Sisyphus

...and we have an answer

2010-09-20T09:52:00.002-04:00

Monosomy X (Turner Syndrome).
In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, 'so it was a girl", thus confirming my suspicion.
However, the very basis of monosomy X is the lack of a "Y" (or another X), so that theory doesn't really prove anything.
Plus, the genetics testing from the previous female lost showed nothing abnormal whatsoever, further proving we know nada, nothing, zilch. That is, regarding my persistent bad luck. Each time it is something new or different, so... I don't know.
Throw caution to the wind and see what new and improved disorder or freak accident we can conjure up? Or close up shop and board the windows?
I'm a huge fan of fate and/or destiny and/or random happenings; I don't care to meddle where my interference is either useless or unwelcome. It's not the "meant to be" factor, rather more of an "Eh, whatever. Let the chips fall where they may". I've long since decided that if the outcome of anything is somehow contingent on my efforts, and it FAILS, then I can't handle the disappointment or guilt or shame or general let-down that ensues. This applies, of course, to those areas of life where I have no control.
Any amount of functioning logic should tell me that repeated failures might indicate a change in perspective could be beneficial. Like, maybe, stop leaving something like this up to random misadventure and become more involved. You know, put an end to the potentiality (is that even a word?? it is now) and stop letting chance have its way with me. Stop being so easy.
Yet, it feels like I'd be giving up. Like I'm a quitter. And, "what if" we missed out on something amazing because we tried to make things happen (or not happen, in this case). My own twisted version of the butterfly effect, chaos not included.
Too much to grasp at this time; I'm not feeling too philosophical at the moment and I've got other stuff to do.
Just sayin'.

Local Woman Devoid of Answers

2010-09-11T07:14:00.002-04:00

Breaking News
An area woman declares she knows next-to-nothing about her mysterious visitor: who it was or why they vacated the residence without warning.
"Sure, I wasn't expecting company, so I wasn't prepared - the room was probably a mess and I've been told I'm not the most hospitable host... but I tried really hard", stated the property owner.
Previous residents have related, "It's a nice place to visit, but ya wouldn't want to live there".
The area is currently closed for renovation. Future use of the site is questionable at best, state authorities. Zoning regulations are being reviewed.

The doc called Thursday evening. He received a requisition for approval of further genetic testing (FISH) as no cells grew. NONE. They were unable to do a single thing with the placenta and other tissues/fluid sent. He hadn't heard back from pathology about the teeny little autopsy specimen. At the very least, I would like to know the gender. Even if I could find out it was another female, then my expansive coping skills can conclude (by assumption) that I have problems carrying a specific gender, and I can gain some closure. It's the not knowing that bugs me.

Please don't let tomorrow suck

2010-08-31T20:15:00.002-04:00

Going back to work tomorrow, and I just know somebody, at some point, is going to piss me right off.
For the most part, the people I work with are decent, caring folks. And I do understand that sometimes even the most well-thought-out comment can be mistakenly perceived as a shot. Read: I tend to be defensive.
Someone will tell me this happened for a reason.
Which, really, I hope it did. I hope the karotyping shows some abnormality that gives this loss a purpose. If it is another "perfectly normal fetus", I might just scream.
Someone will tell me god works in mysterious ways.
I will bite my tongue until it bleeds.
Someone will be so bold as to suggest maybe it's for the best, you were really stressed out by the situation.
At which point I will burst into sobs.
I had not experienced a pregnancy of my own, failed or otherwise, (failed of course, epic fail), while at this current place of employment. Everyone is now well aware of my history; during the Gestational Festival of 2007-2008/9, I played the pity card on a few occasions so that I would not be subjected to wanton saturation of all things pregnancy-related. We had, I believe, four children and six grandchildren born during that time, and honestly, I was about to gag.
I was able, however, to move past the pain and jealousy somehow, and grew to give a small shit about everyone else's picture perfect fairytale world.
Most recently, say within the past year, I accepted that I was no longer in the "still hoping for a bless-ed miracle" state of mind. Rather, I was starting to enjoy my midlife crisis. Age forty didn't hit me hard; approaching 41 pulled the magic carpet right out from under me. Forty-one meant I was in my forties. I wanted Change. I needed a challenge. Rather career or personal, I wanted to shake things up a bit. I decided I'd go back to school and finally finish my Master's. My boss approached me about an advancement track meaning more leadership responsibilities and more money, so why not go all-in? I'd even begun to ponder my future marital status because of some long-standing issues that have become practically unbearable. The Boy is an adult now, and I can afford to support myself, why spend the rest of my life stuck in an unhappy situation when there could be greener grasses out there over some other fence? (This is my midlife crisis talking, bear with me).
So, here I am, wanting something different, something more, some Change to usher in my old age... imagine my shock when I found out I was knocked up. Right out of the blue, just like that. Wasn't trying, was no longer considering myself a candidate for such a feat, WTF?
I'll be the first to admit, I wasn't immediately thrilled. I actually was a little upset. OK, alot.
For a brief while I had forgotten that this wouldn't amount to anything, and allowed myself a tiny bit of Freak-Out. But then I accepted it, and moved on to Cautiously Waiting. A few more weeks where NBHHY, and I started to WANT this. Maybe THIS is what I needed? Maybe this IS a blessing and oh man wouldn't it be super-cool to be an old mommy with a second chance at starting over again and things would be different and better and oh what an exciting opportunity!
And then it died.
I mean, what else would it do?
And I feel guilty for ever wishing it hadn't happened.
I feel horrible for not wanting it that first couple of weeks.
Because that is when it stopped growing.
And I feel like I caused it. Nevermind my history and my shit luck.
I found out late in the 6th week and it died just prior to the 8th.
When I had to have my little selfish crisis. Me me me.
Nevermind that I carried it for four more weeks, blissfully unaware.
Like a little reminder that I could have had what I wanted but I blew it again.

Someone, at some point, will remind me how freaked out I was at getting pregnant (I was in shock! I couldn't help but be a little unnerved.)
And that someone will equate the loss with being a relief, and I will get angry. Or bawl. It's kind of a toss-up at this point, because that's all I've been doing lately. I'm mad at the universe and feeling sorry for myself.

And this just sucks. I don't wanna go back to work tomorrow.

The highlight reel, and some retrospect

2010-08-28T08:42:00.008-04:00

I had posted a long, drawn-out, detailed account of yesterday's happenings at the old Stirrup Corral, but decided that would best be kept in my personal archives. Nobody really wants to know all the details. Thus, I will give you only the key points.

The little one was still floating in the amniotic sack, like a little oval water balloon, about the size of a 'jumbo' egg from your local friendly supermarket.

It was "right there, almost through the cervix" when I assumed the position. As such, there was no 'procedure' required.

I asked, and was allowed, to view the contents, which I found very interesting from a biology standpoint. The baby was about the size/shape of two tiny peanuts or a whole cashew.

Placenta sent for genetics, everything else sent to pathology. Will be a few weeks before we know anything.

I believe that in viewing the "specimen", as it was, is on some level disengaging my psyche from dwelling on this as losing another "child". I know that probably sounds quite odd to most people, but for those of you who know me, I feel assured you probably understand, or are at least trying to. Dissociation and all.

Even though whatever pregnancy hormones I had are still around at lowish levels, I am finding the sudden drop in the massive progesterone intake has all but ceased any 'symptoms' I had experienced. My boobs aren't nearly as achy, and the gas seems to be dissipating. (Sorry, to those in my immediate vicinity). I am much less tired, but still rather weepy. And a little bit crabby. (Can I blame that on the hormones? Really? Cool.)

In hindsight, some of those that knew about the pregnancy, and now the loss, have told me that I "just didn't look well, or healthy". The husband of a friend told her a couple of weeks ago that he thought something didn't seem right, shouldn't I have that 'pregnancy glow', or at least not look like the walking dead? And he was right. I mean, early pregnancy symptoms are one thing, outright miserable-ness is something else. And now that it's all over, I have to admit I feel less 'toxic', overall. Funny that *I* didn't pick up on the "this seems too excessive, something must not be right" vibe.

The baby died, by measurements, at just shy of 8 weeks. So, maybe carrying around a dead fetus for a month can do weird things to one's body. One (good?) thing about it being an early loss, is I'm not (yet) experiencing the lactation experience. The one I lost at 13w (that actually WAS 13 wks) did involve some slight leakage and firmness in the old girls, but this one has not, for which I am grateful.

I'm still a wee bit crampy as the Uterus of Doom attempts to shrink back and clamp down. (I'm visualizing an Iron Maiden or a venus flytrap). Hardly any spotting, and just a little mucous discharge (lochia, perhaps?).

I'm enjoying better living through pharmacology while I have a few days off work.

Thank you all for your supportive responses. I really do appreciate all my friends and fellow sisters-in-loss. It really does soften the suckage factor to know someone understands.

One more notch on my belt

2010-08-26T20:00:00.003-04:00

11w5d ~ 0330am woke up feeling 'damp'; blood in the panties.

And then the cramps. More blood over the next couple of hours.

Urge to push. Stood over towels on the floor and squatted.

:::cough:: Plop. Large pile of calve's livers. Scooped it up into a clean container.

Dripping, trickling blood while trying to get dressed for the hospital.

Lab work showed Hcg dropped to 4000-something. (was like 21k at 6wks)

L-o-n-g, detailed sonograms, both external and internal - the tech turned the screen away and said it was "hospital policy" to not share the info until the radiologist read the report to the attending physician.

Uncomfortable internal exam to remove more piles of clots from my 'pelvic vault' or whatever.

"I'm sorry but there is no heartbeat. The fetus has dropped low and is lying at your cervix. You have not yet begun to dilate; your cervical Os is open, but we can't access the fetus from here. Your doctor does not feel you'll be needing a D&C at this point. You should pass it soon while you're resting at home. Call your Ob/Gyn today to get an appointment".

Doc calls me during my nap. Said he was reviewing the film and labs; believes the baby died around 7w5d, so about 4 weeks ago. The prometrium kept my body thinking it was pregnant.

(I believe I correctly predicted this already).

The husband is torn up, was crying out to "god" asking why, why us, why now, why again?? We're good people. What point could possibly be need made by doing this??

Another one sent for karyotyping.

Appt in the morning with the doc who will try to extract the remains from his procedure room. Believes that at less than 8 weeks, there should be little to no placental material to remove; thus no D&C. Have believed this before, and after a month of intermittently heavy bleeding, ended up with the D&C and a blood transfusion. But that baby actually was >12wks, so there were retained placental fragments at that time.

