1. Locate a large glass or plastic container. A 32-oz cup should do nicely.
2. Scoop a fairly-large amount of vanilla ice-cream into the cup. (Actually, "scoop" is not the ideal method; the best thing to do is to take a regular teaspoon or tablespoon, then run it across the surface of the ice cream. The idea is to fill the cup loosely, so that there are spaces between the bits of ice cream.)
3. Pour eggnog over the ice cream til the ice cream is covered.
4. Insert bendy-straw. (You can use the straw to stir the concoction, as well; otherwise you'll need a spoon in order to squish everything together.)
5. Drink.
6. Experience bliss.
Merry Christmas indeed!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Surfacing
Okay, you can stop panicking--I'm still alive. Pissed-off, unemployed, and plagued by cats--but alive.
Yes, that says "unemployed". The sleep apnea kicked back in--although for the majority of the time, both CR and I were convinced that it was actually narcolepsy (I was talking in my sleep, walking around and falling asleep on my feet; apparently, I was even digging poor CR with my pointy elbows at night!!)--and even though I went in for the sleep studies and got a doctor's letter to explain that I was in treatment for the problem, I was told that it was not an acceptable letter because it did not specify accommodations that could be made by the employers. Then they made it into a performance issue, claiming that my tickets were not being closed in a timely manner; the final straw came in the second week of October, when a member of my own department, one who I'd considered a friend, ratted me out to my boss and my boss's boss, telling them that I was sleepy while working on her computer. I was sent home "to get some rest" and was fired over the phone that afternoon. There are several other aspects of the situation which are ALSO bullshit; those will come up as I think of them.
Actually, though, that's pretty much the bulk of the bad news. CR is still here; I now have a car (Mom got tired of her oil-burning little Saturn and decided to buy a new car, and thus I got the oil-burner); the cats are fine, I'm happy being out of work for seven or eight weeks so far; we cashed in my 401k and so we have enough to live on for at least a few months. I'm looking for jobs, but I'm not looking terribly hard--I have some ideas percolating, along with a promise I made to myself long ago, about this being my FINAL office job.
There's more, of course, and this time I really WILL update more often; CR's presence here has been EXTREMELY helpful in getting me off my portly, unmotivated butt and at least TRYING to do something with my strengths.
Meanwhile, thank you to those of you who wrote, commmented, or just wondered where I was; I'm not sure WHERE I was; apparently, though, I was SOMEWHERE, and as far as I can tell, I've come back in one piece, and a bit better for the ride. I'll be back soon, with more stories--which is always, always a good thing.
Yes, that says "unemployed". The sleep apnea kicked back in--although for the majority of the time, both CR and I were convinced that it was actually narcolepsy (I was talking in my sleep, walking around and falling asleep on my feet; apparently, I was even digging poor CR with my pointy elbows at night!!)--and even though I went in for the sleep studies and got a doctor's letter to explain that I was in treatment for the problem, I was told that it was not an acceptable letter because it did not specify accommodations that could be made by the employers. Then they made it into a performance issue, claiming that my tickets were not being closed in a timely manner; the final straw came in the second week of October, when a member of my own department, one who I'd considered a friend, ratted me out to my boss and my boss's boss, telling them that I was sleepy while working on her computer. I was sent home "to get some rest" and was fired over the phone that afternoon. There are several other aspects of the situation which are ALSO bullshit; those will come up as I think of them.
Actually, though, that's pretty much the bulk of the bad news. CR is still here; I now have a car (Mom got tired of her oil-burning little Saturn and decided to buy a new car, and thus I got the oil-burner); the cats are fine, I'm happy being out of work for seven or eight weeks so far; we cashed in my 401k and so we have enough to live on for at least a few months. I'm looking for jobs, but I'm not looking terribly hard--I have some ideas percolating, along with a promise I made to myself long ago, about this being my FINAL office job.
There's more, of course, and this time I really WILL update more often; CR's presence here has been EXTREMELY helpful in getting me off my portly, unmotivated butt and at least TRYING to do something with my strengths.
Meanwhile, thank you to those of you who wrote, commmented, or just wondered where I was; I'm not sure WHERE I was; apparently, though, I was SOMEWHERE, and as far as I can tell, I've come back in one piece, and a bit better for the ride. I'll be back soon, with more stories--which is always, always a good thing.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
"You Really, Really Like Me!"
Sorry for the long absence; I haven't given up on this place, but it's been a hectic couple of months.
Let's see. I was put on probation at work at the beginning of July, for excessive absence and for not keeping up with the rest of the pack in terms of completed work tickets, and for increasingly falling asleep at my desk. Well, we know all about that sleep thing: Gladys hasn't been using her CPAP because it's completely worthless and blah, blah...maybe if I went in for a sleep study I could get a BiPAP, which are supposedly easier to tolerate. So I went for the sleep study, where it was decided that I do NOT have sleep apnea. The next test, at the end of next week, will either confirm or disprove the new possibility: there's a good chance I have narcolepsy. THAT will be another blog post entirely; hell, so will the work probation thing.
Next topic: CR has been living here, and we've done almost nothing but hang around and enjoy each other's company. But again--that's a post all its own. This is the happiest I've been in many years. We are very good for each other, and any skepticism I've felt has largely disappeared.
I have my all-day sleep study next Friday, which involves spending Thursday night and the whole day Friday hanging out at the hospital, taking naps throughout the day. The rest of the time, though, I hope to be able to use my little laptop to catch up on my blogging. As you can see, I won't be lacking for material!
Til then--nobody panic, as I am alive, and well, and totally swamped.
Let's see. I was put on probation at work at the beginning of July, for excessive absence and for not keeping up with the rest of the pack in terms of completed work tickets, and for increasingly falling asleep at my desk. Well, we know all about that sleep thing: Gladys hasn't been using her CPAP because it's completely worthless and blah, blah...maybe if I went in for a sleep study I could get a BiPAP, which are supposedly easier to tolerate. So I went for the sleep study, where it was decided that I do NOT have sleep apnea. The next test, at the end of next week, will either confirm or disprove the new possibility: there's a good chance I have narcolepsy. THAT will be another blog post entirely; hell, so will the work probation thing.
Next topic: CR has been living here, and we've done almost nothing but hang around and enjoy each other's company. But again--that's a post all its own. This is the happiest I've been in many years. We are very good for each other, and any skepticism I've felt has largely disappeared.
I have my all-day sleep study next Friday, which involves spending Thursday night and the whole day Friday hanging out at the hospital, taking naps throughout the day. The rest of the time, though, I hope to be able to use my little laptop to catch up on my blogging. As you can see, I won't be lacking for material!
Til then--nobody panic, as I am alive, and well, and totally swamped.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
An Informational Public Service Announcement
Friendly friends of mine, please allow me to pass along the wisdom of my many years upon this earth. (Firefly, you really wanna stop reading NOW--this post references the V word repeatedly, graphically, and in the ickiest ways imaginable.)
You know, the world is filled with lessons. "Don't touch that stove." "Don't walk down dark alleys alone at midnight." "Doctors don't tell you a damn thing you need to know."
Oh...yeah, that last one probably needs some explaining, hm?
For six of the seven most recent days, I was sick.
No, not stuffy-nose, Kleenex-trailing sick; not cramps or bird flu or bubonic plague or any of the other mild little inconveniences of life. I didn't know WHAT it was, actually; from a descriptive point of view, it was "mild stomach pain, not helped by rest, by tea, by Rolaids, by ginger ale, by Pepto, by Sprite, by changing positions; alternating with repeated retching, gagging, hurling, Technicolor yawning; coupled with nightmares (when sleeping) and really painful and undignified intestinal occurrences (fortunately, only when waking) and highlighted by the repeated and ungratified wish for the mercy of Death." Also, intense sweating (possibly due to the 90-degree temperatures) and the puking out of my spleen.
Y'all, I was NEVER sick like this before...well, okay, I was--ONCE. And that was here. Which, if you recall, involved a week's hospitalization, two major surgical procedures, and a lot of misery. I've had opiate withdrawals easier than this week was, is what I'm saying here.
I thought a lot of things. What I did NOT think was "hm, I wonder if this has anything to do with trying to wean myself off the antidepressants?"
Well, it was. In a big way. More details when I'm at a computer that is NOT in a 90+-degree room--but I've learned a LOT these last couple of days, and I'm none too happy about any of it.
More soon. I'm fine now, fortunately...not unscathed, but fine. Oh--and pissed.
You know, the world is filled with lessons. "Don't touch that stove." "Don't walk down dark alleys alone at midnight." "Doctors don't tell you a damn thing you need to know."
Oh...yeah, that last one probably needs some explaining, hm?
For six of the seven most recent days, I was sick.
No, not stuffy-nose, Kleenex-trailing sick; not cramps or bird flu or bubonic plague or any of the other mild little inconveniences of life. I didn't know WHAT it was, actually; from a descriptive point of view, it was "mild stomach pain, not helped by rest, by tea, by Rolaids, by ginger ale, by Pepto, by Sprite, by changing positions; alternating with repeated retching, gagging, hurling, Technicolor yawning; coupled with nightmares (when sleeping) and really painful and undignified intestinal occurrences (fortunately, only when waking) and highlighted by the repeated and ungratified wish for the mercy of Death." Also, intense sweating (possibly due to the 90-degree temperatures) and the puking out of my spleen.
Y'all, I was NEVER sick like this before...well, okay, I was--ONCE. And that was here. Which, if you recall, involved a week's hospitalization, two major surgical procedures, and a lot of misery. I've had opiate withdrawals easier than this week was, is what I'm saying here.
I thought a lot of things. What I did NOT think was "hm, I wonder if this has anything to do with trying to wean myself off the antidepressants?"
Well, it was. In a big way. More details when I'm at a computer that is NOT in a 90+-degree room--but I've learned a LOT these last couple of days, and I'm none too happy about any of it.
More soon. I'm fine now, fortunately...not unscathed, but fine. Oh--and pissed.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Neglectful Blogger is Neglectful
Although I must admit, the comments full of worry are kinda comforting.
So no, I have not fallen off the face of the earth, and no, I have not been neglecting you guys for CR, either--if I'm neglecting my blog and its readers for anything, it's for work, sleep, housecleaning, and Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. CR was only here for about ten days, this last time, and he's been gone for almost a week now. Right now, in fact, he's in the Bumblepoot Community Hospital and Turkey-Plucking Emporium, in the fine town of Bumblepoot, IN. They wanted to admit him for some tests--basically because his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous every time he'd go to the doctor's office; through text messages, he's told me that the results of the tests so far have been: his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous. I suspect there's more to it--they don't keep you for a full seven days just to repeat themselves--but he said it's all in the letters he's written from the hospital. (You may be thinking, "Aww, how cute! He wrote to her,"--well, this was under threat of death, and just so he had no excuses, I stamped a handful of envelopes and put my own address on them, and sent them off with him when he left on the Greyhound last Monday. Still haven't gotten a letter, but I'm thinking maybe by Tuesday one should appear.)
Everything in the CR department is wonderful, other than his health issues; we've talked through pretty much the whole history of our relationship, and he has clearly changed a LOT. And really? Even if only half of what he claims to have learned about himself is valid, that's still a vast improvement. Some of my friends have warned me to be careful about trusting him, or having any kind of emotional attachment to him. I see their point, but here's my side of the story: Even if the worst case scenario came to pass--if he ended up cheating on me again, or leaving me for whatever reason--I'd have nothing to be all tragic about. My heart would not be broken. Don't get me wrong--I love him dearly--but I've already lived without him for seven years. I'd be hurt if he left, of course, but after a few days I'd just dust myself off and find something else to do. I'm a lot older now than I was in 2002, and even in my worst depressions, I still know how to keep going. If he left me, sure I would miss him--but it wouldn't completely destroy me. I've already been down that road with him, so there's not much left about it to scare me.
