a short time. 

I'm not complaining - it is soooo much better than it used to be.  But it's disconcerting to be so much better, and then to be reminded that I really do have MS just by doing the simplest things.  About the only thing I do that MS doesn't affect is the walking.  During the walk, I am just fine.  After the walk, I'm weak and stumbly for a short while.  Again, recovery time is MUCH better than it used to be.  So please, MSgod ... I'm not complaining.  I'm explaining to the nice folks in the Internet is all I'm saying. 

I'm getting out of this post cause now I'm nervous. 

*

I'm fadinnnnngg

I'm in the process of copying files for the someday I will be getting a new computer or laptop, and somehow I managed to delete my email's address book.  Actually, there's no "somehow" about it.  I'm getting really stiff in my muscles again, and spastic behaviour of my mouse clicking finger is out of control. 

So if I know you and we've emailed, please email again, so that I can have your email address again.  Hurry!  I feel naked and vulnerable without it!

Did I tell you I washed my cell phone in the washer the other day? 

Yup. 

*

Bloggy Gift

Did you notice the little graphic to the right with "Love, Laugh, Live" on it?  Friday made the for me.    It's been there a few days, cause I was trying to fix the little red heart - it's supposed to move, but it looks like the sidebar won't allow dancing hearts.   Thanks Friday!  You're more talented than I am. 

I'm so mad at Blogger right now that I can't see straight.  I'm in the process of moving Jacob's Poems to TypePad.  Time consuming. 

That is all.  Go read Friday - especially the hurricane Katrina ones.  Good read. 

*

Update:  I went to look for the Katrina posts and it looks like Friday isn't doing categories.  If I'm wrong about that, pipe up Friday, and let us know. 

*

Totally different from each other

Aren't I so lucky?  I have one cat who lives for bringing me his hunting jobs.  I think the landlady hired him behind my back to keep the building free of live mice.  Why couldn't I luck out and not get a cat who felt the need to bring me his trophies, as if I'm supposed to mount them and hang them up on the wall?  How do I know there are cats who don't feel as if they have to bring in dead mice and throw them 7 feet up in the air, and bat them around until it goes too far out of his reach  under the couch? 

Because this is what Barf was doing the whole time Hiney was training a dead mouse to perform gymnastic type tricks in the air.  And yes, he did know there was a dead mouse in the house.  The Mouse Capades lasted well over a couple of hours by the time I decided I had had enough. 

*

Written on Tuesday, posted on Wednesday

(Muttin Looks How I Feel)

Dear Blog People,

There's something wrong with me.  Seriously.  Besides the MS.  Or maybe because of the MS.  But when I say that, it makes me feel like I'm blaming/not taking responsibility for what is wrong with me. 

You would think that being on Disability as I am, yet still mostly healthy physically as in able to do the basics of walking, light housework, still able to drive - that I would get things done. 

This blog hangs over me blanketed in guilt.  I'm not writing.  Why not?  I used to take pictures every day and post them.  What stopped me?  Let's look into it, shall we?

1.  Pain

2.  My computer sucks.  I need a laptop desperately - I'll be the only blogger at the Blogher conference without a laptop.  The shame. 

3.  People I know are reading this and I'm inhibited from being my usual rude and raunchy self.  Totally my perception, not their's.

4.  The TV sucks me into it's drama.  And I do love reality TV - so there's lots of drama.

5.  The other computer stuff sucks me in.  For instance, I turned off the TV so I could write this post and think.  The silence suffocated me, so I turned on the media player inside the computer, where I've downloaded  2,638 songs.  I would like them to be sorted properly, with all of them having the names, name of song, genre, etc. all nice and pretty.  It's not done, so I almost started doing that instead.  It's like I can't enjoy the music until my play lists are perfect. 

Coolbeans!  I just discovered that I can play the player in "skin mode", and that little visualization thingy will get smaller, and stay on top, so I can see it as I'm typing right now.  Awesome.  Cause for some reason, I need to know who's playing before I can hear it right.  uh huh.  Right.  Whatever.  You'd think I'd recognize voices, since I'm the one who downloaded it.  I do for the most part.  Don't call me anal, or else we'll get off-track and this'll be a whole nother post that I won't start anytime soon. 

6.  My son.  I have wanted/needed to write about him for months now.  He says it's alright that I do, but it's so convoluted - that I'm just stuck when it comes to expressing what I'm thinking and feeling.  He's not a regular reader, but I wouldn't post anything until he read it, and gave me permission to post it - that's just how it is, even tho he said it was okay if I put it on here already.

So ... there's 6 reasons for not blogging more.  Or are they excuses? 

And why the HELL is my father coming into my head?????????????????????

Whenever I think of my father, I am reminded of how he told my sister he didn't believe that I got caught in a hailstorm and my wonderful car got pummeled.  He said that no-one could have as much bad luck as I did.  This was after also losing my house.  When I was trying to save my house, I sent out an email to people I knew, asking for whatever help they could give.  I didn't need much, but it was enormous to me, since I was down to working 3 hours a day at that point.  The one person who would have been able to help the most was right under my father's name in the address book.  Guess who's name I mistakenly clicked on?  Yea.  Smooth move, ex-lax.  I wouldn't ask him for money if my life depended on it, since I haven't spoken to him in many years, I don't even remember.  Sometimes my darling sister would ask him on my behalf and then tell me after-wards and then I would killed her.  Twice.  But she keeps popping back up.  He sends her money on Christmas and birthdays, and he had never done that for me.  Not until the year I was dx'd with MS - which she told him about too.  So that year he sent money for Christmas and me and my sister decided to spend it on ourselves, rather than pay bills, or presents for others.  Having not spoken to him in years, but feeling entitled to the money, because as far as I'm concerned, he owes me big-time for the years I spent in counseling because of what he did - molesting me as a teenager - I didn't thank him.  I guess, according to my sister, via him ... I'm a bad girl for not thanking him, so I haven't gotten any more money.  Sigh... so heartbroken. 