This whole thing is suck a mindfuck. The first couple of weeks were an emotional nightmare to me, incredulous, couldn't believe this happened, and I honestly was in shock and not really happy about it either. I became cautiously hopeful. As of about 3 days ago, I was actually excited. I wanted this. We were predicting a girl. I was, dare I say it, happy.

Doesn't pay off for me to get happy or hopeful.

Some sick part of me wants to try again immediately, with careful monitoring and/or assistance for my hormonal support. I'm not getting any younger, and we got to the point where did, indeed, want this. The husband, though, says no, and he'll get a damn vasectomy, because he NEVER wants to have to go through this again. EVER. He can't stand seeing me suffer, and this one in particular hit him like a ton of bricks. He got over the age thing, and had begun planning his future around it. And now he feels lost without a purpose.

But this is all just first-day shock talking. In a few days we'll be back to the cold angry cynics we'd become long ago.

Sorry for the wait

2010-08-19T22:46:00.003-04:00

I was on vacation. That, and waiting for more exciting news, of which I really have little to share.

Still no spotting, which is great.

Prometrium is still enhancing each and every early-pregnancy symptom, which is not so good - for two reasons. One, it makes me super-miserable. Two, it causes me concern that the symptoms are only present because of the drug, and not because I'm actually still pregnant.

Had my intake appointment which essentially was a waste of time, as well as a clusterfuck of idiocracy at the office. Honestly, I question the expertise of the staff whom I encountered. But, in fairness, I can't expect them to have had experience with my particular history, so I will cut them some slack. And I vow not to bitch and moan about every little thing.

At the time, I was just shy of 10 weeks, so the attempt at dopplering a heartbeat was a failure. I was not concerned, as I knew this. While I would have liked a follow-up u/s just to prove the little one was still alive, I know that the absence of any bleeding, cramping, or other misery is a mark in my favor, and so I wait.

Going for the "first trimester screening" (nuchal translucency scan and papp-a/free beta hcg labs) on 8/31.

Hubby is working on baby names and trying to figure out how to redecorate the nursery for a potential girl. It's cute behavior, and I'm glad he's keeping occupied, but all I can do is just bide my time and 'wait and see', day by day.

11w on Saturday. Time is dragging by.

I'm thrilled to report: "so far, so good".

I must get off on it

2010-08-01T22:12:00.002-04:00

...torturing myself, that is.
I can't leave well enough alone.
These early days are going too well, I tell myself.
I almost became complacent and relaxed.
Overcome with sudden curiosity, I decide I need to do some comparisons.
So, I go back through my old posts from the Fall of 2005. When I lost my 13+wk little girl.
Was I on Prometrium then? I knew I had taken it with Nick. Twice. Because when I stopped the 1st time, I started bleeding again.
My progesterone level with Nick was 17.9 at 6wks. Within normal limits, but I was bleeding, so we used Prometrium. And I carried him to term. (Cord accident at 35wks for those not in the know).
With the last one, my progesterone level was a whopping 28, at 4w3d! Here, in hindsight, I had thought surely that was the problem. I got to thinking, maybe that's why the placenta separated, just as it should have been taking over, maybe I had something wrong with my progesterone levels. Did I take it with her? No, I did not, because the levels were more than sufficient. No spotting with that pregnancy. And I lost it anyway.
So with this one, at 6wks, my progesterone was only 10. So, yeah, I'm taking the supplement. And it appears to be working, so why am I trying to compare?
Cuz that's what I do.
So far, I haven't had one spot. But my fingers are still crossed.
And I swear I'm not obsessing. Not this time. I have become much too zen over the past few years to devote more attention than necessary to incidental happenings that are out of my control. I may be able to influence a thing or two, but it is so completely out of my hands - I'm just along for the ride.
Just wanted, for clarity's sake, to know the numbers. And to prove to myself that nothing means anything. Every single situation is different, and you just can't compare. So I won't.

Bluuurgggghhhhhh

2010-07-27T05:07:00.002-04:00

Feeling crappy. Yesterday the tiredness, weakness, general malaise hit me like a ton of bricks. Was in bed by 2130. All I did was go shopping at WalMart, wtf?
This morning 0400 came way too soon. Do I really have to go to work? Am I gonna be able to keep working through the next 7 months or so? Can I get disability for being crazy and/or lazy?
I'm taking the nastiness as a good sign. Really I am. I always forget how lousy pregnancy makes me feel. It's just... sooo... ick.
Oh yeah, and I'm old.
So very old.
How am I gonna find the energy to deal with a live child?
See? That's my positivity right there.

My future daughter-in-law asked me... 'Aren't you supposed to stop drinking coffee when you're pregnant?'
I looked her right in the eye and told her "I stopped drinking vodka. Small steps, my dear."

So far, so good

2010-07-24T23:00:00.002-04:00

Dildocam yesterday showed the heartbeat, crown-rump length put me at 6w6d.
No spotting yet.
Prometrium makes me so effin SICK but it's a necessary evil.
First "visit" mid-August. I had to laugh. I get to see the intake nurse and get my packet of freebies. I will put it with all the other ones. I honestly asked - again, like I did before - can't I just skip that step? Just set me up with the good doc and forget all the formality? Nope. Whatever.
Day by day, all I can say.

We don't do 'normal'

2010-07-20T04:19:00.003-04:00

If our calculations are right, confirmed pregnancy #6 is at 6w3d. No spotting yet, but every little twinge gives rise to a panty check.
Beta Hcg 20,982
Progesterone 10.2
Started prometrium last night.
Dildocam this week.
I'll be 41 years old in a few weeks.
G will be 47 if this one makes it.
The Boy will be 22.... Twenty.Two.
I could be a grandma. Instead, I like to mix things up a bit.
When (she) goes to the prom, we will be old, old, old.
WTF?
For the record: unplanned, unprepared, unbelievable.
Unfuckingreal.

How do you label this?

2010-04-08T12:09:00.003-04:00

My thoughts today are on Catherine.
I am so sorry.

Now, this song keeps running through my head. It may not be completely appropriate but I wanted to share.

Halfway.
I got to know you best before/during/after Travis. So of course my mind is focused on him, and the similarities, I suppose.

I love you, my friend.

Can't make them understand

2009-10-15T08:24:00.004-04:00

On this day, of all days, I sit here and simmer with so many things I want to say - need to say - to make them understand. And nobody gets it. How could they? Just as I could never possibly really know what it's like to lose a limb, a parent, or my sight. It's one of those things you certainly have to experience for yourself to grasp the significance. Sure, you can sympathize, and imagine how hard it must be, but until you've been there yourself, you really are just an observer.
So it is with my friends at work.
This weekend will be a baby shower for a gal I'm quite fond of. This will be the fourth baby born in the past year or so within my small department. I can't attend this shower any more easily than I could acknowledge the other births. Sure, I look at the pictures, and ask how they're doing; heck, I even held one baby for an abnormally long time.
But, I can't do a shower.
As you may recall, my own baby shower for Nicholas was the icing on my bitter cake.
I had been in the hospital overnight, on our wedding anniversary no less, due to Nick failing an NST, and ultimately an oxytocin challenge. They found a nuchal cord but the color doppler indicated good circulation, and it was not believed to be tight around his neck. The doctor released me on the day of my shower. The shower itself was quaint and cozy with few attendees but family and a few friends. I got clothes and gift cards for the baby, but felt so distracted because he just wasn't real active. That night, we went out and bought all the furniture, car seats, carrier, swing... all the big stuff, because I just knew there were issues and he would be born early. The doctor was aiming for the next week... just one more week to get him a little stronger, a little older. I'd already had the one steroid shot for his lungs. I had daily monitoring and NSTs, things looked OK. On the 4th day he was dead. Upon delivery we found knots in his cord that had not been visualized on the sonograms. If I had stayed in the hospital for continuous monitoring, rather than going to my shower, would more distress had been discovered, and maybe he'd be alive today?
I have a complete nursery fully furnished, including clothes, diapers and nursing pads, just waiting to be used by a baby. But I can't give it away. I'm holding onto it for dear life, and that is somehow pathological.

Three to the fourth power

2009-02-28T00:58:00.002-05:00

I came to glance, to poke around, to remember. And at the bottom of my page sits a ticker that prompted me to say, "huh. how 'bout that."
Even though everything in my being is screaming in rememberence of Nick, I felt it necessary to comment on the baby girl's status.
3 years, 3 months, 3 weeks, 3 days... since another star burned out.
Ah, yes.

Thomas woz there

2008-03-27T21:44:00.002-04:00

Perhaps I need someone to lead the way out. My very good friend Jill found the door and backed out quietly. She left the lights on, and couple of house plants over here that need watering, but took all the damn furniture. So now what?
I've been thinking for a while that there's really no use for my own blog anymore. My work life has taken over any semblance of a personal life, in actuality. What I have to offer here is basic pissing and moaning that in no way reflects the dear god please help save me from myself urgency that initiated my tome.
Am I cured? Fixed? Healed? All better now?
Fuck. NO.
I'm every bit as crazy and then some. I still cry, almost daily.
I'm not "cycling"; I can't call this an infertility blog.
A "loss" blog, yes, but people tire of hearing sad stories and I sure as hell can't make it any more entertaining.
A "life" blog? Well, maybe. But I'd have to change a few things here and there, I suppose. I feel very compartmentalized. While the whole of me encompasses all the varieties of experiences in my life, I still feel some sick need to keep things separate. This is the everyday me. This is the work me. This is the crushed by life's unfair treatment and why the fuck can't I cry if I want to me.
To be honest with myself, I haven't moved on. I added more baggage to the closet upstairs, and am shopping for some storage organizers. I'm not quite ready for the garage sale.
My name is Julie, and I'm a professional hoarder.
Soon, perhaps, I'll be ready to turn a corner, flip the page, write the conclusion. Maybe. But not yet. If I allow myself the time and the heartache, there is so much I have left to say. About everything, nothing, and all things in between. For now, denial and silence seem to be working in my favor. Go me!
Jill, my love, my pal down-under... I am so pleased that you are in the place where you need to be now. You go, girl. Rock on.