Other than all that, my life has been deadly boring. Work is still an enormous stress, but I can leave it at the door when 5 PM rolls around. The kitties are fine--or as fine as demented-but-cute quadrupeds can manage to be. I really need to catch a picture of Marigold when she goes into her Foofy Diva mode--big plume of a tail in the air, chin up, stalking through the apartment as though HER name was on the lease. Snickers has developed an odd little habit--he follows me into the bathroom, then jumps on my lap while I'm...occupied, shall we say. At all other times, he steadfastly refuses to be a lap-cat...just when I'm having a sit-down does his cuddly side come in. And if he can't get to my lap, he jumps on the sink and puts his front paws on the top of my head, with his back paws on the sink. I don't know WHERE this cat came by his personality, but he is just weird and fun and amazing. And BadCat--who, in case I never mentioned it, was originally half CR's cat as well--has taken quite a liking to his prodigal half-owner, and will flop on his lap whenever the opportunity presents.
Let's see, what more is there to tell--oh, this one's good. I learned a very important lesson at about 2 AM last night, namely this: No matter what you have been dreaming about, or how much sense it makes at the instant you wake up, a can of Pepsi does not now, nor ever will, contain eyedrops. (I woke up and my contacts were stuck to my eyes from sleeping, as usual. I had been dreaming, I think, about putting drops in my eyes, and furthermore that's what I do the moment I wake up anyway, but I was a little groggy still--and so I grabbed the nearest round object, tipped my head back, and went to put a drop of saline in my eye. Well, Pepsi cans do NOT have dropper tips, and so the two drops I thought I was going to get in the corner of my left eye turned out to be about a quarter of a can of Pepsi in my eye, over my face, and down my shirt. You would imagine that pouring Pepsi into your eye would hurt insanely, and you would not be far wrong--for about two seconds. After that, it just felt cold and stupid, and other than a slight increase in the pile of laundry to do tomorrow, there was no permanent harm done--although I've definitely exceeded my quota of STOOPID for the month of May.
So yeah--I'm all well and good. I'm going to try to be more prolific in my writing here--besides which, I'm sure there will be more stories soon--but in the meantime, thanks for caring, for checking in, for reading my goofiness over and over. There's plenty more where that came from....I hope.
So no, I have not fallen off the face of the earth, and no, I have not been neglecting you guys for CR, either--if I'm neglecting my blog and its readers for anything, it's for work, sleep, housecleaning, and Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. CR was only here for about ten days, this last time, and he's been gone for almost a week now. Right now, in fact, he's in the Bumblepoot Community Hospital and Turkey-Plucking Emporium, in the fine town of Bumblepoot, IN. They wanted to admit him for some tests--basically because his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous every time he'd go to the doctor's office; through text messages, he's told me that the results of the tests so far have been: his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous. I suspect there's more to it--they don't keep you for a full seven days just to repeat themselves--but he said it's all in the letters he's written from the hospital. (You may be thinking, "Aww, how cute! He wrote to her,"--well, this was under threat of death, and just so he had no excuses, I stamped a handful of envelopes and put my own address on them, and sent them off with him when he left on the Greyhound last Monday. Still haven't gotten a letter, but I'm thinking maybe by Tuesday one should appear.)
Everything in the CR department is wonderful, other than his health issues; we've talked through pretty much the whole history of our relationship, and he has clearly changed a LOT. And really? Even if only half of what he claims to have learned about himself is valid, that's still a vast improvement. Some of my friends have warned me to be careful about trusting him, or having any kind of emotional attachment to him. I see their point, but here's my side of the story: Even if the worst case scenario came to pass--if he ended up cheating on me again, or leaving me for whatever reason--I'd have nothing to be all tragic about. My heart would not be broken. Don't get me wrong--I love him dearly--but I've already lived without him for seven years. I'd be hurt if he left, of course, but after a few days I'd just dust myself off and find something else to do. I'm a lot older now than I was in 2002, and even in my worst depressions, I still know how to keep going. If he left me, sure I would miss him--but it wouldn't completely destroy me. I've already been down that road with him, so there's not much left about it to scare me.
Other than all that, my life has been deadly boring. Work is still an enormous stress, but I can leave it at the door when 5 PM rolls around. The kitties are fine--or as fine as demented-but-cute quadrupeds can manage to be. I really need to catch a picture of Marigold when she goes into her Foofy Diva mode--big plume of a tail in the air, chin up, stalking through the apartment as though HER name was on the lease. Snickers has developed an odd little habit--he follows me into the bathroom, then jumps on my lap while I'm...occupied, shall we say. At all other times, he steadfastly refuses to be a lap-cat...just when I'm having a sit-down does his cuddly side come in. And if he can't get to my lap, he jumps on the sink and puts his front paws on the top of my head, with his back paws on the sink. I don't know WHERE this cat came by his personality, but he is just weird and fun and amazing. And BadCat--who, in case I never mentioned it, was originally half CR's cat as well--has taken quite a liking to his prodigal half-owner, and will flop on his lap whenever the opportunity presents.
Let's see, what more is there to tell--oh, this one's good. I learned a very important lesson at about 2 AM last night, namely this: No matter what you have been dreaming about, or how much sense it makes at the instant you wake up, a can of Pepsi does not now, nor ever will, contain eyedrops. (I woke up and my contacts were stuck to my eyes from sleeping, as usual. I had been dreaming, I think, about putting drops in my eyes, and furthermore that's what I do the moment I wake up anyway, but I was a little groggy still--and so I grabbed the nearest round object, tipped my head back, and went to put a drop of saline in my eye. Well, Pepsi cans do NOT have dropper tips, and so the two drops I thought I was going to get in the corner of my left eye turned out to be about a quarter of a can of Pepsi in my eye, over my face, and down my shirt. You would imagine that pouring Pepsi into your eye would hurt insanely, and you would not be far wrong--for about two seconds. After that, it just felt cold and stupid, and other than a slight increase in the pile of laundry to do tomorrow, there was no permanent harm done--although I've definitely exceeded my quota of STOOPID for the month of May.
So yeah--I'm all well and good. I'm going to try to be more prolific in my writing here--besides which, I'm sure there will be more stories soon--but in the meantime, thanks for caring, for checking in, for reading my goofiness over and over. There's plenty more where that came from....I hope.
Friday, April 30, 2010
'Cuz I Said I'd Explain It
I probably, in the previous post, should have added one small codicil to my "spring in Chicago" note, namely this:
Spring in Chicago is one of the best...blah blah blah....UNTIL it gets to be about noon, and the temperature crosses the 80-degree mark and the building you're in STILL has not got a firm grasp of the concept of "air conditioning", and then the clouds come and trap all the gooey, sticky air in places that also contain ME. THEN I start thinking longingly of days in January.
But I'm still happy.
Slightly less-happy than yesterday, however, because honestly: who WOULDN'T be happy under the following circumstances?
It's like, 9 AM and the sun is shining and you're STILL awake--not "awake again" but STILL awake, as in, I have not gone to bed--because the night before was spent in long phone-and-IM conversations with a guy who, despite various of his flaws, is apparently crazy about me (yes, I mean CR--I suppose I didn't get too far into that whole story, but rest assured that all is well, mostly, and the bits that aren't awesome are those that are outside our control at this time.) and playing computer games, just hanging out and acting like .....well, like an unemployed person, or a college girl, or someone who didn't have to get up and go to work the next day, which I didn't. (Didn't what? Didn't have to get up AND didn't have to go to work. Now, if THAT's not the combination to aim for, I'd love to know what is.)
And so, when CR and I finally hung up, and after THAT when we finally signed off on the IMs, I thought about going to bed for an hour or two....but instead I just moved my car reservation up a couple of hours and drove to the clinic. In front of the clinic, there was a guy who asked me if I, or anyone I knew, would be interested in buying a washer and dryer. I told him no, thanks, and continued in.
And when THAT was done, and when I had finished my little bit of grocery shopping (You know, I love Peapod, but there are a few items they just don't have: Lipton Extra Noodle Soup With Chicken Broth is one of those items. They have the REGULAR noodle, but not EXTRA noodle. There's a MARKED diffference) I drove home, and dropped off the car, and carried my groceries upstairs and put them away amidst a congregation of thoroughly excited cats; and then I played Bejeweled for a while; and some hours later, I finally yawned enough times that I realized: time to go to bed.
Now see, the thing about me and sleep is, it tends to grab me rather suddenly and drop me in my traces. So for instance, when I woke up this morning, I found in bed next to me two chocolate Easter eggs I was unwrapping when I was suddenly attacked by somnolence. Fortunately they were still wrapped; I've had this happen with unwrapped ones, as well. And chocolate eggs? Are NOTHING, mess-wise, compared to a Little Debbie Swiss Cake Roll. I never realized I made a fist in my sleep, until the first time I woke up with cream filling oozing between my fingers.
I woke up a couple of times between yesterday afternoon and this morning; but not many, I'll tell you that. And really, I would have been happy sleeping for a couple more hours, but it was time to get up and bumble through another workday. Since yesterday, really, involved way more "playing hooky" than "absent for a reason", I felt guilty enough to go in and act like a good employee today. (I had asked last Friday to take Thursday as a vacation day; I told them I'd made a doctors' appointment before my schedule had been changed to Mondays off instead of Thursdays. Really, though, I just knew I was going to have to go to the clinic, and wouldn't be in the mood to work. Now, we're not OBLIGATED to give a reason we're going to be out, but you kinda get the stink-eye if you don't.)
And yeah, there's something about not-entirely-policy-based absence that makes the morning seem a little sparklier, even in spring, even in Chicago. There was a lot more to the Happy than that, but since there are bits of it that trend toward that big "TOO MUCH INFO" zone off in the corner of the conversational map, we'll leave that one alone.
I will say this, though: I can't wait til CR comes back from Bumblefuck. He's got about three more weeks, he says, before everything's ready to go: his physical therapy overwith, his tax refund in hand, and that pesky little hospitalization his doctor wants, completed. (She wants to put him in the hospital to find out why his blood pressure is completely off the charts. Every time someone takes his blood pressure, he says, they try to admit him. Finally his doctor talked him into agreeing to go; now, it's just talking him into actually DOING it. And it looks like THAT task falls to lil' old me. I can't blame him for balking; I'd balk too, if I thought I was gonna hear the sort of shit he thinks he's gonna hear. And he can't blame me for nagging him, a little; if it was me, he'd nag too. Hell, he was practically ready to start nagging when I told him what MY blood-pressure was (135 over 82, but that was in the dentist's chair mere seconds before a large needle was to be jabbed into my jaw and a molar pried out with extreme prejudice. ANYBODY's B.P. would be a little high at THAT point, am I right? Yesterday at the clinic it was 127/80, which the nurse said was just fine.) I worry about CR; some of it is stress, but he's ALWAYS under stress. He worries more than anyone I know--and that's saying something.) Once all those things are done, though, he's coming back, this time for good. And then.....well, then -I- start getting to be the worried one, the one who's under stress. Because when CR comes back, everything in my life will be perfectly tolerable....except the Mom situation. The Mom situation is going to get ugly, possibly even UUUUUUGly. But I'm willing to stand up for myself, this time; hell, I'll be forty years old in a little more than a month, and if you can't live your own life when you're forty, when CAN you live it?
Til then, though, I think I'll just continue being happy.
Spring in Chicago is one of the best...blah blah blah....UNTIL it gets to be about noon, and the temperature crosses the 80-degree mark and the building you're in STILL has not got a firm grasp of the concept of "air conditioning", and then the clouds come and trap all the gooey, sticky air in places that also contain ME. THEN I start thinking longingly of days in January.
But I'm still happy.
Slightly less-happy than yesterday, however, because honestly: who WOULDN'T be happy under the following circumstances?
It's like, 9 AM and the sun is shining and you're STILL awake--not "awake again" but STILL awake, as in, I have not gone to bed--because the night before was spent in long phone-and-IM conversations with a guy who, despite various of his flaws, is apparently crazy about me (yes, I mean CR--I suppose I didn't get too far into that whole story, but rest assured that all is well, mostly, and the bits that aren't awesome are those that are outside our control at this time.) and playing computer games, just hanging out and acting like .....well, like an unemployed person, or a college girl, or someone who didn't have to get up and go to work the next day, which I didn't. (Didn't what? Didn't have to get up AND didn't have to go to work. Now, if THAT's not the combination to aim for, I'd love to know what is.)