But it does drive me wild that he doesn't believe me about the car and The Hailstorm.  Should I type his name in here and/or my name ... should he happen to Google the daughter he hasn't spoken to for ? how many years?  Obviously, this is still an issue for me.  He denies what he did, so he is the liar.  And if you drink to the point of not remembering, chances are pretty good that when told of your behavior ...  they're telling the truth.  Just say'n.

I could of course send it to him myself - directly - the way I'm used to doing things.  (Should I tell you about how I confronted someone yesterday, who lives here, who has staph infection, and keeps telling everyone she's not contagious?)    But always, something stops me, and it has nothing to do with the nauseous feeling I get, and the choking in my throat.  Or maybe it does ... that choking feeling has a lot of power over me, as it cuts off breathing...  which is somewhat important.

Breasts are for feeding babies, and as playthings ... they are not a fashion accessory.  I LOVE that. 

ohmyhell.  Talk about Freud. 

I just heard the breast statement on Dr. Phil, right this very minute.   I should clarify something, considering my father is in this post.  The synchronicity amazes me.  Talk about my father, and somebody brings up breasts. 

Breasts are for feeding babies, and as playthings (with appropriate partners) ... they are not a fashion accessory. 

I have NO idea how this post got so derailed. 

*

Bringing them home

1am - went to bed.  Which was early for me.

8am - woke up.   In awe.  Slept for SEVEN whole hours.  Without waking up in the middle several times.  Let the dogs out. 

8:05 - laid back down.  Still in awe. 

9:30 - woke back up!  Another hour or so of sleep! 

Watched cats who were suspiciously acting like there was a live mouse in the house.  Would rather not deal with it.

9:35 - went back to sleep.

10:00 - woke up, jumped out of bed and wrote this memorable post. 

I'm so fascinating.  Yes? 

(Rolling of eyes commences)

There is a mouse in the house.  Damn cats. 

Have much to do today as it's the day the Magic Money happens.  Am gonna buy some rain gutters. 

My books have been packed away in Wheelie's basement for a year now, waiting to move.  Now that I've resigned myself to staying here until San Francisco calls, I'm going to bring my books back home.  You know how they say if you haven't used or worn something for over a year - that you should get rid of it cause you didn't miss it?  Well, half my household has been packed away for a year or more.  It's time for a garage sale.  Seriously.  I have too many clothes, kitchen stuff (for someone who doesn't cook?), and knick knacky decorative stuff. 

But I HAVE missed the books.  Which irritates me somewhat, as I never re-read the books I buy.  I can count on one hand the number of books I've re-read.  Even so, I MISS having the books around.  It's not home without books - it feels like I'm in transition without my books around me. 

So.  Am gonna line the walls a foot or so under the ceilings with rain gutter, and use the books more as a decorative aspect of my home.  I'll have 2 and 3 foot sections here and there, and one 12 foot section in one place, and etc. 

Maybe.  Now my precisely, decisive brain is doubting itself.  Will it be too cheap looking?  Hmmm.

Yes.  There has been visual confirmation - there's a mouse in the house. 

*

Dilemma

Even tho I said I was going to stay here in Rigby and not move into town, I kept myself on the list.  There's an apartment open now, and I went to look at it, and had to make up my mind today.

Pros:

It's MUCH friendlier atmosphere.  Has a much nicer lounge area.  More laundry facilities.  A front door and back door.  No long hallways.  A little porch and tiny garden plot.  The apartment is smaller, but I can live with that.  Am allowed to have bird feeders, and potted outdoor plants and squirrel feeders, etc.  (Not allowed here)  And most importantly, it's 3 blocks away from the river front "Greenbelt", where I can walk year round, and it's really a nice walking path, scenery, etc. 

Cons: 

Will not accept four pets.  Cannot keep cats.  Those damn cats. 

Hmmm.  I bet I could get someone to adopt my kitties here in the building.  I could.  If I really, really wanted to move ... I could.  Yes, I could.

Well. 

Evidently I couldn't.  I told her no, but to re-list me, which will put me back at the bottom of the list.  This could all be moot if San Francisco would just call me!  I'd give up my cats for San Francisco, but not Idaho Falls.  So.  I am staying here.  But you know what was sooooo freaking hard about making the decision?  Am I gonna get struck dead, dumb or deaf for ignoring an omen? 

The apartment number was #24.

Those of you who are my regular readers need to tell me (and the rest of the Internet) why the #24 is important. 

*

Monday Mutterings

This little word association game from "Mutterings", found via Friday. 

I say .... you think? 

1. Stuff ::  Muttin/Jeff's toy that I just stuffed with peanut butter - they loves them some peanut butter. 
2. Gills ::   Fish
3. Distance ::   SonOne too far away, as is Ben, SanFranMan, Linda, Cindy and Bert.
4. Panties ::   I'll fold my own pantie laundry, thankyouverymuch.
5. Checkered ::   Flag.  Duh.  And the only reason why I'm playing this little game right now, cause I wanted to be able to bring Nascar into it.
6. Fill in ::   for someone at work
7. Taunting ::   What I hear going on in my head, as someone telling me "My blog is better than your blog, my blog is better than yours". 
8. Diner ::   Boring here in Rigby.
9. Pizza ::   Yummy here in Rigby.  They sell little round pocket pizzas, and they call them 'Bambinos'.
10. Best friend ::  Linda, Cindy, Wheelie.