Brain Scan

2008-02-26T03:27:00.000-05:00

Small Talk

2007-12-18T23:00:00.000-05:00

DD has an interesting post up over at T.K.O.
It brought to mind some weirdness from work the other day.
A 40'ish lady from another department wanders near me, doing her thing.
"Hey, how ya doin'?"
Good, how about you?
Not bad, thanks. Quiet night.
Yeah, here too.
::silence::
::more work::
That's a nice top.
Thank you! I wasn't sure about the pants, but I guess they match.
Yeah. Looks good.
::silence::
My boyfriend picked it out.
[smile]
::silence::
I had a pretty interesting weekend.
[ ? ? ]
Yeah. Slept with him for the first time.
[ wha?] ::incredulous look of WTF::
::uncomfortable silence::
You, uh... you...
I mean I slept over for the first time.
How long have you been together?
About six months.
That's great.
Yeah. He's great.
So, you, uh... you slept at his house?
[trying to look terribly busy. c'mon phone...ring]
Yeah, it was a little strange. He's like all over the bed and stealing the covers and stuff. I was more worried about morning breath. ::giggle::
[oh dear god help me]
::smile::
::silence::
[seriously trying to find a distraction.]
Yeah, he's really something. He really proved himself to me when he showed up to videotape me singing at blah blah blah....
And so she went on for another 20 minutes, detailing the past several months of their courtship. I don't even know her name!
WTMFI.

Okay with it

2007-12-18T22:18:00.000-05:00

One of the ladies I work with has miscarried. Fourteen weeks into her pregnancy, (at her first appointment), they discovered that the embryo stopped growing at 6w. Her body just didn't realize it. Neither did she, as her lack of symptoms just seemed okay. She said she didn't know any better, but she's okay with it. She was able to avoid a d&c with the administration of cytotec. She said that since it had been 10 years since her last pregnancy, she had forgotten what to expect, and hoped that maybe her body was just cleaning out and preparing for the next one to stick, as she intends to try again. She said other than the intense bleeding, she really wasn't too bothered by it.
"It's not like we were trying or anything; it really wasn't planned."
Now, I know that miscarriages happen all the time, to anybody.
And I know that not everyone has to try hard to get pregnant.
I also understand that one hasn't had sufficient time to "bond" with the baby that early in the pregnancy.
{For instance, my loss at 13 weeks hurt most because it was right on the heels of losing Nicholas. Yes, I ache for what could have been, but I wasn't as emotionally invested in the pregnancy yet. I think the news that I'd lost a little girl that time hurt more than the fact I had lost another child.}
Certainly, I don't expect everyone to react with complete hysterics at the news of a loss.
I don't even feel that everyone needs to cry.
But her nonchalance has me puzzled. And I don't know why.
Perhaps it's because she doesn't struggle with infertility. She chose not to have another child between her firstborn and this loss. She has a new-ish husband, who is much older, and again I must point out (yes, this is a different woman than the co-worker I spoke of before), the husband was "shocked and worried" because he didn't really want/need more kids. She's all like "Oh well, no big deal", and I honestly believe that is her stance. I can't read anyone's mind, but if you knew this gal, you'd understand that she is truly unfazed.
I swear I don't have some sick need for her to be a blubbering mess. I don't. And I know that my own frustrations don't amount to a hill of beans to someone who hasn't been there.
There's nothing you can do about it.
Move on.
Get over it.
Shit happens.
So, why does this even warrant any thought on my part?
You've all had losses - do you find the unemotional "Eh, oh well!" behavior a little weird?
I won't even ask if maybe I'm just nuts. 'Cuz we all know the answer to that one.

My cat is smart

2007-12-16T23:20:00.000-05:00

My basement is more like a garage, minus the car. And, you know, it's under my house.
In one section we have the lawnmower, an emergency kerosene heater, some other miscellaneous assorted power tools, and a workbench. The other side is mine. It is where the litter box is kept, the laundry is as least washed, for pete's sake (would you get off my back!), and a handy little bathroom is hidden away in a far corner for those quick visits. I used to have a craft corner down there until I lost all motivation. I don't LOVE my basement, but its an integral part of the household operation. It is where a lot of our crap is stored. As a matter of fact, if you're missing some of your crap, it's probably in my basement.
The Boy was working on his dirt bike. Oil was spilled. Words were exchanged.
We threw down fresh cat litter to absorb some of the oil. Chelsea (my kitty) figured a huge pile of cat litter spread out in the open like that must surely be a gift for her highness.
Anyone ever try to sh0p.vac up oil-soaked cat litter clumped with cat piss and chunks of cat shit? Go ahead, get a mental picture.
So glad this occurred on their side of the room. I need to build a wall.

Feed(ing) the need

2007-12-08T10:04:00.000-05:00

Somewhere along the line blogger has added new tools and stuff that I was unaware of, until now. Call me low-tech or whatever.
So did I fix the feed whatjamagigger?

It's going to snow?

2007-11-30T09:51:00.000-05:00

Yeah, so, I'm spending my day off taking care of all kinds of things like errands and chores, and the like. That's what we do, isn't it? So rare to have an actual "day off" without something planned. As a matter of fact, I tend to let just about everything slide until the coveted day off, and then groan about having so much to catch up on. Sigh. Bad habit. One of many.
Have been driving around on a 'donut' since Monday; will be getting a new tire put on today. Debate with husband over one or two?
Need groceries. Badly. Mold on bread, funny-tasting milk. Have PB but no J. Want some cheese and soup. And hotpockets. 'Cuz that's what we eat around here. As much as one might believe that I am all caviar and truffles, I'm afraid to admit a macaroni casserole is about all I can muster.
Started period. 26 day cycle this time. Do I need more pads? My guess would be sure, why not. Can't have too many, in my opinion. Bet we're running low on TP, too. Dollar General, here I come!
Took the trash up early this morning under the cover of darkness. Today's ensemble included a long yellow tunic with brown leggings, a blue velour jacket, and pink fuzzy slippers. Witnessed by 8 or so earlybirds at the school bus stop next to my home. Oh yeah, I guess it wasn't as early as it felt. Damn. (hey, it was the first clean thing I could grab off the basket of unfolded clothes in my basement!)
Need to finish laundry.
Dryer belt needs replaced ASAP. Squeaking like crazy. Will probably break just when the hubby needs his hunting clothes. Crap.
Want another haircut. Didn't get the top like I'd hoped. More layers? Shorter. And my roots need done. Am I too young to just let it go all salt n' pepa like it WANTS to?
Two final papers due for Monday class. Out of inspiration. Couldn't put two thoughts together to make a point if I needed to right now. Full deck? Debatable. 52-card pick up? For sure.
Heh. Spent a good chunk of my morning convinced tomorrow was new year's eve. WTF was that all about? There's something I'm forgetting, hmmm, let's see.... oh yeah DECEMBER. Duh!
The windows we had to special order should be in today. Which means the hubby will be busy trying to get them in this weekend or next. Did anyone else notice that it's winter? Little oversight on our part. Kinda stupid, dontcha think? To be fair, we did order these weeks ago. Our existing windows aren't anywhere near a normal, standard size. As it stands, we will still have to build in the opening to make up for the empty space these won't fit. Really no reason why we can't wait for spring to install them, or at least a warm, dry day. Warmish, I should say. But, you know, a man with a project unfinished is a man much like any other, but with tools and a dream. Or something. Rocks in his head, I'm sayin'.
Oh, and by replacement windows, I mean we bought four. Not the 12 or so windows we need, just a few to start the ball rolling. Kind of like when we painted only half of the house. In a similar-to-but-not-quite-near-enough matching color of paint. Sigh.
Off to the dentist.

Update and explanation(s)

2007-11-28T03:18:00.000-05:00

The update to this never-ending saga is thus: my fellow infertile is actively pursuing treatment! Good for her! Her MIL mentioned having to drive her to Big City General, "either today or Saturday; Monday might be too late, I'm not sure"; as the overheard conversation continued, she said, "it all depends on when she ovulates. I've got my cellphone charged and ready!" At this point, curiosity ate a hole in my boundaries and I just HAD to ask, of course. She had no details, and believe or not, I do have enough couth not to pry further. Missy had initially shared with me her struggle, and sought advice. Somewhere along the line she became very private, in that she didn't talk about it to anyone but her own mother (and husband, and physician, but you get my point). MIL said she just learned about it the other day, herself. I have to sit back and laugh, however, because now that we have two confirmed pregnancies and three others trying their damnedest to get there, too, it's almost like a fucking contest at work. My boss is fretting about how she's going to staff when everyone's out on maternity leave, and I cynically wonder which one I'll be consoling when their rose-colored world turns gray. There are those who are so convinced that trying = success, they can't possibly imagine the alternatives; they believe that "I want a baby" means nine months from now they will have one. As such, for every other person I work with, the potential five pregnancies this winter means a stressful summer/fall for everyone. Period. On the flip side, in the years prior to my own losses, I know that there is usually at least one that doesn't cross the finish line. It's just checks and balances, simple chance, the way things work. When I was expecting The Boy, there were NINE of us in my division due within two months of each other. Eight of us completed the task, including one mother delivering a profoundly handicapped twin. The 9th lost hers in the fifth month. All I'm saying is, there is room for error. Shit happens. You just don't expect it until it happens to you, and then you are always on the look-out for more shit. Hey! Here's some now!

I received an email from someone desperately bored and brimming with desire to put me in my place. I had previously assumed that my place was this blog, where I discuss my business, (and generously make it your business, too). I was cautioned to try to be a little less bitter and maybe not so condescending and brash - who do I think I am, anyway? Is my self-esteem so very high I feel like I can insult others and wish them harm?

What? (?!)

Everyone has their own battles in life; perhaps seeing past your own troubles will help you to be more accepting of others.

Huh?

Egotistical... blahblahblah... hateful... blahblahblah... whatevah.

For starters, let me be clear about this one thing: my blog, my thoughts. Don't read it if I offend you. If something I say does offend you to your very core, you likely are not someone I would value as a confidant and friend. Therefore, we can cut both our losses and move on.

I will go further to state that what explodes out of me in this medium is in no way representative of my public demeanor. And yes, I am quite sure of that. Just like most of us who have lived and experienced life and interactions with real people in the real world, one must know how to behave in social situations. Everyone has two sides, and that is the beauty of blogging, journaling, or having close friends you can talk to; it allows you to get out the scary, bad, hateful thoughts with minimal risk of doing actual harm. At work I must be therapeutic, nurturing, and level-headed. At home, I might let a little bit of the bitch seep out, but then I have to clean up after myself. On here, I can dump a hot load of bitch any time I damn well please, and feel pretty fucking good about it, thank you very much. Think of it as therapy. Primal scream, anyone?

I have never wished anyone harm. I do wish others would be slightly more aware of the hell that does exist. Not "might" as in maybe, nor "will" as in absolute; just "does" It is there, it is real, and it does occur indiscriminately to anyone at any time. Be prepared. I don't sugar coat shit; I advocate for the removal of blinders in sensitive situations. Bear in mind that I have not approached an unsuspecting innocent and completely blindsided them with negativity. Very little of my reality-based information has come unsolicited. If someone approaches me with a question or comment that requires a response, I am then allowed an appropriate opportunity to share. More often than not, it is happy and positive; hopeful if you will.

