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.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
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.)
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