In other news, I got about 2 hours of sleep last nite.  Mostly cause I was worried about Barf's where-abouts.  Hiney came in at an appropriate hour, around 2am, charging in like a bull, which made me think he maybe had a dead mouse with him.  This involves an internal battle within me - do I care enough to put my feet on floor in order to search for a possible mouse in the house?  I heard him eating, so I assumed there was no mouse.  If he had a mouse, he'd be tossing it up in the air and thumping himself all over it and the furniture and floor.  After eating, he walked all over me and the dogs, getting his pets of affection from me, and purring prettily.  Then he went to his bed in the sky above the closet to sleep.  Like a proper cat should.  Tom-catting around the neighborhood till all hours, but not ALL of the hours.  Good cat.

Which reminds me, Gosling wanted to see my "walk-in closet". 

It has worked really well for me, as cheesy cheap as it is. 

Back to last nite. 

Every nite, same routine, only it's usually earlier.  Then I waited and waited for Barf to come in, and the wind was blowing so I was irritated by the sound of their plastic window blowing in the wind.  I guess a picture of my high-tech window would be helpful ...

See the bubble-wrap plastic?  There's a couple slits about a foot high, so the cats can go in and out as they please.  And they please the hell out of it.  Last nite it made noise.  I dozed on and off, waiting for Barf to come in so I could close the window.  At about 4am, I happened to look down at the foot of the bed, and there he was, sitting royally on his haunches, staring at me.  Damn cat.  So I closed the window and slept till 5:45am.

This not sleeping business if for the birds.  And the cats. 

I'm on the look-out for a real cat door window.  Glass ones are over $200 bucks. 

I made soup today.  This is worth mentioning why?  Cause I don't cook anymore, nor have I ever made a soup just from stuff I had in the fridge.  Someone gave me 1/4 of a cabbage, which evidently is inspiring to me.  So I threw it in a pot, with some potatoes, stewed tomatoes, Lipton soup mix, and mushrooms.  I don't have any carrots, but that would have been good too.  Smells DELISH. 

Today was supposed to be my 3 mile walk, but I'm trading days around due to the couple of days I messed up cause of pain.  I did do 20 minutes of pilates with the 5lb weighted ball. 

A Letter To My Body

About a month ago, I came across this Letter to my Body from Blogher, inviting me to write a letter to my body.  It was then I applied to be a volunteer to Blogher '08, because I could smell San Francisco while reading the post, evidently.  Any excuse for San Francisco ...

First off, I didn't know my body was even WANTING to receive a letter from me, since it seems we live pretty close together, and why not save on the stamp?  Specially since me and my body spend so much time on the Internet - going to all the same places together - in this day and age ...why would I want to snail mail a letter to my body?  Besides, wouldn't that be adding insult to injury - the very fact that this body still remembered what snail mail even was ... was exactly why I wanted to avoid my body in the first place.  Cause in the last year, this body turned 50.  I wasn't liking it turning 50, because my mind felt like life was just beginning again, with all the wisdom gained in the last 20 years.  I'm going to write this as it comes out of my head - no censoring, so it'll be all over the place.  Hopefully, it'll make sense. 

For most of those years, me and my body had a truce.  I would leave it alone if it would leave me alone.  I pretty much ignored it.

By virtue of being a girl, my body garnered me unwanted attention from inappropriate adults when it was a child.  A grade-school janitor molested it when it was in 2nd grade.  A baby-sitter when it was younger.  A father when it was a teenager.  Those are the memories  my brain knows for sure.  There's another shady memory of pine trees and a cabin in the woods, but my brain has never been able to trust my body, so we're not quite positive on the cabin in the woods incident/s.  Just as well, as remembering what I did remember got me dis-owned by the people who were closet to me.  Thanks, body.

Later, when dating boys, I panicked at the thought of physical contact.  If a boy complimented me on something I wore, I wouldn't wear it again, not understanding why it made me feel dirty.  I remember feeling self-conscious about EVERYTHING, including wearing a swimming suit at age 4 and 5.  I hated family reunions, because they didn't feel safe to me, and someone was always critical about something on my body ... either my own embarrassment over my clothes, or a grandmother's criticism about the acne on my face.  In front of everybody.  Or my father's teasing about my "itty bitty titties".  In front of everybody.  I had a VERY good-looking cousin, who was VERY popular in my school, and it was excruciating for a teen girl to be singled out for critical attention in front of him - as if my body belonged to others to comment/criticize. 

I didn't date because going thru the discomfort of getting to know someone new was too dangerous.  So I stayed safe with one boy all thru high school and 2 years after.  I believed I shouldn't sleep with him in order to be a good girl, and that's what I thought was expected of me.  After 4 years of going out with him (I think it was 4 years), my mother asked me if I needed birth control, and I was shocked at the question.  I think she said something along the lines that she didn't know how I could wait that long.  That nite was the first time I had sex.  I don't remember it - except for the embarrassment that he went down to the barn to get some Vaseline, and his best friend was there milking the cow, and he knew what was going on.  And I remember being relieved - finally we could quit fighting about the "make-out sessions that never lead to anywhere".  For 4 years, I had been a good girl, mostly because I was terrified of crossing that line - as long as we didn't have sex, that meant he loved me for my mind... right? 