Anonymous assumes that I am petty and perhaps entitled in the way I view who is deserving and who is not. I suppose I am. There, I'll admit it. To this day, I still can't comprehend "why" crack whores squeeze out kid after unwanted kid while those of us who have been to hell and back multiple times can't catch a break. In the case of my coworker - who is decidedly *not* a crack whore - (and now tells us she wasn't really *trying* but wasn't exactly preventing either) - she was "surprised" when she got pregnant and had to talk her husband into embracing the idea of another mouth to feed... I do still wonder "why" her? Why not someone who is more prepared, willing, and able to care for a new bundle of joy? Not just me, but what about Missy? She is young, healthy, stable... the randomness of it all is frustrating. I don't really feel as though my currently-pregnant coworker is less deserving, I know she has lots of love to give. What I don't want to hear are the increased complaints about finances, babysitter woes, lack of sleep, ad nauseum, while Missy and I would give our left tit for those same problems. To be fair - how many fat, stupid, poor women do you know who are aggressively trying to get (and stay) pregnant? Just seems to happen naturally, doesn't it?

So, yes, that bothers me just a little bit.

Supercool

2007-11-15T16:09:00.000-05:00

Wow, must be something in the water...
Yesterday we learn that another co-worker is also expecting.
And, hey, guess what else!
A third and fourth are also trying.
It's been three (or four) months, now. Wonder what's taking so long? (they muse)
Hmmmm. Yes. Makes one wonder, don't it.
The only gals that aren't trying are are the ones who are too old to bother.
Then there's us. Missy and me.
Melissa and I are the "infertiles".
And people say: I wonder how Missy feels about this. She's sure to be upset/sad/enter your own negative feeling here.
Not everyone is aware of, or remembers, or has been subjected to my stories. And that is good. I am not the center of attention, nor do I wish to be. Do I want their pity? Maybe, maybe not, it's hard to pin down. What I would like, is a world with no tense situations to even make me question my own feelings. I'd like two tickets to there, please. One way. First Class. Lots of baggage.

Ready, Set, Bitch

2007-11-13T05:43:00.000-05:00

For the first time since we lost Nick, someone in my actual vicinity is pregnant. Someone I work with, whom I have to see every day, someone who is "hormonal" as another peer thoughtfully pointed out.
Rumors had been circulating that she was "trying". Today, I got the news.
"I'm pregnant! Only about 11 weeks or so... my first appointment is in two weeks! I'm so excited! I just want to know that everything is okay."
I mean sure. Why not. At least 150 lbs overweight. Not the sharpest tool in the shed. No education to speak of. Makes the lowest hourly wage we offer. She's a good 10 years younger than me. With a two year old. Who doesn't sleep. And drives her up the proverbial wall. She complains about him so much I can't fathom how she's going to deal with a newborn.
A newborn.
Yes. Most babies live.
Just not mine.
I look at my sweet Nicholas' picture here on my desk. He is so beautiful; perfect in every way. Why couldn't I have him?
I think about this ignorant bitch getting an effortless wish granted, and I'm seething with hate.
I am so fucking sick of crying. I've got nothing left but bitter tasting tears and complete ambivalence about everything.
I wonder when I'll just get a grip and move on.

omg snlmao

2007-10-07T23:40:00.000-04:00

Yeah, so I had to get some technical support for "snlmao".

Cell phones.

Love the concept. Can't imagine how tedious and lonely my life was b4.

Young kids have them. Old people have them. I feel so empty if I leave the house w/o mine. What if I get into an accident, get lost, run out of gas, have car trouble, need to call 911 or save someones life? Do we need milk, where r u, what size/color/style jeans did you tell me to buy, I'm running late, hey while you're out can you...?

But - the ringback tones? Had enuff, thx. Clearly marketed to teenagers whose survival is based on a soundtrack. I expect to hear it if I'm calling my son or The Girlfriend or any of his buddies. I *don't* expect to hear it from my boss's number or a realtor. I'm not talking about the regular ringtones that you get to share with everyone in earshot - I mean the dreaded way-too-loud CRAP that I have to endure while waiting for the person *I* called to pick up on the other end. "Please enjoy the music while your party is reached." Not likely, bitch. What's wrong with the old-fashioned one ringy-dingy, two ringy-dingy that worked so well? Bah!

As an added bonus, if the person you're calling doesn't answer, you are instructed on how to disconnect, or how to leave a message. Really? Is it that complicated? If I want to disconnect, I may hang up? OR, press 1 for more options. To leave a message, press 3. Why can't it just roll right to the beep in the first place? And - To send a FAX... ?!? WTF?

SO not laughing my ass off. (snlmao for those of you still with me).

The kid ran up $77 worth of out-of-network text messages a couple of months ago. I thought, why surely, there must be some mistake.

There was no mistake, and don't call me Shirley.

I printed out every single effing one (thanks to online account activity statements!), about 45 pages - PAGES - worth of what number to/from and when (no content though, darn it). We're talking over fifteen hundred (1500!) text messages - one thousand five hundred. Again, I say, WTF?
He didn't realize the offending party wasn't in his network. Whatevah. Payback is hell.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
I got a new kitten! She is just ADORABLE! So tiny and squeaky and cuddly, and very, very smart. Never makes mistakes or talks back. Very neat and tidy. I'll post pics soon.

eewwwww

2007-08-30T23:10:00.000-04:00

Every one has it. Some fear or sincere distaste of something that creeps them out. Maybe not quite a phobia per se, but a healthy "ick" factor that gives ya the willies.
G hates snakes. "Anything that can move that fast without legs is not normal," he says. He will not remove an eel from his fishing line either, choosing instead to beat it off the ground until the eel lets go or the line breaks off. Then there was the time he threw himself into the wall with a high-pitched squeal because a hamster ran between his feet. I won't call him a sissy, because he is such a otherwise manly man, being in the same room as him boosts my testosterone levels to freakish proportions.
The Boy seems to be afraid only of the laundry hamper, and a hard day's work. And sometimes, maybe soap.
I usually have a fairly level head about any living creature, and in small quantities, I can live amongst whatever nature has put out there. If I wanted to get a little wigged out, thinking about the dust mites in my pillow might do it, or the "good" bacteria living on my skin and in my colon... but I have to confess something.
Massive amounts of spiders creating a giant web that covers two football fields worth of trees is grody. Watching the video did not help. All I can envision is one enormous "queen" spider safely hidden somewhere, ready to eat the next passerby. :::Shudder:::
Sweet dreams.

The cold, hard reality, as voiced my me

2007-08-29T17:35:00.000-04:00

Two very significant conversations occurred today, in which my role was more of a participatory listener; yet, I nevertheless felt compelled to put in my two cents' worth of pessimism.
I must be a joy to work with.

Conversation one was stumbled upon as I came into the middle of an already established tale of the fresh engagement of a co worker's son and the girlfriend she never liked anyway. They're getting married because of an undisclosed uterine condition that will render her infertile (if not already), and they "need to get a jump on having at least one child before she can't". Whatever this problem is, it "can only be cured by menopause or hysterectomy". Mind racing... thinking... fibroids, endometriosis...?? The bare bones of it is, she doesn't currently have health insurance, but will once they tie the knot. Then, they can undergo further testing and treatment, so "she can have the baby in the next year or two before it's too late". The girlfriend smokes heavily, reportedly has abnormal cycles, and is nearing 30. The mother-in-law-to-be stated that she didn't like the girl, but she figures she will at least get a grandchild out of the union. They'll be married in the spring, and hope to be pregnant by the end of next year.

I wanted SO BAD to ask what the diagnosis (if known) was. Instead, I cautioned that things don't always go as planned, and I wished them luck because it sounds kinda risky. How encouraging could I have been? I felt bad after I said it, but the nonchalance attitude made me bristle.

After listening day after day about this or that unplanned pregnancy, announcements that so-and-so intends to be pregnant by October so she can be off for the summer, and someone whining about having ANOTHER boy when they really wanted a girl, I am at the end of my kindness limit. Usually I walk away from the conversations, or at least keep my mouth shut, but today was not one of those days.

Conversation number two came when someone from another department wandered in for unrelated business, and offhandedly mentioned that she was going to be a grandmother "on Christmas Day!". Everyone was so excited! This woman "wished that they could schedule an induction for the week before so [she] could be off to visit". She was disappointed that the doctor wouldn't induce. Can you imagine the nerve of him, expecting the mother to go naturally whenever "that stubborn child decided he was ready"? Add to that the inconvenience of laboring on Christmas; we all know how perfectly timed deliveries are, right? She went on the further explain that this is her first grandchild. She had been "keeping her mouth shut" for the first three years, but decided she couldn't wait anymore and "started dropping hints". She even bought her DIL V!ctor!a's $ecret lingere to "get the ball rolling". Finally, five years into the marriage, they confessed that they were having trouble conceiving. "Can you imagine?" she asked. "I told them something must be wrong, but the doctor didn't do anything about it. But she's pregnant now, so I guess I worried about nothing".

Nothing. She's worried about nothing. Besides a supposed Christmas birth.

Did she really need me to detail all the various things she COULD worry about? Probably not.

I commented that it took us 15 years to have our second child, and he was stillborn.

"I'm sorry," she did say, followed by "but you do have one. Maybe that's all you need. God only gives us what we can handle."

I swallowed hard and chewed carefully on my tongue before launching headfirst into the standard "I don't think "god" has anything to do with it. If you mean to imply that "he" felt I could handle a dead baby over a live one, I believe you are sorely mistaken." She changed the subject to ask about my particular fertility struggles, since she is so sure something must be wrong with her son and his wife that it takes them 5 years to conceive, and maybe I could offer some advice; all I could say was "no". "There are a variety of infertility diagnoses available, and their doctor should be able to assist them if they continue to struggle. All I know is that my miscarriages and stillbirth have made me a lot more cynical, and I wish them well. If you look at the big picture, a holiday-season birth is better than nothing at all, am I right?"
I was, of course.

I fear I am quickly becoming "The One" whom others are warned about. I don't care. I'm there to do a job, and having to listen to people bitching about births is not part of my assigned duty.