And so, when CR and I finally hung up, and after THAT when we finally signed off on the IMs, I thought about going to bed for an hour or two....but instead I just moved my car reservation up a couple of hours and drove to the clinic. In front of the clinic, there was a guy who asked me if I, or anyone I knew, would be interested in buying a washer and dryer. I told him no, thanks, and continued in.
And when THAT was done, and when I had finished my little bit of grocery shopping (You know, I love Peapod, but there are a few items they just don't have: Lipton Extra Noodle Soup With Chicken Broth is one of those items. They have the REGULAR noodle, but not EXTRA noodle. There's a MARKED diffference) I drove home, and dropped off the car, and carried my groceries upstairs and put them away amidst a congregation of thoroughly excited cats; and then I played Bejeweled for a while; and some hours later, I finally yawned enough times that I realized: time to go to bed.
Now see, the thing about me and sleep is, it tends to grab me rather suddenly and drop me in my traces. So for instance, when I woke up this morning, I found in bed next to me two chocolate Easter eggs I was unwrapping when I was suddenly attacked by somnolence. Fortunately they were still wrapped; I've had this happen with unwrapped ones, as well. And chocolate eggs? Are NOTHING, mess-wise, compared to a Little Debbie Swiss Cake Roll. I never realized I made a fist in my sleep, until the first time I woke up with cream filling oozing between my fingers.
I woke up a couple of times between yesterday afternoon and this morning; but not many, I'll tell you that. And really, I would have been happy sleeping for a couple more hours, but it was time to get up and bumble through another workday. Since yesterday, really, involved way more "playing hooky" than "absent for a reason", I felt guilty enough to go in and act like a good employee today. (I had asked last Friday to take Thursday as a vacation day; I told them I'd made a doctors' appointment before my schedule had been changed to Mondays off instead of Thursdays. Really, though, I just knew I was going to have to go to the clinic, and wouldn't be in the mood to work. Now, we're not OBLIGATED to give a reason we're going to be out, but you kinda get the stink-eye if you don't.)
And yeah, there's something about not-entirely-policy-based absence that makes the morning seem a little sparklier, even in spring, even in Chicago. There was a lot more to the Happy than that, but since there are bits of it that trend toward that big "TOO MUCH INFO" zone off in the corner of the conversational map, we'll leave that one alone.
I will say this, though: I can't wait til CR comes back from Bumblefuck. He's got about three more weeks, he says, before everything's ready to go: his physical therapy overwith, his tax refund in hand, and that pesky little hospitalization his doctor wants, completed. (She wants to put him in the hospital to find out why his blood pressure is completely off the charts. Every time someone takes his blood pressure, he says, they try to admit him. Finally his doctor talked him into agreeing to go; now, it's just talking him into actually DOING it. And it looks like THAT task falls to lil' old me. I can't blame him for balking; I'd balk too, if I thought I was gonna hear the sort of shit he thinks he's gonna hear. And he can't blame me for nagging him, a little; if it was me, he'd nag too. Hell, he was practically ready to start nagging when I told him what MY blood-pressure was (135 over 82, but that was in the dentist's chair mere seconds before a large needle was to be jabbed into my jaw and a molar pried out with extreme prejudice. ANYBODY's B.P. would be a little high at THAT point, am I right? Yesterday at the clinic it was 127/80, which the nurse said was just fine.) I worry about CR; some of it is stress, but he's ALWAYS under stress. He worries more than anyone I know--and that's saying something.) Once all those things are done, though, he's coming back, this time for good. And then.....well, then -I- start getting to be the worried one, the one who's under stress. Because when CR comes back, everything in my life will be perfectly tolerable....except the Mom situation. The Mom situation is going to get ugly, possibly even UUUUUUGly. But I'm willing to stand up for myself, this time; hell, I'll be forty years old in a little more than a month, and if you can't live your own life when you're forty, when CAN you live it?
Til then, though, I think I'll just continue being happy.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Cryptic, But In a Good Way
Later on, perhaps, when I've actually been to sleep within the preceding 26 hours (a criterion to which now does not conform), I will be able to explain more about, offer reasons for, or otherwise expand upon, the following statement. But right now, once I have a Motrin and a Pepsi, I plan to be entirely unconscious within minutes, and so I will say only this for now:
What an awesome morning. Spring in Chicago is one of the best reasons to wish for a long life, and just at the moment I might be willing to give the human race in general the benefit of the doubt (except for the bitchy meat-department clerk at the Ashland and Roosevelt Jewel store, who was just unnecessarily bitchy when I asked her a basic question. Some people really do not like their jobs.)
In summary: Right now, I would have to say something very unusual for me....I think I'm HAPPY.
What an awesome morning. Spring in Chicago is one of the best reasons to wish for a long life, and just at the moment I might be willing to give the human race in general the benefit of the doubt (except for the bitchy meat-department clerk at the Ashland and Roosevelt Jewel store, who was just unnecessarily bitchy when I asked her a basic question. Some people really do not like their jobs.)
In summary: Right now, I would have to say something very unusual for me....I think I'm HAPPY.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Several Dozen Emotions
Okay, I'm back.
Emotion number 1: Fucking OWWWWWWWWW. I have a root-canal scheduled for Friday. So necessary is this root-canal that I actually called the dentist's office today and asked if I could move it to an EARLIER day. MAN this thing sucks.
Emotion number 2: Gah.
Today, for basically no reason at all, I got snapped at by Mister Christian--you know, my evangelical cube-mate. There are six people in my area, and since we all share a total of three cubes, we are necessarily in very close quarters. And so the custom has evolved that if someone says something interesting on the phone, even if it's none of anyone else's business, it's pretty much free for the commenting--because if it was so damn private, what the hell were you doing talking about it at your desk, which is basically stationed on top of five other people? That's what cell-phones and the end of the hallway down by the window is for--for private calls made out of earshot.
So today, in keeping with the regular norm, I asked a perfectly innocuous question about something totally non-personal which had been said a moment before, and I got my head snapped off for it. "I mean DAMN, will you mind your own business???" was one of the bits I remembered--and again, it's not like I'd done anything that hasn't been done to me a dozen times, nor gone anywhere NEAR the lines that have already been crossed about twice an hour. And my first thought--uncharitable, yes--was "oh, THAT's a Christian way to handle it...." He gives more respect to his kids--and I know, because he talks to them on the phone at least four times an afternoon!
Now, at the end of the day, because I am a doormat and because I feel personally responsible for always making everything better even when there's the slightest possibility that I might have been wrong, I apologized for not minding my own business; and after a minute or two of justifications, rationalizations, and the rest, he finally admitted that he's had a lot on his mind and he might just be short-tempered lately. I managed not to say "Ya think so???" which took an immense degree of effort. So: agnosto-paganoids 1, God-fearing churchgoers, 0.
Emotion number three: giggly twitterpation.
Yes, I'm even making mySELF sick with this one: it's a CR thing. We're absolutely sickening, I swear; all sorts of cutesy schmoopiness of the sort I most despise, all done via IM because: he went back to Boogerhump, IN last week, and I am (emotion number 3.5, here) desolate, in that spectacularly annoying way indulged in by those who know the person they miss will be coming back in a relatively short time. Of course, there's a decent chance this could be replaced tomorrow by REAL desolation; he has a doctor's appointment tomorrow which may change all our plans and annoy the crap out of both of us indefinitely. But for the moment, I'm sticking with the happy side of things....he was here for ten days and it was absolutely fantastic. I had forgotten how comfortable I am with him, and vice versa. We watched a lot of crap TV, talked until I lost my voice, listened to his music for hours (he brought a lot of old soul music and R&B, and I finally (god help me) listened to the entire TWELVE chapters of R. Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet", which made my stomach hurt (from laughing...mostly) and led, as many things with CR and I will do, to a discussion of racial and gender politics. Except we never CALL it that, of course; it's more like "...And this is another thing that annoys me about white people," (said by me, usually) or "And this is how stupid men are..." (usually his words). I was happy while he was here. I'm still happy even though he's not here now; I'm more motivated than I've been in a while, more focused, full of more plans.
Emotion number 4: wistful.
Because, you see, I remember feeling like that once before. I was a lot younger then; and a lot of things have happened since then...but I feel as though there's a chance I might able to go forward anyway. I realize how totally off that seems--that I have to be with someone in order to consider moving forward--but this may be one of those things I have to learn to accept about myself even though I don't like it very much. There are a few of those, mostly things I really cannot change; my non-morning-person-ness, my stubbornness, my insistence on arguing every possible point. I can keep all of those in check, if I try very very hard; but it's an effort, and it's painful, and even when I do my best it doesn't always help. And really, at my age, it might be time to work on changing the really SERIOUS things that need changing--like my fifteen years of apathy and guilt, and the total cessation of all but the most basic survival activities: working, eating, sleeping. That's no way to spend fifteen years; there are things I want to do, you see. And even if I can't see myself succeeding all alone, I can see myself succeeding now--because all alone, all I can think of is what might have been, whereas now, I can think about what IS.
There's more to this post, really...lots more, and I hope I'll get to it tomorrow. There's still "terrified", "resentful", "vaguely amused", "wildly hopeful", "screw you Mister Jerkface" (yes, that IS TOO an emotion), and a fair bit of "righteous indignation"--and probably a few more I'm blanking on, because it's already midnight. But I will come back to them, and in parting tonight I shall leave you with this gem of wisdom:
"OWWWWW. This tooth HURTS, dammit!!!!" --Gladys J. Cortez.
Emotion number 1: Fucking OWWWWWWWWW. I have a root-canal scheduled for Friday. So necessary is this root-canal that I actually called the dentist's office today and asked if I could move it to an EARLIER day. MAN this thing sucks.
Emotion number 2: Gah.
Today, for basically no reason at all, I got snapped at by Mister Christian--you know, my evangelical cube-mate. There are six people in my area, and since we all share a total of three cubes, we are necessarily in very close quarters. And so the custom has evolved that if someone says something interesting on the phone, even if it's none of anyone else's business, it's pretty much free for the commenting--because if it was so damn private, what the hell were you doing talking about it at your desk, which is basically stationed on top of five other people? That's what cell-phones and the end of the hallway down by the window is for--for private calls made out of earshot.
So today, in keeping with the regular norm, I asked a perfectly innocuous question about something totally non-personal which had been said a moment before, and I got my head snapped off for it. "I mean DAMN, will you mind your own business???" was one of the bits I remembered--and again, it's not like I'd done anything that hasn't been done to me a dozen times, nor gone anywhere NEAR the lines that have already been crossed about twice an hour. And my first thought--uncharitable, yes--was "oh, THAT's a Christian way to handle it...." He gives more respect to his kids--and I know, because he talks to them on the phone at least four times an afternoon!
Now, at the end of the day, because I am a doormat and because I feel personally responsible for always making everything better even when there's the slightest possibility that I might have been wrong, I apologized for not minding my own business; and after a minute or two of justifications, rationalizations, and the rest, he finally admitted that he's had a lot on his mind and he might just be short-tempered lately. I managed not to say "Ya think so???" which took an immense degree of effort. So: agnosto-paganoids 1, God-fearing churchgoers, 0.
Emotion number three: giggly twitterpation.
Yes, I'm even making mySELF sick with this one: it's a CR thing. We're absolutely sickening, I swear; all sorts of cutesy schmoopiness of the sort I most despise, all done via IM because: he went back to Boogerhump, IN last week, and I am (emotion number 3.5, here) desolate, in that spectacularly annoying way indulged in by those who know the person they miss will be coming back in a relatively short time. Of course, there's a decent chance this could be replaced tomorrow by REAL desolation; he has a doctor's appointment tomorrow which may change all our plans and annoy the crap out of both of us indefinitely. But for the moment, I'm sticking with the happy side of things....he was here for ten days and it was absolutely fantastic. I had forgotten how comfortable I am with him, and vice versa. We watched a lot of crap TV, talked until I lost my voice, listened to his music for hours (he brought a lot of old soul music and R&B, and I finally (god help me) listened to the entire TWELVE chapters of R. Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet", which made my stomach hurt (from laughing...mostly) and led, as many things with CR and I will do, to a discussion of racial and gender politics. Except we never CALL it that, of course; it's more like "...And this is another thing that annoys me about white people," (said by me, usually) or "And this is how stupid men are..." (usually his words). I was happy while he was here. I'm still happy even though he's not here now; I'm more motivated than I've been in a while, more focused, full of more plans.