I know now that the reason I don't remember anything about sex in those early years is because I disassociated in order to get thru it.  Sex also hurt because I tensed up so much.  I thought something was wrong with me.  My body hated sex, not so much because it hurt, but because I simply hated my body, and the power it seemed to hold over men - making them idiots.  I wanted to be loved for my mind, by hell. 

Having a baby was excruciatingly embarrassing to me.  All those doctor appointments in my private parts.  The shame I felt, giving birth, because so many people (doctors, nurses) SAW me. 

The point is ... it's not normal to feel the level of shame I felt for my body.  I disassociated from it more and more.

My body betrayed me hugely by giving birth to a badly hurt baby with Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus.  No matter how intellectually I understood that it wasn't my fault ... it was MY body that failed Jacob, and the self-hatred settled in for permanent residence. 

After the babies ... there was "fat" to add to the hatred.  I gained 70 pounds with my first baby.  Then I was almost anorexic with my second pregnancy because my husband and I were separated at the time. 

There was divorce.  Then there was dating, with a c-sectioned body.  With triggers of certain touches sending me to the ceiling.  Two abortions - one because it had been 3 years since I had sex, and I got woken up with someone on top of me, and my body responding, even tho in my head I was screaming NO.  Another was much earlier, before I married, as a teenager, newly moved out of the house, newly broke up with the 7 year high school boyfriend, with my second boyfriend/sexual partner.  The abortion fell on my father's birthday, which I found oddly appropriate.  I know now that one of the things that doctor did on a follow-up appointment was sexual abuse.  I hated my body.  It seemed to make men do horrible things to me. 

I lived with my third boyfriend for 2 or 3 years before we married.  Our sex life was great mostly because I wasn't present for it.  Then we married, and for the first 4 months of our marriage, I refused to have sex.  I started counseling because I had realized DURING THE WEDDING CEREMONY that I was doing the wrong thing by marrying my drug addicted, drug dealing, alcoholic husband.  The memories started to come of my childhood.  I slept with a knife or a crochet hook under my pillow.  The ONLY saving grace of being with my husband was that he helped me heal sexually.  He understood the disassociation, and refused to have sex unless I stayed present.  He was patient and kind.  He respected my wishes, even tho it meant he seemed to have married a wanna-be virgin all of a sudden.  He nurtured the hurt little girl inside, without taking advantage of her. 

It took years of therapy and then counseling others for me to heal from the abuse, and for it to let go of the noose it had held around my neck for so long. 

But I kept getting fatter.  Every time I lost weight, getting too many admiring glances or wolf whistles would trigger old issues, and I'd gain weight again.  I was going to be loved for my brain, by hell.  Being fat was protection from unwanted attention. 

I was 40 years old when I could tell I was emotionally healthy for the first time in my life.  I was single again, and dating smartly.  I was having sex because I WANTED to, kinda like a kid in a candy store.  Discovering.  In my prime, so they say.  Me and my body had come to terms, and had an agreement - I'd be nice to it - if it was nice to me.  It seemed to work well.  I gave it sex, and it gave me the freedom to enjoy it for real.  It was FUN, that time of my life.  I was LIKING myself, and my body - finally giving it the respect it deserved.  I OWNED my body - nobody else did.  That's a huge statement for someone who grew up believing my only worth was how my body looked, and either giving it away without my consent, or having it taken from me without my consent.

I was happy. 

And then?  Another huge betrayal.  My body betrayed me by doing things against my will.  It stumbled and fell.  It hurt all the time.  It peed my pants.  It didn't make sense.  Things didn't work.  I couldn't explain it.  The doctors said it was a herniated disk in my neck.  I had the surgery, believing I was doing the best thing to take care of my body.  It lied to me.  It wasn't a herniated disk - it was MS.  Multiple Sclerosis.  Again, I had no control over my body - outside forces took over and used it for it's own purpose.  It was familiar territory, and old issues were stirred up in a frenzy-filled pot of pain and confusion. 

After about 3 years, the depression nearly killed me, and I took the advice I had told so many clients ... WALK.  Get out and MOVE.  I joined Curves, and I died each day for the next 2 weeks.  But after those 2 weeks of pure, sweaty hell, I began to gain control over my body again.  I concentrated on health, making my health my full-time job, since I could no longer work a real job.  I saw the changes in my arms and legs, gaining some muscle definition.  I liked how it moved, especially in bed.  I made my body lose 50 pounds, and reveled in the self-confidence it gave me.  I was no longer self-conscious of how it looked naked.  Still embarrassed by the drunken MS'y stumbles, but I could live with that, as long as I was a more graceful, thin stumbly MS person. 

In one way, MS was a blessing because it made me finally tune in to my body and learn to listen to it.  I HAD to pay attention to it, in order to be able to walk in a straight line, or get to the toilet on time.  After years and years of ignoring it, I finally paid attention, and learned to appreciate it for what all it went thru.  I learned to give it the respect it deserved by taking care of it so WE could be healthy TOGETHER.  This was/is big. 

Now?  I've gained 20 pounds back, and haven't been exercising the way I used to.  Me and my body are just getting back into it, with a goal of running in a 5K in August, and a half marathon in October.  We've come to an acceptance of each other finally - at 50 years old, I know now that it's not about how my body LOOKS ... it's about how I feel.  And to hell with what anybody else thinks.  My body and I ... we like it this way. 

*

I just realized this wasn't so much a letter TO my body as much as it is a letter ABOUT my body.   Hmmmm ... I wonder if that MEEAANS anything ...  issues, anyone? 

*

Goodness. 

Friday just made me a graphic, that I will love to use, once I change it from .gif to .jpg, and it's cute and perfect and I love it. 