Doggone it

2007-08-28T15:20:00.000-04:00

My little rascals escaped last night, and went on a tour of the town. Thank goodness they were wearing their collars with freshly applied rabies tags and contact information. I don't usually force them to wear the collars, as they are house dogs, and only when leashed do we really "need to wear them" - or so I thought. My little princess Lucy scratches so much (skin allergies) that the tinkling of her tags drives me insane. Since we had only recently (2 days ago) returned from the kennel, they still had them on. Yay for laziness!
Actually, I can't blame their access to freedom squarely on their creativity. Seems that after The Boy's chores, the gate had not been latched securely (something that has needed repaired for years). It was only after a 2am pee trip (my own, thank you) that I noticed the dogs were not in the house. I wandered down into the basement, clad in socks and some sloppy sleeping attire, and saw the gate W-I-D-E O-P-E-N. In the distance, I hear Lucy yipping at something. I thought I saw a glimpse of her big companion ("Rags" - I didn't name him) off around the corner. I didn't want to lose them by opting for petty little conveniences like a flashlight, their leashes, or you know, shoes. So there I went, stocking feet and all, through puddles and over gravel, calling out to them. They came towards me, just far enough to be in sight, and made a fun little game of scampering off farther and turning to watch me stumble through the night, calling their names. Lucy went off on her own little scavenger hunt, but Rags found some new things to sniff & mark along the way - each time allowing me to get juuuuust close enough to reach out to him before taking off again. Grrrrrr.
I was so mad I was in tears. I was mad at the kid for not checking the gate. I was mad at myself for not wearing shoes. I was mad at these stupid animals for doing this to me. I was mad at myself again, for not having greater control over the mongrels. I was mad at the control they had over me. I was mad at it being the middle of the night, and nobody around to help me. This went on for about a half-mile before I was ready to just give up and head back home. I don't know if the big dog sensed it, or if his fat ass (133.5 lbs of not being walked enough)
was getting tired from all the activity, but he allowed me close enough to grab him. He even "sat" for me when I told him to, and I held onto that collar so tightly you can bet he knew I meant business. He walked with me like a seeing-eye dog, neatly by my side, proud to be taking me back home. Lucy just followed along, never really having had a plan in the first place, just thrilled to have seen/smelled the other side of the neighborhood. I could have carried all 18 lbs of her, but she didn't stray from us once on the way back.
I gave them fresh water and a good talking to. They said they were sorry, and we all agreed to go for a "real" walk sometime soon. For now, I'm going to go fix that gate.

Vacaaaaaaay

2007-08-28T02:02:00.000-04:00

So, yeah, I'm back (if you'd even noticed I'd been gone).
Had an AWESOME time.
'Twas just the old man and myself; The Boy had taken his vacation the week prior to visit The Girlfriend.
The surf was positively brutal. I nearly drowned. Wave after suffocating wave slamming into us, knocking us over, the undertow pulling us back down as we scrambled to upright ourselves.
G insisted I should be "more buoyant", and was slightly disappointed that I am more of a klutz on clown feet. You know what your problem is, he stated, you are short and round, sort of like a beach ball. I wonder why you can't float better?
The resulting concussion wasn't quite as amusing. Butthole.
We actually spent more time fishing than filling our cracks with sand. Whether by boat or by pier, we were landing poor defenseless fishies by the dozens. We each caught a crab, but mine was bigger by far. At one point, I was having more luck than he; he decided he would unhook my fishes, re-bait and cast, and I'd just rotate between our poles, pulling them in as fast as the bait hit the water. It was cool. "Gettin' jiggy wit it" sounded so much more amusing at the time.
Back at the beach, we did a little people-watching rather than the old dunk-and-drown routine. Work on our tans, drink heavily, talk about stuff. It was nice. A young family set up near us; it appeared to be two young couples and their respective offspring, I got the feeling the wives were sisters, and the little cousins played together nicely. The oldest child, probably about 2 1/2 years old (Nick's age, of course) was wearing spiderman trunks and a little red fisherman's hat; the little girl was just barely walking. I felt myself watching SpiderTot a little too intensely. It's not that the mommy wasn't paying adequate attention to the boy; only once or a couple more dozen times did I feel the need to ready myself to spring into action... it's just that when you have a SpiderTot wandering off toward the edge of the water and you're taking pictures of someone or fucking around with the damn umbrella, bad stuff can happen. G thought maybe it was stressing me out a little and reminded me that maybe our neighbors on the sand might view me as some creepy old lady who is staring at their kids. As naptime neared, the little girl who had been making googly eyes and laughing at me started getting cranky. She stumbled over towards us, and her mommy said "Oh don't go bothering them, now, sweety, they don't want you! They don't want a little whiny baby!"
Yeah, actually, we do.
Can we have her? How much you want? I've got the checkbook in the car.
Anyway. It was good to visit with my parents again. Shame they aren't willing or able to go out and enjoy the things they used to. I often felt like we used them more for a bed and breakfast facility than spending quality time together, but they understood, and we had some nice visits. Funny though, you remember the old saying about fish and visitors getting stale after a few days, it is so true. Up through day three it was wonderful, by day 4 we all were getting a little crabby, and by day 5, it was time to wrap things up and get the hell outta there. Suddenly I realized why I was so ready to move away when I was 18. All of my parent's little weird habits and mannerisms suddenly became unbearable, as I'm sure did ours, and we had to cut out before damage was done. My dear, wonderful, perfect father is OCD out the ass, and my sweet, loving, perfect mother is just plain nuts. And we, well, we were just in the way.
To give you a little taste: my father gift-wraps his garbage. Some may look at is recycling, but he is downright anal about it. He reuses the plastic newspaper baggies for trash bags. These go into plastic grocery bags, each tied up tightly and all the air squished out, and they, in turn, go into larger brown paper bags. Every little box and package is carefully torn into confetti before making it into the trash. Cans, jars and bottles are de-labled and rinsed well, and placed into the recycling bin. The jagged lids from cans are wrapped in used paper towels he dug out of the garbage. He saves the wrappers from meat packaging just in case we come down with some dreaded food poisoning. I have long since accepted the reused aluminum foil and ziploc bags, the margarine and coolwhip containers, and the piles of fastfood napkins and condiments that made their way home with my folks. They're thrifty, what can I say? But when he goes along behind us rechecking every door we closed, readjusting any item we might have disturbed, and straightening out every rug and slipcover we touched, we felt a little invasive.
Ah, well. Things are fine. They just loved having us there, and told us not to wait so long for a return again. We did have a good time, overall, and overlooking family weirdness is what reunions are all about, right? Right.

Overheard

2007-08-27T06:49:00.000-04:00

Stupid joke of the week, overheard as my husband talked to his buddy on the phone:
"Hey man, did you hear about the terrorist hideout they found (at the jobsite)?
Yeah, it was really something!
They found Bin Sleepin', and Bin Eatin'
... but I'll be dammned if they could find Bin Workin'!"

Wowsers

2007-08-18T10:58:00.001-04:00

Still trying to wrap my head around this news:
Woman has rare identical quadruplets
Of course, the article carefully states they were conceived without fertility drugs.
Well, no shit, sherlock.
They're identical.
One egg.
Split.
Into four embryos.
And they all survived! Healthy, but small, delivered early by C-section.
Amazing.
I wish her and their suddenly very large family health and prosperity.

...I'll take cosmic irony for 500, Alex.