Emotion number 4: wistful.
Because, you see, I remember feeling like that once before. I was a lot younger then; and a lot of things have happened since then...but I feel as though there's a chance I might able to go forward anyway. I realize how totally off that seems--that I have to be with someone in order to consider moving forward--but this may be one of those things I have to learn to accept about myself even though I don't like it very much. There are a few of those, mostly things I really cannot change; my non-morning-person-ness, my stubbornness, my insistence on arguing every possible point. I can keep all of those in check, if I try very very hard; but it's an effort, and it's painful, and even when I do my best it doesn't always help. And really, at my age, it might be time to work on changing the really SERIOUS things that need changing--like my fifteen years of apathy and guilt, and the total cessation of all but the most basic survival activities: working, eating, sleeping. That's no way to spend fifteen years; there are things I want to do, you see. And even if I can't see myself succeeding all alone, I can see myself succeeding now--because all alone, all I can think of is what might have been, whereas now, I can think about what IS.
There's more to this post, really...lots more, and I hope I'll get to it tomorrow. There's still "terrified", "resentful", "vaguely amused", "wildly hopeful", "screw you Mister Jerkface" (yes, that IS TOO an emotion), and a fair bit of "righteous indignation"--and probably a few more I'm blanking on, because it's already midnight. But I will come back to them, and in parting tonight I shall leave you with this gem of wisdom:
"OWWWWW. This tooth HURTS, dammit!!!!" --Gladys J. Cortez.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
(Not a) Very Brief Update
Firefly, on the phone the other night, said I sounded much better than that last post would indicate, and I'm going to have to agree: that was a REAL ugly day, or couple of days, and most of the interceding ones have been better.
Well, better for ME, anyway:
--Tim got locked up; as this is his fourth or fifth DUI, and at least the third accident he's caused while drinking and driving, and he was driving on a suspended license as well, we're pretty sure that he'll get out of jail around the time LittleMan goes to preschool.
--Squeaky can't pay the rent because her cash benefits got cut off--our AFDC/Link system is notoriously random like that. Plus, she lost her best friend; Mariana, who had got caught cheating by HER baby-daddy, called Tim (a few days before he got locked up) and left a voice-mail saying that Squeaky was cheating with a friend of hers (which she wasn't--they'd only met once). Tim didn't believe it, but Squeaky told Mariana to piss off; but she'd been spending so much time with Mariana that she needed somebody else to hang with (the one thing Squeaky cannot STAND is to be alone.)
--Well, Squeaky found her "friend"--Kino, the guy she was allegedly cheating with. Apparently, Mariana called HIS baby-mama and told her that he was cheating with Squeaky, and in retaliation, she put him out of their place. That was a day or two after Tim got locked up; Squeaky was alone, Kino was homeless--so guess where Kino's been staying? Squeaky told me last night that it was no longer platonic.
--And the hell of it is, all the changes she'd made while she was with Tim have disappeared. Kino and his cousin Eddie were with Squeaky when she came over the other night; they're cute enough, sure, but basically, they're garden-variety thug boys from Humboldt Park. She's dressing different, talking different, and in all other ways is more like the Squeaky I first met--the one I didn't like.
--The real victim? LittleMan. She brought him over the night she was here with the guys; no matter who was holding him, whether it was me or Kino or Eddie, he would NOT take his eyes off Squeaky. Apparently her dad had been watching him for a couple of days, and she'd just gotten him back, but he was not gonna let his momma out of his sight. He's a sweet little guy, too; Squeaky says he looks just like Tim. I can never see those kind of similarities, but he is awfully cute. I feel so bad for him--and for Tim, as well.
As for me, the real news is: CR is coming to stay here for two weeks. I really, really wish I could put into words the amount of change he's gone through; it wouldn't make any sense, though, to anyone but me. The people who care about me are all suspicious of him, and I can't blame them; how many dozen times did I swear to them he'd changed, and how many times did they then watch while things happened exactly the same way, over and over again? And what would make this time any different? If it was Deb, or Firefly, or Tim, or anyone else (what "anyone else"? lol) and I saw them going back to the same person over and over again, to be treated in the same bad way over and over again, and finally saw them being dumped in the most painful way possible, I know I'd be skeptical too, no matter how long the separation had lasted. But here's the thing: people grow up. People--well, some people, anyway--go through things in life that make them stop to look at themselves and decide: I don't like this person that I see. I don't like the things that person does. CR went through that for a long, long time. He thought about what he wanted out of life, and from what he says, one of those things was to be with me. And I'm in a better place too. No longer am I dependent on anyone's approval or good opinion of me. I can stand it if he leaves me; I can enjoy him if he stays, without losing my self again. And everything he's said to me indicates that he's glad to let me be myself, to encourage me in the things I love, instead of how it used to be. I wish I could explain it; and maybe one of the reasons I find it hard is that in many ways, it makes me think of the best days with JP. I still do miss him, more than I can even bear sometimes; it's hard to press that grief to the side long enough to enjoy being treated well again. In a way it makes me a little impatient with myself: for fifteen years you've waited for someone to love you this way again--as you are, knowing all your quirks and darknesses, but still willing to plan some magnificent visionary future--and now that you've been blessed enough or lucky enough or whatever--now that you've been fortunate enough to have that handed to you unasked, you're still moping over the little ways in which they're different? It makes me think that maybe all these years I haven't been as good at "accepting" as I thought; was there somewhere, unacknowledged, some part of me that didn't want "something like" what I had with JP--that would only accept JP himself? Was all that "understanding" that my life had changed that late-October night, just another example of being able to parrot back the right answer, rather than an answer I believed in?
When I think about CR, though--the things that attracted me to him in the first place, the things I liked about being with him--and liked enough to stay with him even despite the bad times--and the things I missed when he left, even despite myself--when I think about those things, and when I talk to him (we talk on IM every day, pretty much)...then, I can be happy just with what he and I have, without putting all sorts of psychology on it, all sorts of interpretations.
In other news:
I finally got to meet TinyGirl, Deb's daughter, whose blogname is hereby CutiePie. If I was in ANY way inclined toward motherhood, this kid would have tipped me over the edge....unquestionably the cutest baby I have ever encountered in the history of the world, ever. She's calm and laid-back; she'll occasionally let out a little fuss, then she'll calm herself down with no outside intervention. She fell asleep on me--an actual human baby actually fell asleep on me! This is unheard of. Babies do not like me. Babies scream when I hold them, steadily shrieking til I hand them back to their actual parents; not CutiePie. She let me hold her for a while, kind of blase about the whole thing, and then she started getting that groggy-face, the one where the eyelids go to half-mast, and then pop back up.....and dowwwwwn......and up....Finally she just sacked out completely, and I held her for a few more minutes and then put her in her bassinet, where Deb made her into a baby-rrito and after a moment of fussing, she was out like a light. Did I mention that she's also completely freakin' BEAUTIFUL??? One of my things with babies is, when they're born and for the first maybe 8 weeks of their lives, they generally look....well, not to put too fine a point on things, but they look like they've been extruded from somebody's cooter. Squishy and wrinkly and kinda like a little old man, except in miniature. Well, not CutiePie. Deb said that when she was born, the nurses were coming from other floors to see her little blue-eyed redhead. She's got the prettiest face and the cutest little features, and everything on her is just unusually adorable for a month-old baby. And I'm not saying this because she's Deb's kid, either; she's just an unusually pretty baby, is all.
So after CutiePie sacked out and Deb and I visited for a little bit, I left. I'd gotten an iGo car, and had to get it back, so I left around 8:40. As I walked to the car I said, "Nice fog!" thinking that it was just Deb's low-lying neighborhood that had a thick overhay of mist. Well, it wasn't. The main street I drove down to get to I-57 was foggy; the ramp was foggy; I-57 was foggy; the Dan Ryan was foggy; the offramp was foggy, the main street was REALLY foggy and so was the road through the park, the shortcut I normally take to avoid a series of unnecessary stop signs and stop lights. And the walk home--the four-plus blocks which make me nervous to walk at night on a GOOD night, was foggy to a terrifying degree. I was finally able to calm myself with the self-assurance that even the serial killers would have the good sense to stay home on a night like that, and eventually I made it home.
I'm a lot happier than I've been, honestly. I can't say my motivation is back--although I think what I'm going through now is largely just my normal procrastinating over unpleasant tasks (the laundry mountain, moving everything that will need to be moved so I can run the vacuum, etc.) I am still struggling with my creativity, still trying to overcome inertia and get back to writing and drawing and painting, but CR has promised to make it his goal to nudge me back into the things I enjoy, as part of his apology for not supporting me as I pursued those things in the past. It's another one of the things I can't explain; he says he's angry at himself for not admiring my talents enough when we were together before, and this is his way of making it better.
There's been a lot of stuff going on, really; I've got about four beginnings-of-posts that I started, but just never had the time to finish. It's not that I'm losing interest in blogging, as I've been accused of; like every other thing I like to do, I think, I've stopped doing it because there are so many things I -should- be doing that I'm not--and as you know, it's not allowed to have fun when there's undone work. But because I don't want to do the work EITHER, I do nothing--watch TV, play solitaire, fart around on Facebook--and so nothing of consequence, either fun or important, gets done.
I think, though, that I'll have much much more to write about over the next few days. (Although....as Firefly will attest, I'm generally pretty close-mouthed about the Gory Details; somehow, though, I'm pretty sure I'll have writing material even without salacious talk.)
Well, better for ME, anyway:
--Tim got locked up; as this is his fourth or fifth DUI, and at least the third accident he's caused while drinking and driving, and he was driving on a suspended license as well, we're pretty sure that he'll get out of jail around the time LittleMan goes to preschool.
--Squeaky can't pay the rent because her cash benefits got cut off--our AFDC/Link system is notoriously random like that. Plus, she lost her best friend; Mariana, who had got caught cheating by HER baby-daddy, called Tim (a few days before he got locked up) and left a voice-mail saying that Squeaky was cheating with a friend of hers (which she wasn't--they'd only met once). Tim didn't believe it, but Squeaky told Mariana to piss off; but she'd been spending so much time with Mariana that she needed somebody else to hang with (the one thing Squeaky cannot STAND is to be alone.)
--Well, Squeaky found her "friend"--Kino, the guy she was allegedly cheating with. Apparently, Mariana called HIS baby-mama and told her that he was cheating with Squeaky, and in retaliation, she put him out of their place. That was a day or two after Tim got locked up; Squeaky was alone, Kino was homeless--so guess where Kino's been staying? Squeaky told me last night that it was no longer platonic.
--And the hell of it is, all the changes she'd made while she was with Tim have disappeared. Kino and his cousin Eddie were with Squeaky when she came over the other night; they're cute enough, sure, but basically, they're garden-variety thug boys from Humboldt Park. She's dressing different, talking different, and in all other ways is more like the Squeaky I first met--the one I didn't like.
--The real victim? LittleMan. She brought him over the night she was here with the guys; no matter who was holding him, whether it was me or Kino or Eddie, he would NOT take his eyes off Squeaky. Apparently her dad had been watching him for a couple of days, and she'd just gotten him back, but he was not gonna let his momma out of his sight. He's a sweet little guy, too; Squeaky says he looks just like Tim. I can never see those kind of similarities, but he is awfully cute. I feel so bad for him--and for Tim, as well.