Then I got an email from Blogher, saying my application to volunteer for Blogher '08 has been accepted and I am now an official volunteer, which means I get access to all the events, (cept for the half day I'm actually working).  !!! And guess where the conference is?  As in what city?  Yup.  You KNOW it!!! 

More motivation to get my heart rate healthy, as mdmhvonpa would tell me.  Yea, yea, yea - I want my heart to be healthy - let's just agree that I want a skinny heart. 

Jeff Gordon came in second.  Jimmie Johnson - fourth.  Dale Earnhardt - 5th.  Not a bad day for the Hendrick's team. 

Now I feel all pressurized to make my blog fascinating, worthy of Blogher material.  What have I done?  Damn San Francisco.  First it pulled me into signing up for a half marathon, a 5K race, and now a conference full of brilliant blog writers.  I don't measure up AT ALL, and?  I don't have a laptop.  How will I ever fit in? 

Cripes.  Well, if this doesn't motivate me to write more, and build up the blog to where I can maybe make some money via Etsy and advertising - nothing will. 

Mr. Pain?  You're officially put on notice.  Have your way with me, if you must, but please can't we agree on what time you're going to lay me low?  Perhaps a daily schedule, if we must.  If I let you have part of the day - every day - will that satisfy you?  Will you then give me the majority of my days, rather than flattening me for days on end, with no end in sight - to hope for sanity?   Let's make a deal.  Mmm'k? 

Let me no. 

*

Martinsville

I'm tempted to just skip writing my normal, facinating I Love Jeff Gordon posts this morning because ... I FEEL SO DAMN GOOD TODAY!

I took my meds and .... they're working.

It's almost as if Pain plays a game with me.  It fights and fights with me, until finally, I'm practically on my knees, crying "uncle", I give up, let me just die ... and then once I do that ... Pain lets go. 

Odd. 

Must go now - cannot waste this feeling good on stupid Jeff Gordon posts.

(Altho, he did start on the pole this morning, and had the fastest car till something bad happened - while I was in the bathroom staring at the pain meds, willing them to work, so I missed it.  So he went to the back of the field, but has worked his way back up to 6th so far, with about 380 laps to go)

Later dudes.  Gotta go catch up on the rest of the Internet.

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I don't do numbers

Number of dead mice Hiney has brought into the house:  6

Number of hours since I last slept:  36

Number of pain pills I've taken today:  4 times too many

Number of times I've sat down to blog:  72

Number of blogs completed:  Zero.  Perhaps one, should I press "publish" on this one.

Number of things I've forgotten:  ??? 

Number of dog walks taken each day:  1

Number of marathon training sessions each day:  1  (I do especially well on Fridays and Sundays, as those are Rest Days).

Number of telephone calls I've ignored in the last week:  72

Number of times I've wanted to scream with frustration:  72  Why:  The fine finger control required for putting on leashes and collars, doling out treats when they come when they're called, holding the camera steady, trying to keep the ear phones/ear buds/glasses on my head.  Opening a can of catfood. 

Number of pounds gained via "using food as a pain pacifier":  Too many.

Number of times I've watched the animal cruelty shows in the middle of the nite:  at least 2 each nite.  Number of times I've cried each nite while watching stupid animal cruelty shows:  at least twice each nite. 

Number of animals I wish I could adopt:  All of them.

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This, That and The Other Thing

Yesterday was day one for the marathon training.  Let's just agree right here and now that when I say "marathon", I'm doing HALF a marathon, but it seems so time consuming to write "half marathon" all the time.  Mmmm k?

...

Well, now I feel all hoity toity.  Pretentious. 

Yesterday was day one for the 1/2 marathon training. 

3 min warm-up, 30 minutes semi-fast walking, 2 min cool down.  Done.  More like 40 minutes.  My sister can testify that I was out there in the blustery elements, keeping my commitment.  I already feel better.  Speaking of which ...

Me:  Muttin, you're fat.

Muttin:  Kettle black much?  Who gained 4 pounds last week, hmmm?

Me:  That would be me, but it was my last hurray before the training starts.  As you well know, since I TOLD you that. 

Muttin:  When did you tell me that?

Me:  Every time you stared at me as I walked into the kitchen, remember?

Muttin:  No, I didn't hear you.  You know you need to make eye contact with me when you say something.  Don't all the dog books tell you that?  Doesn't your good friend, Cesar Melan explain to you the importance of eye contact?

Me:  Well, actually, he says that any dog that makes sustained eye contact with their master is believing they're the top dog, Missy. 

Muttin:  I only do that cause you confuse me and I'm trying to figure you out.  I only WISH you would take charge so that I can rest for a change. 

Me:  Yea, right. 

Muttin:  Yea, right. 

Me:  Don't mock me.  Anyways, to get back to it, you're fat and you're going to work out with me. 

Muttin:  What about Jeffrey?

Me:  He goes too, but typically, he's not fat.  That's just the way of Mother Nature, sweetie.  We females eat the same thing the males do, and we get fat.

Muttin:  Why is that?

Me:  I dunno.  Something about making babies maybe.  I seem to remember reading something about that.

Muttin:  Well, I wouldn't know about that, now would I?  Seeing as how you took it upon yourself to make it so I couldn't have babies.

Me:  I'm a responsible pet owner - that's what I'm supposed to do.  Don't tell me you want puppies!?  You don't have a nurturing bone in you body!

Muttin:  Perhaps it was taken away from me along with my ovaries?  Have you ever wondered why I have attitude, hmmm?

Me:  . . .

Muttin:  There ya go. 