2007-08-17T15:40:00.000-04:00

HahahahafuckingHA
Actually, I am relieved. Honest, I didn't need this weighing over my head. This news is like sweet tea on ice, using real sugar and not $plenda, served by a nice young man with a tight ass.
Not two hours after hitting "publish" on my last post, the phone rang.
They got my application (several days ago). They were initially pleased with what they saw.
However.
The guidelines by which they hire applicants into specific positions require that certain conditions be met.
Those conditions, of course, are experience at the level to which they are hiring, and then, you know, more experience actually doing the level of work to which they are hiring.
Whodathunk it.
After all the conversation I had with the recruiter last week, and all the 'splaining I did regarding my experience, someone else decided I "might not be the best fit."
Huh, Really?
Actually, I do agree. And that is where the relief comes in. Maybe I was a little scared, maybe I didn't feel quite ready to take that leap, maybe it's good to know now before I wasted their time OR MY OWN.
Could you imagine if I cut my beach time short by two whole days to go to this effing interview only to hear THEN that they didn't feel I was right? Man, I'd be pissed.
Thing is, I made first contact for the lesser position. I was ENCOURAGED to try the more advanced one. Then, we discussed salary range(s). The hubby and I decided how much I'd need to make, coupled with his pay, in order to even exist down there. The higher level job with the higher level pay was much more palatable. Of course!
And I'm not right for it. Of course!
And I knew that.
The irony is, the decision was made for me after all, and I didn't have to do a thing to arrive at the end result.
Of course!
So the recipe to my successfully avoiding blame, repercussions, and any involvement in the thought process again falls to dumb luck.
On to my next non-project with I-had-nothing-to-do-with-it results.
Here's the plan. In the past, when attempting to get pregnant, I'd beg, plead, and grovel with some mysterious extraterrestrial to make.it.happen. I'd plan, and organize, and try and fail with great fervor. The more I wanted something, the less I got.
I'm turning over a new leaf.
~~~
Wow, not having a small child sure is easy. No worrying about daycare, adjusting my schedule around, tying up all that free time. I can take off for a little weekend jaunt whenever I want. It's cheaper, too. I can sleep in late, leave the house at a moment's notice, go out with friends.
I hope I don't accidentally get pregnant while on vacation. That would be a weird curve ball to field, huh? Yeah. Not sure how I'd handle that decision. I mean, what could I do? I'd have to rethink going back to school and moving and everything. So much pressure. Good thing I don't have to worry about that with my inability to get pregnant in the first place. Gee I'm glad the whole idea is a non-issue for me. I don't have the energy to worry about it. I'll just worry my little infertile head off about getting pregnant by surprise and that will hold off the stupid babydust indefinitely. No more babies for Julie. Maybe I'll go on the pill. That should do it.

ch-ch-ch-changes

2007-08-17T11:18:00.000-04:00

At the tail end of my vacation next week, I have scheduled an interview with a potential employer.
What am I, nuts?
My husband is pushing me to start the ball rolling to move down there, but The Boy thinks we (meaning he and I) should stay up here. He misses his friends. I miss my husband. This situation is starting to suck.
At the onset of my search, I was nearly giddy with excitement. I was positive. I was hopeful.
As the day draws near, um, maybe not so much.
What is it about change that is so... confusing?
For someone who insists that she likes to be in control, I have a giant lump in my throat thinking about taking this step. A new job is one thing, but moving? Leaving the comfort of what I already have? A year ago I was ready to pull up anchor and take off to god-knows-anywhere-else, to hell with responsibility and familiarity.
Now my feet are weighted down and I secretly hope that I don't have to make the decision.
Maybe the decision will be made for me.
Maybe I'll be turned down. Or, if accepted, some magical omen will guide me to the right choice. Or, better yet, I will have a cut-and-dry "have to" that leaves no option available.
The salary won't be enough.
We can't find affordable housing.
What if... a family member in either location becomes completely dependent on me/us, necessitating an immediate decision.
Or, I get the distinct feeling at my current job that this is the end of the line, and I have to go.
What if... the offer from the new place will be too incredible to pass up.
Or, the counter offer from my current place will be too incredible to pass up.
I dreamt our big dog died, thus freeing us to chose apartment living over a home with a big yard. I cried.
Why does something drastic have to occur for me to make a choice? The choice has to be made FOR me, thus eliminating guilt over it being the wrong choice.
I'm stressing out far to much over a simple meeting. I don't have to decide today, tomorrow, or even the next year. Do I? Maybe I do. Can I just go along with the flow and see where it takes me? It's got me this far in life.
If I have a lousy day at work, I want to go.
If I have a good day at work, I want to stay.
Am I fickle?
I've already started a mental list of pros and cons, based on the unreality that I'd even be considered a candidate for NewJob.
We've conducted a little phone-interview wherein both parties assessed the compatibility of what we each need and want. It sounds like a good complement. She said she is looking forward to meeting with me. I plan to confirm our appointment a couple of days before we are to meet. I was instructed to submit my application and resume via the web format they require. I didn't hear back. This is fine, of course, because we already have the interview scheduled, but... but. but. but. What if now that they have it all down in black and white they have decided that I'm not a good match? Am I wasting time? Should I have received at least a confirmation email that the items were received, and will be reviewed, and I'm still on their list of hopefuls? Will I ruin my entire vacation because of doubt and worry?
NO! I won't allow that to happen. If the husband brings it up, I will change the subject. I will not think about it. Even though we are cutting our beach stay short by two whole days just to attend this interview, I will not be distracted or feel any remorse. Well, maybe just a little. Already I'm questioning if it's worth it. I deserve this damn vacation, and why should I cut it short for anyone, especially a potential nothing that will be a waste of time and energy?
Blaahhhhrgh!
Man, I need to get away. From myself.

Can ya her minnow

2007-08-13T21:40:00.000-04:00

Maybe my husband is getting old, I mean he does own a pair of grandpa reading spectacles and all... But his hearing?
We blame the phone.

Today, he had a decent day at work. Wasn't great, but was tolerated well.

What I said: "At least you aren't miserable."

What he heard, repeatedly, until the point I broke into a fit of screams:
"At least you aren't a gerbil."

Because that makes more sense.

*To his credit, he was imagining a cage with a hamster on a wheel, symbolizing his job...
Still. It's just weird.

Odds and Ends

2007-08-02T10:14:00.000-04:00

Let me start by saying to my body, Ahem! Is this thing on? It's CD38: just bleed already, dammit!
In lieu of any discernable symptoms, and, of course, given my history, I believe the delay is in relation to weight gain and stress. And, of course, my history. I'm due for my annual lube & filter, but, uh, nah.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hubster swaggered up to me while I was at the sink ('natch), gently encouraging me to drop the sponge and (::wink, wink::). I steered the conversation to missing him, and now The Boy as well, and just where is that darn kid at, anyway? etc., etc... He replied that we could always get busy at making another. Then we colapsed in a fit of laughter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of missing them both. Josh moved to VA, and is living and working with his father. I am empty-nesting like crazy. For 18 years I had that child as my lifeline to some sort of control in my world. He's my baby. Now he's all growed' up and gone. I speak to him on occasion. They come home every third weekend or so for a short visit. I went to see them a month ago and took The Girlfriend*. It doesn't seem to be affecting the The Boy nearly as much as it does me. The hubster doesn't even call me as much anymore, because they have each other for company. So, it's just me and the dogs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eventually, we will sell/rent this house and I'll be down there, too. But not for a few years, I'm guessing. We have some updates to make to this place. Money to save. Contracts to honor. I'm returning to school to add a few more letters to my title. I've joined a committee to plump up my resume'. I have my career to keep me warm at night. I have not yet utilized my abundant free time to clean obsessively. Don't see that one happenening, like, ever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of committees. Ugh. I swear to you, this is why I never stayed on one before. Boring. Seems like all we do is waste time going over the last meeting's minutes, and planning on what to do the next meeting. I don't get it. Add to that the stupid corporate buzzwords that drive me insane, and I feel like a drone that's only there in appearance only. Oh, wait. I am. My bad. I managed to fill up three lines of my performance evaluation with 'positive action words' to simply state, "I work good. Pay me well." I enhanced my accomplishments by restating my capabilities, augmenting my efficiency while enriching my proficiencies, and exercised solid judgment as I implemented working knowledge of my responsibilities and validated my goals. Or whatever. Did get a good raise, though, so bullshit is alive and well in my world. Oh yeah, and it was fiscally sound.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, I rarely watch TV. Never daytime television, but on occasion I can catch a prime-time show. As it was last night, when I caught the finale' of K of Q. I do enjoy this program on occasion, maybe catch a rerun now and then, have no real idea what has been going on. Didn't know it was the end, until I noticed it ran over 30 minutes, over 45 minutes, and hey! I've been watching bits and pieces of this for an hour now! (While making a meatloaf, doing dishes, talking on the phone, and paying bills...) As is my tendency, I have to complain about commercials. Naturally, I have seen several that get my goat, but I have to say that KFC is killing me. Why does KENTUCKY fried chicken have "Sweet home ALABAMA" as their theme song? Aaaand, am I the only one who is irritated by the background noises in their version of this music that include a camera shutter and what sounds like a backward-track of girls screaming under water? I have noticed for quite awhile that advertisers put in doorbells and phones ringing to grab your attention, if only on a subconscious level. My dogs really noticed this first. Grrrr. On to the show. WTF? I shouldn't have been surprised. Everyone knows that is how it happens in real life, right? Assholes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The "send" button on my cell phone quit working. I'm not eligible for a new phone until October of '08. I don't have insurance. I sort of want a different style of phone, but mostly I don't. Currently, (until it drives me insane), I can only call people in my contact list by choosing menu>phonebook>find>options>call. Ditto for retrieving missed calls, no more single-click access. A few extra steps, no real aggravation; makes me wonder just how lazy I really am when I ::sigh:: each time I have to do it this way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In other news, with the departure of my son and the less-frequent visits from the husband, the only people left in this world to look after my widowed mother-in-law and her spinster sister are the SIL and myself. Being as they are both elderly, but not yet demented, they remain living in their own homes even though they can barely get around and need near-constant supervision. SIL (who is single) lives with MIL. Aunt-in-law lives up the street from them. I live two neighborhoods away, over a mountain and under a tree. (Just kidding, I have no tree). Usually, the burden lies with the SIL who is closer in proximity as well as in relation. I am called upon as the needs arise. And arise they have. I'm sorry, was I complaining of being bored and feeling alone? I rescind those comments, effective immediately.