As for me, the real news is: CR is coming to stay here for two weeks. I really, really wish I could put into words the amount of change he's gone through; it wouldn't make any sense, though, to anyone but me. The people who care about me are all suspicious of him, and I can't blame them; how many dozen times did I swear to them he'd changed, and how many times did they then watch while things happened exactly the same way, over and over again? And what would make this time any different? If it was Deb, or Firefly, or Tim, or anyone else (what "anyone else"? lol) and I saw them going back to the same person over and over again, to be treated in the same bad way over and over again, and finally saw them being dumped in the most painful way possible, I know I'd be skeptical too, no matter how long the separation had lasted. But here's the thing: people grow up. People--well, some people, anyway--go through things in life that make them stop to look at themselves and decide: I don't like this person that I see. I don't like the things that person does. CR went through that for a long, long time. He thought about what he wanted out of life, and from what he says, one of those things was to be with me. And I'm in a better place too. No longer am I dependent on anyone's approval or good opinion of me. I can stand it if he leaves me; I can enjoy him if he stays, without losing my self again. And everything he's said to me indicates that he's glad to let me be myself, to encourage me in the things I love, instead of how it used to be. I wish I could explain it; and maybe one of the reasons I find it hard is that in many ways, it makes me think of the best days with JP. I still do miss him, more than I can even bear sometimes; it's hard to press that grief to the side long enough to enjoy being treated well again. In a way it makes me a little impatient with myself: for fifteen years you've waited for someone to love you this way again--as you are, knowing all your quirks and darknesses, but still willing to plan some magnificent visionary future--and now that you've been blessed enough or lucky enough or whatever--now that you've been fortunate enough to have that handed to you unasked, you're still moping over the little ways in which they're different? It makes me think that maybe all these years I haven't been as good at "accepting" as I thought; was there somewhere, unacknowledged, some part of me that didn't want "something like" what I had with JP--that would only accept JP himself? Was all that "understanding" that my life had changed that late-October night, just another example of being able to parrot back the right answer, rather than an answer I believed in?
When I think about CR, though--the things that attracted me to him in the first place, the things I liked about being with him--and liked enough to stay with him even despite the bad times--and the things I missed when he left, even despite myself--when I think about those things, and when I talk to him (we talk on IM every day, pretty much)...then, I can be happy just with what he and I have, without putting all sorts of psychology on it, all sorts of interpretations.
In other news:
I finally got to meet TinyGirl, Deb's daughter, whose blogname is hereby CutiePie. If I was in ANY way inclined toward motherhood, this kid would have tipped me over the edge....unquestionably the cutest baby I have ever encountered in the history of the world, ever. She's calm and laid-back; she'll occasionally let out a little fuss, then she'll calm herself down with no outside intervention. She fell asleep on me--an actual human baby actually fell asleep on me! This is unheard of. Babies do not like me. Babies scream when I hold them, steadily shrieking til I hand them back to their actual parents; not CutiePie. She let me hold her for a while, kind of blase about the whole thing, and then she started getting that groggy-face, the one where the eyelids go to half-mast, and then pop back up.....and dowwwwwn......and up....Finally she just sacked out completely, and I held her for a few more minutes and then put her in her bassinet, where Deb made her into a baby-rrito and after a moment of fussing, she was out like a light. Did I mention that she's also completely freakin' BEAUTIFUL??? One of my things with babies is, when they're born and for the first maybe 8 weeks of their lives, they generally look....well, not to put too fine a point on things, but they look like they've been extruded from somebody's cooter. Squishy and wrinkly and kinda like a little old man, except in miniature. Well, not CutiePie. Deb said that when she was born, the nurses were coming from other floors to see her little blue-eyed redhead. She's got the prettiest face and the cutest little features, and everything on her is just unusually adorable for a month-old baby. And I'm not saying this because she's Deb's kid, either; she's just an unusually pretty baby, is all.
So after CutiePie sacked out and Deb and I visited for a little bit, I left. I'd gotten an iGo car, and had to get it back, so I left around 8:40. As I walked to the car I said, "Nice fog!" thinking that it was just Deb's low-lying neighborhood that had a thick overhay of mist. Well, it wasn't. The main street I drove down to get to I-57 was foggy; the ramp was foggy; I-57 was foggy; the Dan Ryan was foggy; the offramp was foggy, the main street was REALLY foggy and so was the road through the park, the shortcut I normally take to avoid a series of unnecessary stop signs and stop lights. And the walk home--the four-plus blocks which make me nervous to walk at night on a GOOD night, was foggy to a terrifying degree. I was finally able to calm myself with the self-assurance that even the serial killers would have the good sense to stay home on a night like that, and eventually I made it home.
I'm a lot happier than I've been, honestly. I can't say my motivation is back--although I think what I'm going through now is largely just my normal procrastinating over unpleasant tasks (the laundry mountain, moving everything that will need to be moved so I can run the vacuum, etc.) I am still struggling with my creativity, still trying to overcome inertia and get back to writing and drawing and painting, but CR has promised to make it his goal to nudge me back into the things I enjoy, as part of his apology for not supporting me as I pursued those things in the past. It's another one of the things I can't explain; he says he's angry at himself for not admiring my talents enough when we were together before, and this is his way of making it better.
There's been a lot of stuff going on, really; I've got about four beginnings-of-posts that I started, but just never had the time to finish. It's not that I'm losing interest in blogging, as I've been accused of; like every other thing I like to do, I think, I've stopped doing it because there are so many things I -should- be doing that I'm not--and as you know, it's not allowed to have fun when there's undone work. But because I don't want to do the work EITHER, I do nothing--watch TV, play solitaire, fart around on Facebook--and so nothing of consequence, either fun or important, gets done.
I think, though, that I'll have much much more to write about over the next few days. (Although....as Firefly will attest, I'm generally pretty close-mouthed about the Gory Details; somehow, though, I'm pretty sure I'll have writing material even without salacious talk.)
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Yeah, Well, This One Ain't Much Better.
I would like to sell my brain.
Actually I'd be willing to barter; my screwed-up brain for a more reliable, less fucked-up model. Preferably something without total recall; or at least, with controllable total recall. I would like to be able to cut it off when it starts heading in certain unprofitable directions.
I wonder sometimes if I'm going to spend the rest of my life wishing for a few months in my mid-20's. The longer it goes, the more I'm pretty sure that's how it's gonna be. Even when everything seeems to be going right, I never feel happy like I used to. And I really, really hope this isn't what the next 20 or 30 or 50 years is going to be--although maybe it's a good thing I DON'T know, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like the answer.
Then I think, well, it could be worse--I could be Tim, who got locked up again for his ...fourth? fifth? DUI...and wrecked his friend's car (god, I am SO glad I don't have a car)...
I don't know which is worse. Being totally irresponsible with no regard for other people's property or your own well-being; or living a life that feels like it's already over, with just the work left to do. I don't know, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
Actually I'd be willing to barter; my screwed-up brain for a more reliable, less fucked-up model. Preferably something without total recall; or at least, with controllable total recall. I would like to be able to cut it off when it starts heading in certain unprofitable directions.
I wonder sometimes if I'm going to spend the rest of my life wishing for a few months in my mid-20's. The longer it goes, the more I'm pretty sure that's how it's gonna be. Even when everything seeems to be going right, I never feel happy like I used to. And I really, really hope this isn't what the next 20 or 30 or 50 years is going to be--although maybe it's a good thing I DON'T know, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like the answer.
Then I think, well, it could be worse--I could be Tim, who got locked up again for his ...fourth? fifth? DUI...and wrecked his friend's car (god, I am SO glad I don't have a car)...
I don't know which is worse. Being totally irresponsible with no regard for other people's property or your own well-being; or living a life that feels like it's already over, with just the work left to do. I don't know, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
A Very Very Big Sad
I just got a call from Tim's number; Squeaky, though, was the one who made the call. "Gladys?" she said, her voice shaking a little. "Cassidy just died, just now. And Tim's freaking out. Do you wanna talk to him?" she asked.
"If he wants to talk," I said, and she handed him the phone.
I don't know what he said, actually; he was crying so hard I couldn't make out a word. I did manage to hear him say "I gotta go now", and then he hung up.
And so I cried for a while too, and hugged all my cats, and cried some more, and fed them, and cried some more. And then just as I was getting calmed down Squeaky called to ask me if I could go with Tim tomorrow to have the cat cremated, and she told me some details I really, REALLY REALLY could have lived without, and now I'm crying again.
You know, how sometimes, when an animal lives to an old age, you can always comfort yourself by saying "Well, he had a good long life..." Cassidy, though--Cassidy didn't have a good long life. He had a crappy long life, moved around and uncertain and sometimes just terrible, and from what Squeaky said he had a crappy, painful death as well, and I want to say it's not Tim's fault but it sorta is, and it makes me angry, but mostly it just makes me incredibly sad.
I'm not going with Tim tomorrow. I'm turning off my phones tonight; I don't want to know, or hear, anymore than I already have. Mostly I just want to be here in my place, with my cats, who I love as best I know how. I wish I could have done more, though; I always wish I could do more.
Rest in peace, Cassidy--finally, in peace.
"If he wants to talk," I said, and she handed him the phone.
I don't know what he said, actually; he was crying so hard I couldn't make out a word. I did manage to hear him say "I gotta go now", and then he hung up.
And so I cried for a while too, and hugged all my cats, and cried some more, and fed them, and cried some more. And then just as I was getting calmed down Squeaky called to ask me if I could go with Tim tomorrow to have the cat cremated, and she told me some details I really, REALLY REALLY could have lived without, and now I'm crying again.
You know, how sometimes, when an animal lives to an old age, you can always comfort yourself by saying "Well, he had a good long life..." Cassidy, though--Cassidy didn't have a good long life. He had a crappy long life, moved around and uncertain and sometimes just terrible, and from what Squeaky said he had a crappy, painful death as well, and I want to say it's not Tim's fault but it sorta is, and it makes me angry, but mostly it just makes me incredibly sad.
I'm not going with Tim tomorrow. I'm turning off my phones tonight; I don't want to know, or hear, anymore than I already have. Mostly I just want to be here in my place, with my cats, who I love as best I know how. I wish I could have done more, though; I always wish I could do more.
Rest in peace, Cassidy--finally, in peace.
I'm Smarter Than I Think
So Tim and Squeaky, still broken up (I guess) are still cohabiting--if "when one walks in the other hands them the baby and walks out, often for days at a time" can be referred to as "cohabitation". Tim called me last night (at 11:30, 12:45, and 4 AM...on a work-night....before my earliest morning of the week....) and, among other things, told me that Squeaky had not been home for four days, and that a week or two ago she turned to him and told him that she was "sick of LittleMan". The kid isn't even four months old yet, and already his mother is leaving him at home with his father and staying out for days. Tim, who is not at his peak for many reasons, threatened last night to drop the baby off at DCFS and tell them the mother abandoned her child--and then walk out on both of them.
I would normally want to strangle him for at least ten reasons in just those sentences alone, but I am cutting him the most infinitesimal bit of slack for a crucial reason: Cassidy, his 15-year-old cat who has been with Tim for as long as I've known him, is dying, and Tim can't even do anything about it. When Tim told me the details, at the end of one of the phone calls--I'll spare you all from them--but when I hung up the phone, I cried for literally an hour. Poor Cassidy; he was such a good boy, and it breaks my heart that he's hurting. (I told Tim to take him to the vet not TERRIBLY far from where he lives, and I'd call in and take care of the bill for having Cass put down; but of course, Tim can't leave til Squeaky returns, and there's some drama involving Squeaky's phone, and blah blah blah--because Squeaky wants to be an immature little brat, Cassidy gets to hurt for another day, and Tim gets to hurt as he watches his beloved cat waste away. I really want to punch Squeaky right now.
And then there's Deb; the thing we were most afraid of has pretty much happened, and she's in a bad case of postpartum depression. I'm so worried for her--she sounds so sad, even though she can explain from an intellectual standpoint exactly what she's feeling and why. And her husband is NOT helping; he's choosing to stay out later than he has to; when he WAS home, he had the flu and was acting like a whiny baby the whole time. I do not understand certain men.
I understand CR a little better, though; he's been amazing, incredible, wonderful--and the only thing he HASN'T done is make it into town. If the snow would maybe manage to stop happening every three days alternating between here and there, perhaps progress would be made in this area as well. But we talk via IM every night, and we've pretty much worked out everything in the past that went wrong.
But right now, honestly, I'm just pretty glad to be me. Compared to all the things my friends and loved ones are going through at the moment, a messy house and a pile of laundry the size of Mount McKinley are practically comforting. And if I needed anything to confirm my judgement, both Tim and Squeaky with their cabin fever, and Deb with her hormones kicking her ass and her stitches in a Really Bad Place, have reminded me how much I really do NOT want to go through the whole having-a-baby thing. I guess from a philosophical/dream world standpoint, I'll always wonder what might have been; but from a practical, about-to-turn-40-and-none-too-stable-my-damn-self perspective, I've made the best decision for me.