Me:  Lordy.  I don't know why I even try.  It always seems like I'm on a sinking ship and you're the only one with a life jacket when we have these little talks.

M:uttin:  (Snorts)

*****

Today's training is 30 minutes of cross training, which means either weight-lifting or Pilate's, or yoga.  I haven't decided what I'll be doing, but it'll be reported on tomorrow.  You have to help me be accountable, Internet.  And readers.

Ben invited me to come visit him in San Diego again, and said something about going to a wild animal park.  So I have to figure out the dog situation again - Cowinky is having surgery, and the lady that helped last time too, is moving out. 

SFM was supposed to come home to San Francisco yesterday, but missed his plane.  I was wide awake all night last nite, so we talked half the night away, while he waited the 16 or so hours at the JFK airport for the next flight.  I guess this not being able to sleep is good for something once in awhile. 

I came up with this BRILLIANT idea on how to focus myself to one task at a time, rather than flitting from one to another as if I were a beautiful butterfly with no time on my hands, and all the time in the world to get things done. 

Well, to be truthful, I DO have time on my hands, and all the time in the world.  Which translates into me seeming to believe I can always "do it tomorrow".  Therefore, never getting anything done.  Or during the times of no pain, I get overwhelmed with what to do first and become stuck with doing nothing cause it's too confusing.

In an effort to solve this problem, I wrote the projects I want to do on little pieces of paper, and put them in a bowl on the coffee table.  Pink slips of paper mean that task needs to be done right away.  I cut up strips of paper, so that it's easy to grab when I remember things I want to do.  So far, this has been working really well, mostly for my focusing problem.  I'm not allowed to pick up an new piece of paper out of the bowl till the one in my hand is done.  And I keep the current project/slip of paper on the refrigerator.  Of all the methods I've tried to do to help me remember and be organized, this one has worked.  Partly because I LOVE the green bowl. 

So the current task is writing my training schedule down on the calendar, so I don't have to check out the website every day.  Cause once I get on line, I'm done for in productivity terms.  Damn Internet. 

One of the projects that I'm so excited about is putting my things for sale using Etsey.  I've got denim purses that I make out of a pair of jeans, the fuzzy quilts, Christmas bread ornaments, and Spider Doorway Blockers.  I think the Etsey project will be tomorrow's project.

Must go now. 

Over hill, over dale

Remember CoWinky?  The guy that has so much in common with me?  He's way gay, as much as he tries to tell himself he isn't.  He was molested by a brother when he was young, so he's not sure if he was "trained" that way, or if he would have been naturally.  Plus, he's been excommunicated from the LDS church because it's a sin, so he tries to make himself believe he'd prefer girls.  But he doesn't light up like a giddy teenager when he's thinking about dating a girl. 

I don't know why I brought him up ... there was a reason, but it's slid away behind a plaque, I think. 

I haven't talked about pain and MS lately, have I?  Wanna know why?  Cause I don't have it!!!!  Nope, not me.  I don't have pain and I don't have MS.  So sayeth I.  That's all there is too it. 

I am physically and mentally worn out from having MS.  And from hiding the pain.  I am weary from having a cheerful voice when I am not cheerful.  I HATE the tone of pity that comes across as soon as someone knows I'm in pain.  SFM feels like he can't talk to me, that he's bothering me when I tell him there's pain.  He's the talker between the two of us, but I get even quieter when there's pain, so then I feel boring.  He likes intellectual discussions, and I just don't have it in my game anymore.  Men tend to feel more helpless cause they want to 'fix it', and it isn't fixable.  My sister is THE WORSE when it comes to that pity tone, yet if she ignored the fact that I hurt, I'd be pissed. 

Did you see the widgets with the countdowns for the 5k, and the half marathon?  I start training on Monday.  I got my bike out of Wheelie's basement, and it's now parked behind the couch.  I'll start out with biking for the first week.  I've still got that last 10 pesky pounds to lose, plus the 2nd goal weight loss of 20 pounds, to get to where the charts say I should be.  I'd be happy with just the 10 pounds, but the thought of carrying anything extra around a marathon doesn't sound like much fun, so I'm going for it. 

I like numbers and goals and charts and knowing that I have to do x in order to get to y.  (Who said I'd never need algebra?)  So I'm hoping this marathon thingy will take hold and I'll feel happy again with getting healthy again. 

I need to buy 3 pairs of running shoes.  So they be rotated for drying out between long runs.  There were a couple of other frightening facts I learned from Professor Google while researching how to train for marathons.  The very first thing I read?  Choose a flat road course for your first race.  Snort!  San Francisco? 

Lombard Street, touted as the crookedest street EVA, but San Franciscan's know there's another one more crooked. 

Not my picture, robbed from Google. 

My favorite street.  I LOVE the houses.

                                                                                                                       .                                                                                                                                       

This street is about 6 or seven blocks long.  Uphill.  Unless, of course, if you're going downhill. 

I took this picture, and it bothers me cause even tho I know better, I can't tell if the street is crooked or the houses are crooked. 

.

Some famous band used to own this Victorian - it's dark gray/almost black, and I remember thinking the dark house suited the band - whoever they were. 

I tired myself out just looking at the pictures of hills in San Francisco.  Where one would be wise not to do their first distance race on ...

*

March 19 War Anniversary

Good job, George. 

Tonite, on the news, ABC said that the war has cost us 400 billion dollars so far.  400 BILLION.  Unfathomable.

I wonder if that money could have been better spent on the hungry kids in our nation.  Or maybe it could have fixed the foster care system.  Or for low income housing.  Or maybe even the health care problem.  Hell, I'll bet 400 BILLION dollars could have solved several of our major crisis's in the U.S.  How about the whole Katrina debacle?  The prison system? 