AIL is currently in the hospital. MIL has had a few hospitalizations herself in recent years. Our new goal is to get these two old birds together in one house, so they can have each other for company, and it makes it easier for SIL to do whatever it is that she does. The obvious solution would be for the three of them to inhabit the larger home up the street once some renovations for accessibility are made. I shall dub it "Old Maid Haven".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hubster has told me he picked out my birthday gift. Says it's something I've been wanting for a while. There are only 3 things I can think of that I've mentioned. He says it's not a ring, and its not a new crockpot. I can only assume it is a Mustang.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of birthdays, and home renovation. It's that time of year again, my annual "big" vacation time off of work when I plan an extended visit to my parent's in Va. Beach. We will recall last year when my plans for sun and fun were thwarted by the Big Bathroom Breakdown that resulted in completely gutting the room and making it so freaking awesome I never want to leave it. Wonder if this year we will be working on the OMH. Groan. If I have to spend one more birthday covered in gypsum dust, I will cry. 38, if any of you were wondering. Thirty.fucking.eight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As an added bonus of having to search my phone listings to make a call from the cell, I realized I still have MaryAnn's numbers. I miss her so much. I called her home number the other day just to hear her outgoing message on the machine. I wonder if her husband cancelled her cell service. I considered calling it, too. I joked (to myself, and her) about the roaming charges. She would have found that amusing. I often think about her looking after Nick for me, holding him. Gives me a little solace, I suppose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brings to mind another post, for another time, about how I deal with myself and others. I'm still working on interpersonal relationships. A little bit of soul searching has enlightened me, even though I still need to enact some changes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*The Girlfriend. Lovely gal. Longest relationship either of them have had in their short lives. Her mom and step dad moved the family down to SC last winter. When Josh was still here, they were able to see each other frequently, as she came back to visit from time to time. We flew her in for Prom. Of course, there was no "graduation ceremony", but she would have been here for that, too. She came in to stay with her grandma for a good chunk of the summer, before The Boy got on the job with his dad. That's how she got to come along with me for a visit. For her birthday, Josh bought her some jewelry. A nice necklace, perhaps? Earrings, a bracelet? Nope. He gave her a ring. A RING, of all things! With the little disclaimer that it wasn't really a promise ring, but, you know, they are going together and all. (He cringes when I say "going steady", because that sounds so old-fashioned, you know). The ring is a very nice gold band with set-in diamonds, just like I've been wanting, but never manage to get. G said he was upstaged by the kid, yet again. They have a theme song. "Hey there, Del!la.h". Months ago I switched our family plan over to unlimited minutes because they talk for hours on end. He's going down there (instead of coming home to see his poor old mother) next week. I like the girl very much, as do we all, and am impressed by my son's ability to stay focused on one thing for such a duration. They know they have a couple of years ahead of them before they are allowed to get TOO serious, and as time and young love goes, well, you know. In the back of my mind, I see two scenarios, both of them with glaring exclamation points and a giant "crap" thrown in for good measure. I am trying to step back and let it run its course, while still trying to be a good mother whose advice and meddling is unwelcome. Man, this is rough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Guess that's all I have to share today. Have a splendid week/end!

au natural

2007-06-26T02:04:00.000-04:00

For natural Smokey looking eyes, smudge in your eyeliner by creating tiny circular motions near the lashes to blend in the color!

(Because this looks completely normal, right?)

All good things

2007-06-21T18:52:00.000-04:00

...must come to an end.
She's gone.
They took her off the ventilator this morning so her family could say their goodbyes.
They didn't completely un-medicate her, so she wouldn't suffer as she gasped her last breaths.
Memorial service tomorrow. She will be cremated.
Today was their 37th wedding anniversary.
"Until death do us part."
I have/had many wishes about this journey, none of which will/did come true.
My last words to her as I stroked the peachfuzz on her bald head: "Get some rest. I'll be back tomorrow". She wiggled two fingers at me, I'm certain. I wiped the drool from around the tube in her mouth, and squeezed her toes as I left.
I want to call her cellphone just to hear her voice again.
She was only fifty-seven.

MaryAnn
8/18/49 - 6/21/07

...

Discussion at the sink

2007-06-19T04:34:00.000-04:00

G: "If we ever have to go through this, would you be upset if I just blew my brains out so I didn't have to suffer?"

Ever try to brush your teeth while crying?

Crap on a cracker

2007-06-16T22:11:00.000-04:00

Over the past year since my very good friend has been diagnosed with lung cancer, our outlook has been hopeful. Her, with optimistic denial, me with pessimistic worry. Every time I asked about the latest scan or treatment, she was all "I'm feeling pretty good/it's working/no growth/it shrunk..." Her admissions - too numerous to count - for blood transfusions, IV fluids with hefty doses of potassium, pneumonia, liver/spleen/kidney issues - all met with a big shrug-off. Hair loss, weight loss, inability to control body temperature... "I'm doing great," said she. I didn't believe her. She wouldn't allow me to assume otherwise. What could I do? Smile, and keep my fingers crossed.
She phoned me Tuesday night; would I like to come over on my next day off, and maybe pick through some of her old clothes that didn't fit any more? I saw a glimpse of a red flag on the horizon. She sounded great, said she felt good, had been sewing and quilting again. Finished some projects she just hadn't had the energy for.
On Wednesday, she was in the hospital.
Visits to the ICU suck. She is not doing great. Her sister, the one with balls of steel, is living in reality. Her husband and sons are in denial. The nurses are awesome. I am... well, I just am.
When I left today, she was being sedated to be put on a ventilator.
I can't get my mind off of how she looked, with the tubes and the machines, thrashing in the bed, trying to get a breath, her family numb with shock, strong men with tears in their eyes.
And yet we still hope.

priorities

2007-06-16T12:00:00.000-04:00

My secretary was crying, sniffling back little tears, telling a small group of coworkers what was wrong. I was concerned, so I approached her gently, and asked.
Her boyfriend's brother's wife had lost their baby. 7 weeks. But they can try again in a month.
"It's just so sad, because I really wanted them to have a girl!"

Defying Social Convention

2007-06-04T14:01:00.000-04:00

Etiquette is going to be sorely abused.

The Senior Year of the average high school student is saturated with "plans for graduation", including - but not limited to - ordering announcements, being sized for cap & gown, the taking of special portraits, and purchasing unnecessary little trinkets and baubles that are soon forgotten once you have the diploma in hand. I look back at some of the shit I bought and wonder why on earth my daddy let me get them. Did I really need a 20-page blank booklet for autographs and unrelated nonsense at the price of $12.95+tax? That "School Crest" (emblem) pendant($24.95+tax)? A memory book that I never completely filled out? ...aaaand so on...

So it goes to follow that The Boy got the special senior portraits, the special embossed announcements, the cap & gown, the graduation photo package, and plans were made for far-away family to attend (grandparents from VA, and my brother and SIL from OKC). I requested off for a week. It was magical.

Imagine my panties being in a twist when the principal calls to tell me that my pride and joy isn't allowed to walk.
The Boy managed a 63 in a core course (failing is 64 and below). Rather than being HUMANE and SYMPATHETIC, they just put their collective foot down and said "No". Phone calls were made, begging was vigorous, tears were shed. "It's district policy," I was told. Repeatedly. Mind you, this is THE ONLY district in this whole greater-regional area that has this stupid policy. No concessions would be made.

Don't get me wrong. I do understand their point; if you don't have the credits, you didn't earn your diploma; you don't graduate=you don't walk. I get it. I also know about 7 other families who's children made them proud in this very manner, yet were still allowed to participate in the graduation ceremony. It's a given that he has to make up the course in summer school, and then he will get his diploma. I tire of being told this little nugget of news. I know how it works.

I wanted to see my only child walk across the stage and be handed a rolled-up piece of blank parchment.
He participated in the first two rehearsals, before the final grades were submitted. He was even allowed to show up for cap & gown pictures (individual and group). The class gets to keep the garb. His name was in the newspaper with all the others. For all intensive purposes, he graduated. But he wasn't allowed the ceremony. Rather, WE weren't allowed to enjoy it.

As an aside, I will note that a total of nine (9) students were denied the privilege of walking. Out of a class of 40-some students. Four were for grades, three were for showing up stoned on the last day of school, and two were for the most heinous infraction of all: disobeying the rules set forth for rehearsals. Oh yes. We were sent a terse little referendum warning that missing a practice was not allowed, being late for practice was not allowed (but slightly more forgivable than skipping), and god forbid you wore the wrong outfit to dress rehearsal - that was the icing on the cake. Boys are to wear DARK PANTS with DARK SHOES and DARK SOCKS, and a WHITE COLLARED SHIRT with a DARK TIE. Yeah. I'm not sure who peed in who's cornflakes, but two poor kids (and two very pissed-off parents) bit the big one here. Not sure if it was missing a rehearsal or dressing wrong, but lawsuits were threatened and the principal with the little dick was unfazed. The superintendent, of course, stood right behind him. (bending him over I'm sure)... Every goddamn year there seems to be some riot or scandal over their "rules" and their refusal to bend them just a teensy bit. It is ridiculous. You have to remember this is a small community. Depending on who you know and what you do to elevate your status means you might get a break once in a while.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, making excuses for my darling child.
Summer school for him will consist of one (1) online course that runs three weeks from mid-June to early July. That's it, and he's done. He will have his diploma.
Then, I'm sending the announcements with the senior pictures, and the graduation pics (when delivered). I don't care.
I spent a boatload of money on them, and as far as I'm concerned, he graduated. Sure, most of our close family and friends know the cold hard truth, but I will not be embarrassed by it. I don't care if they send him money or not. If they do, it will be held from him until summer school is done and the transcript is complete. But he's still my baby, and he made it through (mostly).

Is that terribly wrong?

oh yeah, that

2007-05-16T08:51:00.000-04:00

Realized I never updated the mystery of the missing menses.
Been there, done that, took some advil. Happy Cinco deMayo. heh.
Driving to da 'burgh tonight to fetch The Girlfriend from the airport, in for The Boy's senior prom. Graduation in two weeks. Did I mention he might have to take a summer class to earn the diploma? He *should* still get to walk with the other graduates. Grrrrr.
Stressed out. Fed up. Good times.

I'm not dead yet

2007-04-22T00:44:00.000-04:00

Yes, it has been more than a month since my last post. And yes, I'm still breathing, for the most part.
Work is kicking my ass. Being a complete dumbshit I agreed to work two 12's and two 8's a week. This gives me an extra day off, on paper. In reality, since I'm on the night turn, it gives me a day to sleep. And the fucker that does the scheduling is a real piece of work, lemme tell you. I'm no genius, and if I had a few spare brain cells to be working with in addition to "free time", I would be glad to take a looksee and figure out just where she is going at it all wrong. In a brief explanation it looks like this: work 2, off 2, work 2 off 1, great so far.... work 4 off 1 work 3 off 1... gah! [I realize that is more than two weeks, but I got fed up with the trainwreck and summarized]
Ok. So. I'm tired. I'm cranky. I haven't blogged to vent in a l-o-n-g time. And you come here to find some interesting literary masterpiece, only to recall that all I do is complain anyway. So here's a little teaser.
I seem to have misplaced my April cycle. I don't know where I left it. I checked all my pockets and between the couch cushions. I was pretty sure I had it, at one point. Because I can't go around marking big red "X"s on calendars, I have been faithful for the past 5 years or so at logging it into Futility Friend. My last recorded cycle was March 1st. Surely I just was to busy to notice it was here. But, given my nasty periods, I hardly doubt that could be. In the absence of any symptoms whatsoever, I must propose that stress has kept it at bay, and I'm going through a trough right now.
It wasn't until I noticed mood swings and weepiness that I thought "must be PMS". I checked to see when I was due, and "WTF?!", I was due like, 21 days ago. Therefore, *this* PMS is right on cue for the next cycle, and all is well. Hell, I even appear to be regulating, which is a miracle.
Now, if I can just fight the urge to test. Haven't felt that sensation in a good, long while. Meh.

Birthday Wishes

2007-03-20T16:10:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday to my little darling baby boy - today you turn 18 years old! It seems like just a short time ago I was wiping snot from your nose and kissing your boo-boos. Now, you're driving my car and asking for money. You used to ask me for help with your spelling words, now you need advice regarding your girlfriend. You have plans for the future, a job, relationships... you are a man. Where did the time go? I remember the day you were born. Am I that old already? There are times I wish I could take back, days I should change, minutes not spent with every moment dedicated to you. I should have cleaned less and played more. So what if we'd read that book a gazillion times already? Someday I won't be able to read to you anymore. You still remember our song... when it comes on the radio, you point it out to me. You remember how I'd sing to you at night, rubbing your arm until you fell asleep. You remember the silly things, the good things, and even the sad things. You don't mention the mistakes I've made along the way, though I'm sure there are plenty. You're not embarrassed to be seen with your parents, and we appreciate that. You're fiercely loyal and protective. You have a good head on your shoulders. You've lived and learned, for these short 18 years, and that will make you stronger for the next several decades ahead. Every day is a learning experience, and I hope you never forget that. We are so proud of you, and love you more than you could ever know.