I would normally want to strangle him for at least ten reasons in just those sentences alone, but I am cutting him the most infinitesimal bit of slack for a crucial reason: Cassidy, his 15-year-old cat who has been with Tim for as long as I've known him, is dying, and Tim can't even do anything about it. When Tim told me the details, at the end of one of the phone calls--I'll spare you all from them--but when I hung up the phone, I cried for literally an hour. Poor Cassidy; he was such a good boy, and it breaks my heart that he's hurting. (I told Tim to take him to the vet not TERRIBLY far from where he lives, and I'd call in and take care of the bill for having Cass put down; but of course, Tim can't leave til Squeaky returns, and there's some drama involving Squeaky's phone, and blah blah blah--because Squeaky wants to be an immature little brat, Cassidy gets to hurt for another day, and Tim gets to hurt as he watches his beloved cat waste away. I really want to punch Squeaky right now.
And then there's Deb; the thing we were most afraid of has pretty much happened, and she's in a bad case of postpartum depression. I'm so worried for her--she sounds so sad, even though she can explain from an intellectual standpoint exactly what she's feeling and why. And her husband is NOT helping; he's choosing to stay out later than he has to; when he WAS home, he had the flu and was acting like a whiny baby the whole time. I do not understand certain men.
I understand CR a little better, though; he's been amazing, incredible, wonderful--and the only thing he HASN'T done is make it into town. If the snow would maybe manage to stop happening every three days alternating between here and there, perhaps progress would be made in this area as well. But we talk via IM every night, and we've pretty much worked out everything in the past that went wrong.
But right now, honestly, I'm just pretty glad to be me. Compared to all the things my friends and loved ones are going through at the moment, a messy house and a pile of laundry the size of Mount McKinley are practically comforting. And if I needed anything to confirm my judgement, both Tim and Squeaky with their cabin fever, and Deb with her hormones kicking her ass and her stitches in a Really Bad Place, have reminded me how much I really do NOT want to go through the whole having-a-baby thing. I guess from a philosophical/dream world standpoint, I'll always wonder what might have been; but from a practical, about-to-turn-40-and-none-too-stable-my-damn-self perspective, I've made the best decision for me.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Just A Flat-Out Happy
Deb had her baby!!! TinyGirl, who will get a proper blog-name once I meet her, was born around 3 PM this afternoon, and is, to quote Deb, "just as precious as she can be."
And of course, there's supposed to be a blizzard tonight and all day tomorrow, so I probably won't get to meet her til Thursday; but still.
I'd sent MisterDeb (who needs HIS own blog-name too, since it appears he's gonna stick around, thank heavens--it's absolutely PAST time for Deb to get some happiness in her life) all my phone numbers--both work numbers, the home number, Mom's home number, and the number for my cell phone which is now off anyhow--just so I could hear when TinyGirl arrived; Deb had told me that she was going to be induced today at 7 AM, so when I hadn't heard from her by 5:00, I was beginning to get kinda nervous. And it did not help in any way that my desk phone, which normally rings about once a week on a busy week, chose today to ring completely off the hook. But not long after I got home, I got a call from Deb herself; talking in whispers because they had just gotten TinyGirl to sleep. She sounded extremely happy, even at the lowest possible volume.
I usually hope that blizzards really hit us hard, but I'm really REALLY hoping this one misses us pretty thoroughly. I want to meet my little niece, and get started in my role as Crazy Aunt Gladys...oh, and get a picture, for my desk at work.
After all, you can only have so many pictures of your cats before your co-workers start to have uncharitable suspicions about you.
And of course, there's supposed to be a blizzard tonight and all day tomorrow, so I probably won't get to meet her til Thursday; but still.
I'd sent MisterDeb (who needs HIS own blog-name too, since it appears he's gonna stick around, thank heavens--it's absolutely PAST time for Deb to get some happiness in her life) all my phone numbers--both work numbers, the home number, Mom's home number, and the number for my cell phone which is now off anyhow--just so I could hear when TinyGirl arrived; Deb had told me that she was going to be induced today at 7 AM, so when I hadn't heard from her by 5:00, I was beginning to get kinda nervous. And it did not help in any way that my desk phone, which normally rings about once a week on a busy week, chose today to ring completely off the hook. But not long after I got home, I got a call from Deb herself; talking in whispers because they had just gotten TinyGirl to sleep. She sounded extremely happy, even at the lowest possible volume.
I usually hope that blizzards really hit us hard, but I'm really REALLY hoping this one misses us pretty thoroughly. I want to meet my little niece, and get started in my role as Crazy Aunt Gladys...oh, and get a picture, for my desk at work.
After all, you can only have so many pictures of your cats before your co-workers start to have uncharitable suspicions about you.
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Horror: Part Two
This one just makes me want to cry, or possibly put my head through the wall. The only--the ONLY--positive thing I can say about this is, at least it wasn't her mom's mother's female parent's idea.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
4 AM Updates
For the third time tonight, I just got off the phone with Tim.
Call #1 was a two-hour catching-up call, with the occasional Squeaky-related complaint, but no signs of anything critical.
(Anyone got a guess on where this might be heading?)
Call #2, at midnight, waking me from a sound sleep, was to ask me what I thought about the following: Squeaky had called early today asking Tim if he minded if she went to her friend Malia's for a while. Then a bit later, she had called to tell him that she wasn't going to be home at 6 after all, that she and Malia were going to an 8:00 movie. And as of midnight, Squeaky STILL wasn't home, and wasn't answering her phone, and was he right to be annoyed? And did I think she was okay, or was he worrying about nothing??
Call #3, at 3 AM: "G? Squeaky just came in with the cops and took the baby and left."
I asked him, in about four different ways, what had led up to that point, and each time I got the same answer: when the phone was finally answered, it was Malia who answered, and of course Tim doesn't like Malia and was not exactly polite, but when he talked to Squeaky he had not (per him) said anything that would be construed as threatening. (Now frankly, I don't care who said what to whom; Squeaky knows Tim well enough to know that there are two, and only two, excuses for her to involve the cops: either a) he ACTUALLY puts his hands on her (not "threatens to" because the two of them threaten horrible murder ten times a day and both of them know better) or b) he ACTUALLY sets about injuring himself. (Questions of safety involving the baby are past consideration; he loves that child beyond imagination.)
Tim is now threatening his own life--though he's promised not to act on that til at least tomorrow night, and most likely will alert authorities beforehand if he DOES have such intentions--I've been down this road with him before, and right now I can tell that all he really wants are an answer as to WHY, and his baby back in his custody. The threats of self-harm are right now just Tim's shorthand for "I am miserable and sad and I don't understand what just happened to me, and I'm scared that history is repeating itself."
Well, -I- don't understand either, and though I'd like to be more optimistic, I'm afraid that history is doing exactly what he thinks it's doing. But next time Squeaky logs into her Facebook account, she's got a letter from me that would melt paint off the walls. Tim may be most-upset about this, but in the who's-most-upset arms-race, I am DEFINITELY in second place tonight.
Call #1 was a two-hour catching-up call, with the occasional Squeaky-related complaint, but no signs of anything critical.
(Anyone got a guess on where this might be heading?)
Call #2, at midnight, waking me from a sound sleep, was to ask me what I thought about the following: Squeaky had called early today asking Tim if he minded if she went to her friend Malia's for a while. Then a bit later, she had called to tell him that she wasn't going to be home at 6 after all, that she and Malia were going to an 8:00 movie. And as of midnight, Squeaky STILL wasn't home, and wasn't answering her phone, and was he right to be annoyed? And did I think she was okay, or was he worrying about nothing??
Call #3, at 3 AM: "G? Squeaky just came in with the cops and took the baby and left."
I asked him, in about four different ways, what had led up to that point, and each time I got the same answer: when the phone was finally answered, it was Malia who answered, and of course Tim doesn't like Malia and was not exactly polite, but when he talked to Squeaky he had not (per him) said anything that would be construed as threatening. (Now frankly, I don't care who said what to whom; Squeaky knows Tim well enough to know that there are two, and only two, excuses for her to involve the cops: either a) he ACTUALLY puts his hands on her (not "threatens to" because the two of them threaten horrible murder ten times a day and both of them know better) or b) he ACTUALLY sets about injuring himself. (Questions of safety involving the baby are past consideration; he loves that child beyond imagination.)
Tim is now threatening his own life--though he's promised not to act on that til at least tomorrow night, and most likely will alert authorities beforehand if he DOES have such intentions--I've been down this road with him before, and right now I can tell that all he really wants are an answer as to WHY, and his baby back in his custody. The threats of self-harm are right now just Tim's shorthand for "I am miserable and sad and I don't understand what just happened to me, and I'm scared that history is repeating itself."
Well, -I- don't understand either, and though I'd like to be more optimistic, I'm afraid that history is doing exactly what he thinks it's doing. But next time Squeaky logs into her Facebook account, she's got a letter from me that would melt paint off the walls. Tim may be most-upset about this, but in the who's-most-upset arms-race, I am DEFINITELY in second place tonight.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Re: My Paranoia Post (Two Posts Down)
So today EZ pointed out that the piece I posted, re: Jubal Aviv, the supposed terror expert, had actually been debunked on Snopes. And I clicked the link, and I said "Well I'll be damned," and thus I post this acknowledgement that, yeah--I bought it, and it's apparently bunk, and so I am slightly more-pink-in-the-face than usual. (Normally I can smell a Snopes a mile away...that one was well-done, I'll tell you what.) And regardless--some of the advice is still pretty good--re: having a plan, especially families with kids in school and what-not.
Still, all in all, I got hoaxed too, so: yeah, feeling a bit silly just now.
Still, all in all, I got hoaxed too, so: yeah, feeling a bit silly just now.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Any Ideas On This One?
Okay. So: Antidepressants.
Supposed to make you LESS depressed, yes? As in, no longer a swampy, inert mass of non-motivation?
Not being 100% sure that they were going to authorize a refill of my prescription, and having heard that the withdrawals from this one (Effexor) are a howling bitch-monkey, I cut my dose down about four days ago from 225 mg to 150 mg (from 3 pills to 2 pills) per day.
And today, though I did stay home from work due to, erm, female issues--I was motivated enough to get all my laundry done (except the blankets), to clean out the fridge, take out the trash, and to vacuum the living room (well, I WILL do that--most likely, anyway.)
Now, nothing else has changed. Just the dosage on the meds.
Does anyone else find this weird, or is this just one of those well-known paradoxes of antidepressants?
Supposed to make you LESS depressed, yes? As in, no longer a swampy, inert mass of non-motivation?
Not being 100% sure that they were going to authorize a refill of my prescription, and having heard that the withdrawals from this one (Effexor) are a howling bitch-monkey, I cut my dose down about four days ago from 225 mg to 150 mg (from 3 pills to 2 pills) per day.
And today, though I did stay home from work due to, erm, female issues--I was motivated enough to get all my laundry done (except the blankets), to clean out the fridge, take out the trash, and to vacuum the living room (well, I WILL do that--most likely, anyway.)
Now, nothing else has changed. Just the dosage on the meds.
Does anyone else find this weird, or is this just one of those well-known paradoxes of antidepressants?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Paranoia is Free, But Still I Don't Trust the Government
I'm stealing this post, unabashedly, from eatmisery. Normally I ignore stuff like this, and puke (sorry Firefly, nearly used the v-word) at the very MENTION of Fox News or Bill O'Reilly, but after reading this, I figure: can't hurt.
This was sent to me by a good friend. it pertains to what is going on concerning Juval Aviv, who was the Israeli Agent upon whom the movie 'Munich' was based. He was Golda Meir's bodyguard, and she appointed him to track down and bring to justice the Palestinian terrorists who took the Israeli athletes hostage and killed them during the Munich Olympic Games.
In a lecture in New York City he shared information that EVERY American needs to know -- but that our government has not yet shared with us.