It just makes me sick.  George has lost us the rest of the world's respect.  Almost 4000 U.S. dead soldiers.  Not to mention the 3000 dead Iraqi's each month.  Why did we drink his kool-aid?  His election was controversial - that should have tipped us off.  So many shady things happened that election day in November.  Remember the hanging chads?  In my opinion - it wasn't right and I wonder where we'd be now if Al Gore have been president. 

There were no weapons of mass destruction.  We got Saddam, and he was tried and convicted, and put to death. 

So... why are we still at war? 

I remember as a child, having the greatest respect for "The President of the United States".  In my earlier adult years, I saw The President of the United States as human, but still deserving of respect.  Now?  He's an asshat. 

Go here for March 19 Iraq War Blogswarm - bloggers posting about the war.  There are far more articulate than I.

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Right Up My Alley

A project after my own heart ... pia jane bijkerk.

Which do you think I should submit? 

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I've Lost My Mind

.

Evidently, my love for San Francisco knows no bounds.  I have officially (and I do mean officially) entered the land of the insane.  I'm secretly hoping that I won't win the drawing lottery that will tell me I've been accepted.  There's so many entrants that they've had to go to a lottery system in order to determine who gets to pound their knees and brains into the ground.  In October.  Of 2008.  THIS year. 

Ask me if I can run. 

You:  Laurie, can you even run?  I mean... with your MS and all?

Me:  Gee, thanks for asking.  Your concern is overwhelming.  NO, I CANNOT RUN. 

I'm not talking about "cannot" as in I'm too out of shape to run.  I'm talking about how MS makes it seem like my legs are made of numb lead stumps of wood, and they only get worse after vacuuming 3 rooms. 

I blame Carmen of Mom of the Screaming Masses and ELFF Diet for this. 

And then?  As I studied the Internet on how to train for a half marathon (thank DOG I had the sense not to sign up for a FULL marathon, as I was almost tempted to do in my se la vie manner), I discovered that it was wise to attend a shorter run midway thru training for "practice".  So Google, bless it's heart, lead me to the tiny, little 5K run in San Francisco in August.  Idaho has no marathons.  I might just consider staying in Idaho after all.  There's alot to be said for a state with some common sense. 

So the little 5K run doesn't depend on a lottery system - all I have to do is pay my money, and I'm in.  So what do I do?  More insanity ensued and I registered.  There's something about being up in the middle of the nite that makes one feel ...powerful?  Athletic?  Or at the very least, glad there's no one up in order to be talked out of doing insane things?  I'm telling ya, this love for SF has got to calm down.  I didn't even know how far 5K was!  With my heart in my mouth, I googled "How far is 5K?"  The answer I got back?  "Five kilometers".  Ohhhhhhh.  Of course.  "How far is 5 kilometers, SmartAss Google?' 

Whew.  3.1 miles.  That's do-able. 

In my normal, obsession hell-bent tendencies, I realized as a person who can fly free, thanks to my son's employment with an airline ... I could make it a habit to fly to stupid states that DO have marathons, and run to my hearts content.  Who knew my heart was THIS discontented tho.  Hmmm ... I do love to travel tho ... .  A new hobby!  Something to do with my small, little life.  What do you think - can I transmute from a reality tv couch potato to a lean, mean running machine? 

I think it's playing dirty pool for San Francisco to entice me into a marathon, only to discover I could have VOLUNTEERED to HELP with the marathon instead.  They need thousands of volunteers.  Hmph. 

Oh!  And the final indignity?  4:30am.  That's four thirty am in the MORNING to catch the bus to get to the start line for the race. 

Damn Carmen. 

TTFN.  Must run!  (Said breezily as if I'm fit and airy on my feet, and it'll just take me a few minutes to go running, and I'll be right back)

*

PS.  -  As I debated which category to put this post in, "Abuse's Noose" seemed apt.  But that's where I write about survival stories of my childhood.  Hmmm... survival.  Does seem to fit, doesn't it? 

I'm afraid to give it a catagory of it's own.  What shall I call it?  Torture Chamber?  Loony Bin? 

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Bristol Motor Speedway, But There's A Special Note for GreenishLady

I'm having a hard time posting this, seeing as how one of my favorite readers was not enamored of my darling passion.  Sniff.  I'll get over it.  And plow on.  Move forward.  Carry on.  I'm just going to have to add some fascinating writing of OTHER stuff on these here racing posts.  That'll teach her.  She may miss something vital, like ... moving to SF.  Or getting married.  Or laid.  Hee! 

Today's race is at the short track in Bristol ... somewhere.  Tennessee?  Yes.  Bristol Motor Speedway.  Darrel Waltrip, one of the commentators, has laryngitis.  It's kinda funny, as he's the most boisterous one.  One hundred sixty thousand spectators.  LOVE to be there. 

Everything I've touched today has gone wrong.  When one of those things is coloring my hair ... not a good thing.  I haven't dared to look in the mirror yet.  I didn't go to sleep till 6am this morning.  Woke up at 10am.  Loaded up the computer, and it froze AGAIN.  Race started and I couldn't find any of my Gordon pictures in the files.  Found them.  Computer froze.  AGAIN.  Tried to take new Gordon pictures, battery in camera are dead.  Colored hair.  Found Gordon files.  Took a shower.  There's a braided rug in the tub - I wash them in the shower cause I'm afraid it'll fall apart in the washer.  Looked down and realized the rug was sitting in brown water, from the hair dye.  Ooops.  Ran out of hot water with conditioner still in my hair.  Didn't get to shave my legs.  Missed a call from SanFranMan.  Called him back.   He didn't answer.  Posted Gordon pic.  Under great distress because of what GreenishLady said last week.  Sniff. 

That is all. 

*

PS - The wedding was yesterday.  Imelda. 

Sniff.

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NOT REALLY.

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A Tail of Poo

I recently found the blog, "The Confessions of a Pioneer Woman", who writes about living on a ranch, her kids, her cowboy husband ... and she also has a cooking blog.  Plus she's funny.  She wrote in one post about 'Most Embarrassing Moments', with over 2000 comments from people telling their most embarrassing moments.  It was a contest some time ago, and it's over, but the comments are still there.  Here.  Someone won a Wii. 

Having not slept all nite, I read the majority of the comments.  What I'm wondering is ... is there something cold-hearted about me that I really don't think most of the embarrassing situations are embarrassing?  I'm a little worried as to what that might mean. 

As always, reading other blogs intimidates me - making me think I can't possibly measure up.  I must stop that.  I write for therapy and memory/journaling purposes.  Someday, my son might care to really know me and how I roll. 

Speaking of how I roll, while playing cards the other day, the subject of dog poops came up.  Of course it did.  Doesn't it come up for you when you're playing cards?  As some of you know, I used to be the Poop Police around here.  There's one particular person who doesn't pick up her dog's poop.  I had seen her earlier in the day, with her dog out front ... pooping. 

It's one thing not to pick them up in the back courtyard, but not picking them up in the front yard is much worse.  People SEE and walk out front.  I had been under the impression that the Non Poopy Picker Upper Lady had been gone for the last month.  Someone said they had heard the landlady telling NPPUL that together, they would go out on Monday to pick up dog poops. 

Her dog's face is hidden in order to protect the innocent.  Miss Non Poopy Picker Upper would sue me, I'm sure, should I expose her dog's face.  Plus ... it's not Maggie's fault ... it's not like SHE can pick up her own poops.  (Pic taken last summer cause the landlady said she couldn't do anything about it, unless she had PROOF.) 

I haven't picked up dog poops all winter.  My dogs go in the corner that her dog goes in - and it's quite disgusting.  The picture below was taken at the BEGINNING of winter ... so imagine how it is now. 

Want me to go take another picture?  Maybe I shouldn't.  These are HER dog's poopies - I was still picking ours up at that point.  But when the snow flew - I just decided if SHE doesn't have to pick them up, then neither do I.  Cause I'm so mature that way. 

Being under the impression that the NPPU had been gone all month, I said that I would have to go out on Monday too - to pick up poopies also, since it was my dogs who'd been pooping all winter in that corner - the corner the landlady is assuming NPPU's dog goes.  That it was only fair that I helped.  Well, the 3 other ladies JUMPED down my throat, telling me to mind my own business - that as far as the landlady knew, it was NPPU's doggie poops, and it was HANDLED.  I explained that it was MY doggie poops in that corner tho.  Again, they snarled at me.  Old biddies.  Finally I said "That's not how I roll".  I will be responsible for my share of dog poopies, thankyouverymuch.  They all looked at me quizzically.  "That's not how I roll" is too young of a statement evidently. 

Anyways.  Guess what I'm doing on Monday? 

Picking up after the two poopers.  Yes, they're both going at the same time.  On the leash.  Never happened before.  Thank DOG I had my camera, huh. 

That is all. 

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Treadmill Workout

12-Week Fat-Burning Workout
		Weeks 1 to 4	Weeks 5 to 8	Weeks 9 to  12
	Monday	Cardio Walk	Cardio Walk Strength Moves	Cardio Walk Strength Moves
	Tuesday	Speed Intervals	Speed Intervals	Speed Intervals
	Wednesday	Cardio Walk	Cardio Walk	Cardio Walk
	Thursday	Incline Intervals	Incline Intervals	Incline Intervals
	Friday	Rest	Cardio Walk Strength Moves	Cardio Walk Strength Moves
	Saturday	Power Mix	Power Mix	Power Mix
	Sunday	Rest	Rest	Cardio Walk

Walking the Dogs

Atlanta Motor Speedway

Today's race brought to you via the Atlanta Motor Speedway.  Click to see track details.  It's irritating when someone asks me how long the track is, or how many seats there are, or what's the incline in Turn 4.  I'm not a walking Nascar encyclopedia for heck's sake.  Sheesh.  You'd think I was an obsessed fan or something. 

Me and Jeff Gordon worked out together when I visited a friend who goes to Curves.  He and I ... we're that close that I can sweat around him.

SanFranMan text-ed me this morning "Are you ready for racing?"  It's so exciting to know I've got another convert to Nascar.   First Ben, now SFM.  It's amazing what on can do with one's feminine wiles.  Unlike Ben, SFM has the courtesy of liking MY drivers rather than that Whiny Tony Stewart.  Hmph.

Don't worry, Jeff.  Feminine wiles is just a term for batting eyes" in a beguiling manner. 

I'm organizing my life today so I can start working out at Snap tomorrow.  You'd be surprised what an effort it is to organize my life.  It's no minor detail, my life. 

Snort.

*

PS.  I can be excused for not posting the statue last week, since I was at SonOne's house, babysitting the Duke.  I knew he had down-graded from the 52-inch plasma TV, as they were watching too much TV when they should have been studying.  What he failed to mention, or I failed to comprehend - he also got rid of cable.  No cable TV.  It was inconceivable, but I survived.

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