He predicted the London subway bombing on the Bill O'Reilly show on Fox News stating publicly that it would happen within a week. At the time, O'Reilly laughed, and mocked him saying that in a week he wanted him back on the show. Unfortunately, within a week the terrorist attack had occurred.
Juval Aviv gave intelligence (via what he had gathered in Israel and the Middle East) to the Bush Administration about 9/11, a month before it occurred. His report specifically said they would use planes as bombs and target high profile buildings and monuments. Congress has since hired him as a security consultant.
Now for his future predictions. He predicts the next terrorist attack on the U.S. will occur within the next few months.
Forget hijacking airplanes, because he says terrorists will NEVER try and hijack a plane again as they know the people onboard will never go down quietly again. Aviv believes our airport security is a joke -- that we have been reactionary rather than proactive in developing strategies that are truly effective.
For example:
1) Our airport technology is outdated. We look for metal, and the new explosives are made of plastic.
2) He talked about how some idiot tried to light his shoe on fire. Because of that, now everyone has to take off their shoes. A group of idiots tried to bring aboard liquid explosives. Now we can't bring liquids on board. He says he's waiting for some suicidal maniac to pour liquid explosive on his underwear; at which point, security will have us all traveling naked!
Every strategy we have is reactionary.
3) We only focus on security when people are heading to the gates.
Aviv says that if a terrorist attack targets airports in the future, they will target busy times on the front end of the airport when/where people are checking in. It would be easy for someone to take two suitcases of explosives, walk up to a busy check-in line, ask a person next to them to watch their bags for a minute while they run to the restroom or get a drink, and then detonate the bags BEFORE security even gets involved. In Israel, security checks bags BEFORE people can even ENTER the airport.
Aviv says the next terrorist attack here in America is imminent and will involve suicide bombers and non-suicide bombers in places where large groups of people congregate. (i.e., Disneyland, Las Vegas casinos, big cities (New York, San Francisco, Chicago, etc.) and that it will also include shopping malls, subways in rush hour, train stations, etc., as well as, rural America this time. The interlands (Wyoming, Montana, etc.).
The attack will be characterized by simultaneous detonations around the country (terrorists like big impact), involving at least 5-8 cities, including rural areas.
Aviv says terrorists won't need to use suicide bombers in many of the larger cities, because at places like the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, they can simply valet park a car loaded with explosives and walk away.
Aviv says all of the above is well known in intelligence circles, but that our U. S. Government does not want to 'alarm American citizens' with the facts. The world is quickly going to become 'a different place', and issues like 'global warming' and political correctness will become totally irrelevant.
On an encouraging note, he says that Americans don't have to be concerned about being nuked. Aviv says the terrorists who want to destroy America will not use sophisticated weapons. They like to use suicide as a front-line approach. It's cheap, it's easy, it's effective; and they have an infinite abundance of young militants more than willing to 'meet their destiny'.
He also says the next level of terrorists, over which America should be most concerned, will not be coming from abroad. But will be, instead, 'homegrown', having attended and been educated in our own schools and universities right here in the U.S. He says to look for 'students' who frequently travel back and forth to the Middle East. These young terrorists will be most dangerous because they will know our language and will fully understand the habits of Americans; but that we Americans won't know/understand a thing about them.
Aviv says that, as a people, Americans are unaware and uneducated about the terrorist threats we will inevitably face. America still has only a handful of Arabic and Farsi speaking people in our intelligence networks, and Aviv says it is critical that we change that fact SOON.
So, what can America do to protect itself? From an intelligence perspective, Aviv says the U.S. needs to stop relying on satellites and technology for intelligence. We need to, instead, follow Israel's, Ireland's and England's hands-on examples of human intelligence, both from an infiltration perspective as well as to pay attention to, and trust 'aware' citizens to help. We need to engage and educate ourselves as citizens; however, our U. S. government continues to treat us, its citizens, 'like babies'. Our government thinks we 'can't handle the truth' and are concerned that we'll panic if we understand the realities of terrorism. Aviv says this is a deadly mistake.
Aviv recently created/executed a security test for our Congress, by placing an empty briefcase in five well-traveled spots in five major cities. The results? Not one person called 911 or sought a policeman to check it out. In fact, in Chicago, someone tried to steal the briefcase!
In comparison, Aviv says that citizens of Israel are so well 'trained' that an unattended bag or package would be reported in seconds by citizen(s) who know to publicly shout, 'Unattended Bag!' The area would be quickly & calmly cleared by the citizens themselves.
Unfortunately, America hasn't been yet 'hurt enough' by terrorism for their government to fully understand the need to educate its citizens or for the government to understand that it's their citizens who are, inevitably, the best first-line of defense against terrorism.
Aviv also was concerned about the high number of children here in America who were in preschool and kindergarten after 9/11, who were 'lost' without parents being able to pick them up, and about our schools that had no plan in place to best care for the students until parents could get there. (In New York City, this was days, in some cases!)
He stresses the importance of having a plan, that's agreed upon within your family, of how to respond in the event of a terrorist emergency. He urges parents to contact their children's schools and demand that the schools too, develop plans of actions, just as they do in Israel.
Does your family know what to do if you can't contact one another by phone? Where would you gather in an emergency? He says we should all have a plan that is easy enough for even our youngest children to remember and follow.
Aviv says that the U. S. government has in force a plan, that in the event of another terrorist attack, EVERYONE's ability to use cell phones, blackberries, etc., will immediately be cut-off, as this is the preferred communication source used by terrorists and is often the way that their bombs are detonated.
How will you communicate with your loved ones in the event you cannot speak to each other? You need to have a plan.
If you understand, and believe what you have just read, then you must feel compelled to send this to every concerned parent, guardian, grandparents, uncles, aunts, whomever. Don't stop there. In addition to sharing this via e-mail, contact and discuss this information with whomever it makes sense to. Make contingency plans with those you care about. Better that you have plans in place, and never have to use them, then to have no plans in place, and find you needed them.
If you choose not to share this, or not to have a plan in place, and nothing ever occurs -- good for you! However, in the event something does happen, and even moreso, if it directly affects your loved ones, then this e-mail will haunt you forever.
Telling yourself after the fact, "I should have sent this to so and so, but deleted it as so much trash from old Bill Jones, plus, I just didn't believe it", will not change anything. You were alerted, had the chance to do something, and instead of erring on the side of caution, you chose to disregard, if nothing else, a sensible, valuable warning.
This was sent to me by a good friend. it pertains to what is going on concerning Juval Aviv, who was the Israeli Agent upon whom the movie 'Munich' was based. He was Golda Meir's bodyguard, and she appointed him to track down and bring to justice the Palestinian terrorists who took the Israeli athletes hostage and killed them during the Munich Olympic Games.
In a lecture in New York City he shared information that EVERY American needs to know -- but that our government has not yet shared with us.
He predicted the London subway bombing on the Bill O'Reilly show on Fox News stating publicly that it would happen within a week. At the time, O'Reilly laughed, and mocked him saying that in a week he wanted him back on the show. Unfortunately, within a week the terrorist attack had occurred.
Juval Aviv gave intelligence (via what he had gathered in Israel and the Middle East) to the Bush Administration about 9/11, a month before it occurred. His report specifically said they would use planes as bombs and target high profile buildings and monuments. Congress has since hired him as a security consultant.
Now for his future predictions. He predicts the next terrorist attack on the U.S. will occur within the next few months.
Forget hijacking airplanes, because he says terrorists will NEVER try and hijack a plane again as they know the people onboard will never go down quietly again. Aviv believes our airport security is a joke -- that we have been reactionary rather than proactive in developing strategies that are truly effective.
For example:
1) Our airport technology is outdated. We look for metal, and the new explosives are made of plastic.
2) He talked about how some idiot tried to light his shoe on fire. Because of that, now everyone has to take off their shoes. A group of idiots tried to bring aboard liquid explosives. Now we can't bring liquids on board. He says he's waiting for some suicidal maniac to pour liquid explosive on his underwear; at which point, security will have us all traveling naked!
Every strategy we have is reactionary.
3) We only focus on security when people are heading to the gates.
Aviv says that if a terrorist attack targets airports in the future, they will target busy times on the front end of the airport when/where people are checking in. It would be easy for someone to take two suitcases of explosives, walk up to a busy check-in line, ask a person next to them to watch their bags for a minute while they run to the restroom or get a drink, and then detonate the bags BEFORE security even gets involved. In Israel, security checks bags BEFORE people can even ENTER the airport.
Aviv says the next terrorist attack here in America is imminent and will involve suicide bombers and non-suicide bombers in places where large groups of people congregate. (i.e., Disneyland, Las Vegas casinos, big cities (New York, San Francisco, Chicago, etc.) and that it will also include shopping malls, subways in rush hour, train stations, etc., as well as, rural America this time. The interlands (Wyoming, Montana, etc.).
The attack will be characterized by simultaneous detonations around the country (terrorists like big impact), involving at least 5-8 cities, including rural areas.
Aviv says terrorists won't need to use suicide bombers in many of the larger cities, because at places like the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, they can simply valet park a car loaded with explosives and walk away.
Aviv says all of the above is well known in intelligence circles, but that our U. S. Government does not want to 'alarm American citizens' with the facts. The world is quickly going to become 'a different place', and issues like 'global warming' and political correctness will become totally irrelevant.
On an encouraging note, he says that Americans don't have to be concerned about being nuked. Aviv says the terrorists who want to destroy America will not use sophisticated weapons. They like to use suicide as a front-line approach. It's cheap, it's easy, it's effective; and they have an infinite abundance of young militants more than willing to 'meet their destiny'.
He also says the next level of terrorists, over which America should be most concerned, will not be coming from abroad. But will be, instead, 'homegrown', having attended and been educated in our own schools and universities right here in the U.S. He says to look for 'students' who frequently travel back and forth to the Middle East. These young terrorists will be most dangerous because they will know our language and will fully understand the habits of Americans; but that we Americans won't know/understand a thing about them.
Aviv says that, as a people, Americans are unaware and uneducated about the terrorist threats we will inevitably face. America still has only a handful of Arabic and Farsi speaking people in our intelligence networks, and Aviv says it is critical that we change that fact SOON.
So, what can America do to protect itself? From an intelligence perspective, Aviv says the U.S. needs to stop relying on satellites and technology for intelligence. We need to, instead, follow Israel's, Ireland's and England's hands-on examples of human intelligence, both from an infiltration perspective as well as to pay attention to, and trust 'aware' citizens to help. We need to engage and educate ourselves as citizens; however, our U. S. government continues to treat us, its citizens, 'like babies'. Our government thinks we 'can't handle the truth' and are concerned that we'll panic if we understand the realities of terrorism. Aviv says this is a deadly mistake.
Aviv recently created/executed a security test for our Congress, by placing an empty briefcase in five well-traveled spots in five major cities. The results? Not one person called 911 or sought a policeman to check it out. In fact, in Chicago, someone tried to steal the briefcase!
In comparison, Aviv says that citizens of Israel are so well 'trained' that an unattended bag or package would be reported in seconds by citizen(s) who know to publicly shout, 'Unattended Bag!' The area would be quickly & calmly cleared by the citizens themselves.
Unfortunately, America hasn't been yet 'hurt enough' by terrorism for their government to fully understand the need to educate its citizens or for the government to understand that it's their citizens who are, inevitably, the best first-line of defense against terrorism.
Aviv also was concerned about the high number of children here in America who were in preschool and kindergarten after 9/11, who were 'lost' without parents being able to pick them up, and about our schools that had no plan in place to best care for the students until parents could get there. (In New York City, this was days, in some cases!)
He stresses the importance of having a plan, that's agreed upon within your family, of how to respond in the event of a terrorist emergency. He urges parents to contact their children's schools and demand that the schools too, develop plans of actions, just as they do in Israel.
Does your family know what to do if you can't contact one another by phone? Where would you gather in an emergency? He says we should all have a plan that is easy enough for even our youngest children to remember and follow.
Aviv says that the U. S. government has in force a plan, that in the event of another terrorist attack, EVERYONE's ability to use cell phones, blackberries, etc., will immediately be cut-off, as this is the preferred communication source used by terrorists and is often the way that their bombs are detonated.
How will you communicate with your loved ones in the event you cannot speak to each other? You need to have a plan.
If you understand, and believe what you have just read, then you must feel compelled to send this to every concerned parent, guardian, grandparents, uncles, aunts, whomever. Don't stop there. In addition to sharing this via e-mail, contact and discuss this information with whomever it makes sense to. Make contingency plans with those you care about. Better that you have plans in place, and never have to use them, then to have no plans in place, and find you needed them.
If you choose not to share this, or not to have a plan in place, and nothing ever occurs -- good for you! However, in the event something does happen, and even moreso, if it directly affects your loved ones, then this e-mail will haunt you forever.
Telling yourself after the fact, "I should have sent this to so and so, but deleted it as so much trash from old Bill Jones, plus, I just didn't believe it", will not change anything. You were alerted, had the chance to do something, and instead of erring on the side of caution, you chose to disregard, if nothing else, a sensible, valuable warning.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Where Am I Again?
I am....here. I'm not entirely thrilled with that fact, but there it is.
I think I'm just terminally dissatisfied with....well, pretty much everything. It's a really obnoxious way to live, but I haven't quite figured out how to shake it. Some days I think I'm getting better; some days I think I'm getting worse. I finally sat myself down a couple of weeks ago and gave myself a stern talking-to; this wallowing in despair, sleeping all day, accomplishing nothing, leaving critical tasks undone style of existence is not a viable option. I don't know why I have zero patience with myself, but it's probably because I suspect that underneath this barely-conscientious exterior, I am in reality a giant lazy slug who requires sternness to operate. Of course, this being the self-opinion with which I was raised, in large part, it makes sense.
In terms of real life as it exists outside of my navel, things are going (I guess) well. Squeaky and Tim, amazingly, still haven't lost their apartment or broken up; the baby is now just over 2 months old. I've only been out to their place once; watching Tim and his buddies drink just isn't my idea of fun. Debbie will be having her baby any day now, which is probably tops on my list of Things I Am Most Ambivalent About; on one hand I am totally thrilled with the chance to be Crazy Auntie Gladys and to get to teach her all the fun crafty things in life; on the other hand, I'm terrified that Debbie will go off into Mommyland and stop being herself. That would suck, since she's one of my very few local friends and is also one of the few people who can remember my childhood in detail. I don't think it will happen, but I've seen stranger things. And regardless of what happens parenting-wise, I hope she doesn't have the baby within the next couple of weeks; CR is going to be in town next weekend and I'd really rather not be pulled in FOUR directions at once. (I'm already going to be pulled in three--CR, work, and Mom--so the advent of TinyGirl would complicate that equation to no end.)
Speaking of things tiny....Marigold, the tiny little fluffball, is now an extremely non-tiny little fluffball. She's practically as big as Snick, and ten times as noisy. I was routinely amazed by how someone so tiny could make so much noise; I don't think I've ever had a cat be so talkative in my life. Apparently her brother, Tim and Squeaky's little Tiger, is still really small; not surprising, since he's been sickly all his life--he came to us with a cold and an eye infection, and he's been battling both of them off and on ever since. And of course, Squeaky, who was the one who couldn't bear the thought of losing Tiger to someone else, now has LittleMan--so Tiger is getting the short end of the stick attention-wise. (Squeaky says he's terribly jealous of the baby--whenever either she or Tim picks LittleMan up, Tiger gives them both the stink-eye. Stories like that are what makes me scoop Marigold up off the floor and give her a big kiss, despite her new tactic of placing a paw across my mouth the minute I pick her off the ground. It's cute, and it would be effective in making me not cuddle her silly if it wasn't always accompanied by her big motorboat of a purr.)
Work is okay, I guess. I mean, I'm glad to have the job to go to, and the paycheck, but like everyone else I'd really like to whack my boss upside the head and ask him why, exactly, he's so damn stupid. But--again, like everyone else--I put up with it. It's really sad, how dumb people get to be in charge. Even I--the one who for years has said that I was never cut out for a management job--could manage better than he does. It's just TRAGIC. But in terms of jobs, I've got no real complaints (unless you count "doing something you'd rather not be doing while NOT doing the things you were actually born to do" as grounds for a complaint--but without JP, that's going to be the rest of my life no matter what--so yeah, not so bad right now.)
And no, in case anyone was wondering, I haven't lost interest in this blog...any more than I've lost interest in anything else, which I will admit has lately been quite a lot--but since that includes literally EVERYTHING I enjoy, I don't think it's a reflection on the blog as much as it is a reflection of my interest in life. I'm trying to fix that, but man--it's rough. I have an appointment with my prescribing doc this week, and I'm going to bend his ear about this apathy thing--I'm not sure the meds are working, but I'm also not sure it's not mainly my fault as well. Either way, something has got to give; eventually either we'll find the right pill, or whatever-it-is that's making me this way will disappear, or some other miracle will happen--and I'll start enjoying things again. (And by "things" I mean "things that are not Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls", which are some of the most addictive little snacky bastards out there, and I highly advise everyone to avoid them, so there's more for me.)
I think I'm just terminally dissatisfied with....well, pretty much everything. It's a really obnoxious way to live, but I haven't quite figured out how to shake it. Some days I think I'm getting better; some days I think I'm getting worse. I finally sat myself down a couple of weeks ago and gave myself a stern talking-to; this wallowing in despair, sleeping all day, accomplishing nothing, leaving critical tasks undone style of existence is not a viable option. I don't know why I have zero patience with myself, but it's probably because I suspect that underneath this barely-conscientious exterior, I am in reality a giant lazy slug who requires sternness to operate. Of course, this being the self-opinion with which I was raised, in large part, it makes sense.
In terms of real life as it exists outside of my navel, things are going (I guess) well. Squeaky and Tim, amazingly, still haven't lost their apartment or broken up; the baby is now just over 2 months old. I've only been out to their place once; watching Tim and his buddies drink just isn't my idea of fun. Debbie will be having her baby any day now, which is probably tops on my list of Things I Am Most Ambivalent About; on one hand I am totally thrilled with the chance to be Crazy Auntie Gladys and to get to teach her all the fun crafty things in life; on the other hand, I'm terrified that Debbie will go off into Mommyland and stop being herself. That would suck, since she's one of my very few local friends and is also one of the few people who can remember my childhood in detail. I don't think it will happen, but I've seen stranger things. And regardless of what happens parenting-wise, I hope she doesn't have the baby within the next couple of weeks; CR is going to be in town next weekend and I'd really rather not be pulled in FOUR directions at once. (I'm already going to be pulled in three--CR, work, and Mom--so the advent of TinyGirl would complicate that equation to no end.)
Speaking of things tiny....Marigold, the tiny little fluffball, is now an extremely non-tiny little fluffball. She's practically as big as Snick, and ten times as noisy. I was routinely amazed by how someone so tiny could make so much noise; I don't think I've ever had a cat be so talkative in my life. Apparently her brother, Tim and Squeaky's little Tiger, is still really small; not surprising, since he's been sickly all his life--he came to us with a cold and an eye infection, and he's been battling both of them off and on ever since. And of course, Squeaky, who was the one who couldn't bear the thought of losing Tiger to someone else, now has LittleMan--so Tiger is getting the short end of the stick attention-wise. (Squeaky says he's terribly jealous of the baby--whenever either she or Tim picks LittleMan up, Tiger gives them both the stink-eye. Stories like that are what makes me scoop Marigold up off the floor and give her a big kiss, despite her new tactic of placing a paw across my mouth the minute I pick her off the ground. It's cute, and it would be effective in making me not cuddle her silly if it wasn't always accompanied by her big motorboat of a purr.)
Work is okay, I guess. I mean, I'm glad to have the job to go to, and the paycheck, but like everyone else I'd really like to whack my boss upside the head and ask him why, exactly, he's so damn stupid. But--again, like everyone else--I put up with it. It's really sad, how dumb people get to be in charge. Even I--the one who for years has said that I was never cut out for a management job--could manage better than he does. It's just TRAGIC. But in terms of jobs, I've got no real complaints (unless you count "doing something you'd rather not be doing while NOT doing the things you were actually born to do" as grounds for a complaint--but without JP, that's going to be the rest of my life no matter what--so yeah, not so bad right now.)
And no, in case anyone was wondering, I haven't lost interest in this blog...any more than I've lost interest in anything else, which I will admit has lately been quite a lot--but since that includes literally EVERYTHING I enjoy, I don't think it's a reflection on the blog as much as it is a reflection of my interest in life. I'm trying to fix that, but man--it's rough. I have an appointment with my prescribing doc this week, and I'm going to bend his ear about this apathy thing--I'm not sure the meds are working, but I'm also not sure it's not mainly my fault as well. Either way, something has got to give; eventually either we'll find the right pill, or whatever-it-is that's making me this way will disappear, or some other miracle will happen--and I'll start enjoying things again. (And by "things" I mean "things that are not Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls", which are some of the most addictive little snacky bastards out there, and I highly advise everyone to avoid them, so there's more for me.)
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Wow...It's Been THAT Long?
Okay. First: I am alive.
Second: I am...reasonably well, at the moment, though last week I could have cheerfully killed whichever member of the CTA-riding public had passed along his or her pathogens to me. (It had to be the bus. Public vehicles are like Winnebagos for microbes.) But now I am healthy, as much as I ever am, and apart from the usual suspects--the irritations of daily life and a case of morbid depression--I'm roughly indistinguishable from the masses.
However, the fact that it's now been a MONTH since I've last posted--even taking into account the whole "it-was-the-holidays" thing--startles me quite unpleasantly. That's a long damn time, is what it is, and while I'll be the first to tell you that nearly nothing of note has happened in that time, I could have at least tossed out a post or two regarding the adorable insanity of my cats--or another post about I-Go, regrettably, with a possible tangent questioning why it is, exactly, that my clinic days seem to coincide perfectly with the most damnable weather EV-ER. (Because remember that snowstorm Thursday morning, the one that hit its peak during the morning rush? Guess where I was? Oh yeah. Drivin' in a Prius and sliding around like it had skis instead of wheels. My normal 60-75 minute errand to the clinic, the grocery across the street, and back home took THREE HOURS, and adding to the insult, WLUP fired Jonathan Brandmeier, the morning guy, and so there was nothing of consequence for me to listen to while sitting in traffic. Pack of bastards.)
Other than that, though--cats and cars and totally unnecessary winter weather--not much has been going on. Maybe I'll think of something tomorrow, but I just wanted to volunteer that yes, I am alive; and that I'm not drowning in the Slough of Despond, or anything like that; not much, anyway. Hope you all are well, and I'm sure something will piss me off fairly soon.
Second: I am...reasonably well, at the moment, though last week I could have cheerfully killed whichever member of the CTA-riding public had passed along his or her pathogens to me. (It had to be the bus. Public vehicles are like Winnebagos for microbes.) But now I am healthy, as much as I ever am, and apart from the usual suspects--the irritations of daily life and a case of morbid depression--I'm roughly indistinguishable from the masses.
However, the fact that it's now been a MONTH since I've last posted--even taking into account the whole "it-was-the-holidays" thing--startles me quite unpleasantly. That's a long damn time, is what it is, and while I'll be the first to tell you that nearly nothing of note has happened in that time, I could have at least tossed out a post or two regarding the adorable insanity of my cats--or another post about I-Go, regrettably, with a possible tangent questioning why it is, exactly, that my clinic days seem to coincide perfectly with the most damnable weather EV-ER. (Because remember that snowstorm Thursday morning, the one that hit its peak during the morning rush? Guess where I was? Oh yeah. Drivin' in a Prius and sliding around like it had skis instead of wheels. My normal 60-75 minute errand to the clinic, the grocery across the street, and back home took THREE HOURS, and adding to the insult, WLUP fired Jonathan Brandmeier, the morning guy, and so there was nothing of consequence for me to listen to while sitting in traffic. Pack of bastards.)
Other than that, though--cats and cars and totally unnecessary winter weather--not much has been going on. Maybe I'll think of something tomorrow, but I just wanted to volunteer that yes, I am alive; and that I'm not drowning in the Slough of Despond, or anything like that; not much, anyway. Hope you all are well, and I'm sure something will piss me off fairly soon.
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