I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.

...and I quote

2007-03-19T23:52:00.000-04:00

"You can not prevent the birds of sadness from passing over your head, but you can prevent them from making a nest in your hair".

~Chinese proverb

(thinkexist.com)

Something I swore I'd never do

2007-03-18T23:58:00.000-04:00

A meme.
Much like forwarding email, this just never really caught on with me. No other explanation to offer.
Thank you Ann (and Jill) for giving me something to do tonight.
:-)

List 10 positive things about yourself, including at least:
2 things about your relationships/interactions with other people (can be anyone -- friends, family, strangers (being kind to strangers is something to be proud of, after all), pets, yourself)
2 positive things about your appearance
2 positive things about your professional/creative abilities
1 positive personality trait; something that you would never willingly change about yourself

That gives you 3 "wild cards" to spread around the above categories (or things outside of these categories)

Rules:
NO NEGATIVITY!
No qualifying your statements, e.g. "I remember most of my friends' birthdays, though I should make more of an effort to celebrate with them."
No item is too small to mention. "I have a very nice pinky nail" is a perfectly valid type of statement.

Remember: "Positive" is in the eye of the beholder. Try not to feel constrained by what other people might think!

1. (r/i) I am not quick to judge. If someones words or behavior are unusual or irritating, I do my best to step back and put myself in their shoes, or at least look at the big picture. Is there a reason for this? What is their background, their story? Often, one can understand why a person is a certain way, even if we don't care for the result. Through understanding, one finds acceptance.
2. (r/i) I stay out of your business. I do not gossip, I distrust many people, and I prefer to keep my own life to myself. I can keep a secret, though I'd prefer you keep it to yourself in the first place. If you simply must tell me that so-and-so is such-and-whatever, that's fine, but bear in mind I will keep an eye on you, because you just made yourself out to be a sneaky little bastard, and I hate sneaks.
3. (p) I'm easy-going and what you see is what you get. I don't try to be something I'm not, or pretend I'm better than I am. I'm not great, but I'm pretty damn good. You be nice to me, I'll be nice to you, and we'll all just get along. I rarely hold a grudge, I tend to forgive and forget - if I even got mad in the first place. Usually, stuff just tends to roll off me like water on a duck, believe it or not. My philosophy is, I've been to hell and back already, so the little shit might be annoying, but nothing that will crush me, soul and spirit. I try to pick my battles. Or my nose, whichever is most handy.
4. (a) I have pretty eyes. The darkest possible shade of brown, they're almost black when I'm tired. I used to wear contacts and eye makeup, but these past few years I hardly have it in me to bother. When I do, they POP! Wow.
5. (a) I also have one nice head of hair. Thick and lustrous, very shiny. I wear it long. When I was younger, I'd color it reddish-blonde shades. This led to not-so-terrific hair. As I've matured, I've stuck to shades towards my own natural color of dark brown, usually with a bit of auburn or burgundy tint. I've received more compliments on this end of the spectrum, which has surprised me. I always thought blondes had more fun?
6. (pro) I can handle a crisis. I tend to analyze a given situation until many possibilities are found. I am very calm under pressure, believing that an increased stress level could drive up the bad energy in a situation. Often concerned this could come off as nonchalance or ignorance, I have been complimented by friend and supervisor alike for my cool demeanor and level head.
7. (pro) I love to learn. If I don't know enough about a given subject, I will research it until my head explodes. I usually jump at an opportunity to at least try to do something I have not done before. This impresses the big people. And, rarely will you you hear me utter "that's not my job"; if something needs to be done, then dammit, just DO it. This keeps the underlings happy.
8. (w) I can cook just about anything without a recipe. It may not come out as intended, but it tastes good. The hubster likes to call these "inventions". He always eats them, no matter what.
9. (w) I keep an eye on the future. Not plans, mind you, because we all know what happens when you make plans... just what 'could be down the road ahead'. I've done enough looking back for 5 people, and the outcomes haven't changed. I try hard to just let it go, and move on, you never know what chances might be waiting if you don't.
10. (w) I have a sense of adventure. Not the jump off a bridge kind! More like the "Idaho might be nice" kind. Maybe we'll just visit, maybe we'll stay. There's more to life than "this" job, and "these" dishes. Places to see, people to meet, new stuff to do. I might never see Europe or South America, but I've never been to a Mariner's game yet, either.

And that brings to a close my version of the Me Me Me Meme:
10 things you didn't know about me, and now wish you hadn't bothered.

sigh

2007-03-15T15:56:00.000-04:00

Strangest search term to date: "stockings inside me intercourse want".
Strangest reaction to said search term: poor sentence structure.

Everything's better with gravy

2007-03-11T00:58:00.000-05:00

So it is with great humility that I am sitting down to a steaming plate of crow, drenched in gravy, and a chunk of cheese with my whine.
I am at once sad and indifferent, then panged with guilt at such ambivalence.
For all that loss and grief has taught me, I can't help but dredge up the old "I must have caused it" mentality - and that's just nuts. Besides being delusional that any mere mortal could possibly influence the outcome of anything, really, my casual discussion of any situation does not transcend time and circumstance to willfully create a condition out of malice.
The story, in a nutshell, is that the baby born to my niece has a heart defect, and I feel like a real shit for having complained about his fucked up parent(s).
The baby has two conditions which are not terribly, life-threateningly serious; and one which will require surgery, likely after toddler-hood. He has a ven.tricular s.eptal defe.ct, which The Boy also had, and closed before one year of age; they suspect the same will hold true for this child. He also has a bic.usp.id ao.rtic va.lve, which will not cause him an awful amount of problems throughout life, but is not a great thing to have, either. The worst of his problems lies in the c.oarct.ation of his ao.rta, which is not letting enough blood through to his descending arteries and lower body. He is at risk for ane.urysms, poor circulation to his legs & kidneys (etc.), and too high of blood pressure to his brain. Currently, the V_S.D is causing him most difficulty, in eating and tiring easily (due to poor oxyg.enation of his blood), so that he doesn't cry much and sleeps alot.
The Family is not in complete denial about all of this, opting instead to freak right the hell out and make it to be just a wee bit more dramatic than necessary. The niece, however - the baby's mother - quips in that she's glad, at least, that he's easy to care for, "he's so relaxed".
I am at an impasse. I want to comfort her, I feel sorry for the baby, sorry that she has to deal with this... and at the same time I want to slap the living shit right out of her stupid little head. On the one hand we have the family members whom have never had to deal with a single thing gone wrong in all their procreativity, and on the other hand we have me, who has not a damn thing to do with any of this and shouldn't even be involved. We have a sick baby who will be okay, living with people of questionable intelligence, and then there's me.
Why do I make this about me? I have little answer for that, besides the fact that I am a self-centered drama queen who needs to be coddled.
And before I say anything else that digs me into a hole, I will end my rant now.
As a parting gift, I will direct your attention to a nifty website regarding idioms:
World Wide Words. Enjoy.

Frequently searched for terms have been mutated.

dilemma du jour

2007-03-05T09:00:00.000-05:00

Why would my two index fingers, and their immediate neighbors, have longer, stronger, prettier nails than the others? I don't do an awful lot with my ring and pinkie fingers, so why do those nails get snagged, broken, or otherwise worn down? They don't even grow as quickly.
Ah. Such is the mystery that is me.

Stop me if you've heard this before

2007-02-26T14:46:00.001-05:00

So. I think I might have mentioned before that people tend to piss me off. Not YOU people, of course. It's the jagoffs that I have to interact with day-in, day-out, relentlessly.
I just don't have the time and energy right now to relate all the moronic conversations I've had over this past week.
Someday. Someday.
For now, please accept this token of gratitude for enduring Life in this dumbass town.

And pardon the commercials/slow to load/whatever technical problem(s) might arise.

That is all.

In Memorium

2007-02-24T04:19:00.000-05:00

Our Angel

Still

You were born

In our hearts

Forever

Nicholas Gerard

February 24, 2005

Congratulations! It's a bastard!

2007-02-23T00:35:00.000-05:00

Ok, I know. I know. I know, okay? Sheesh, I get already. I'm an asshole.
I'm going to jump around a bit in this story, so hang in there.
The day begins with not one, but TWO phone calls waking me out of a drug-induced slumber because I am sick as a dog and I absolutely HAD to drag my ass into work tonight. "Hey Julie! Just wanted you to know your loser of a family member just had her 2nd illegitimate child today! Yay! And it's another boy! He's perfect. Thought you'd want to know!"
I blocked it out until I came home from work and there were not one, but TWO emails telling me the same fucking thing, including weight and length, exact time of delivery, details about his attempts at latching on, and, oh yes, pictures. HAD to throw me the pics, too, didn't you, you sons of bitches.
My niece is a bit of a wild child, always has been. It was kinda cute when she was younger, but now that she's nearing 30, it's getting harder to stomach. Take for instance, the visit we made back in '05 when she snagged her clit piercing on a noodle in her parent's pool. She felt no shame in yelping about and showing us how weird it was that this could happen! On a cousin's day out, she took The Boy to an amusement park, and spoke freely of drinking, getting high, and her fondness of biracial and bisexual encounters. To this day, The Boy has a healthy un-appreciation for her and the education he unwillingly received. He has a special name for her, which I won't share. Makes me giggle, and I'm not in the mood.
Her first shotgun wedding lasted 7 weeks, and she took back her name (allowing the first twatspawn to keep his father's name, because he was, after all, the III). The wedding itself was rather redneck and cheesy (mullets and pickup trucks, Guns n' Roses, et al.), but her dress was lovely. She chose the ultra-low back to show off her tramp stamp (lower back tattoo), but opted for a tasteful, forgiving front, since she was 7 or 8 months along. No need to flaunt it.
When her most recent relationship with a married man began to "get serious", she took it upon herself to get the ball rolling. She was, after all, at the tail end of her 20's, and her only child was already five or six. Of course, you can guess what happened. He broke it off, sort of. He wasn't in a position to up and leave his wife yet, but maybe he could still hang around and help her out some. Sounds like a perfect solution, doesn't it? And, oh yes, one of the pictures shows proud papa holding his son. The caption reads (______ was present for the birth. Not sure yet what role he will be playing, but it was nice he was there.) Yes. Very nice. Fucked up, but nice.
As a tribute to her parents, she reportedly will be naming the child a combo of her mother's maiden name and her own (father's surname). I know they are proud grandparents. My brother and his wife are just GIDDY with excitement, because they had two girls, and their eldest girl had two girls, so this one giving them two boys is just AWESOME. Regardless of the circumstances, it is a gift.
And it is.
And here's where I get a little pissy and out of control.
In a recent family newsletter, my SIL wrote that "______ will be birthing us another boy sometime in the next two weeks, in case you didn't already know. We're so excited!", but to personalize it just a bit, she added a few lines specifically for my version:
"I wasn't sure if anyone had told you. I hope you are OK with such news since your loss. Your mom says you've had a couple more pregnancies since Nicky, are you OK? Are you still trying or are you just waiting for God to bless you if He sees fit? I hope it's OK to ask you such questions and I'm sorry if you don't want to talk about it. I guess there's no easy way to ask but to be blunt. "
No, I don't suppose there is an easy way to ask, but to be blunt. There really isn't an easy way to answer, but to be blunt, either. However, since I do have the teensiest modicum of tact left in me, I didn't reply with what I really wanted to. As a matter of fact, I didn't reply at all. I thought about it, but put it off. Then today's news swept over me, and I meekly replied "Congratulations, please give _____ our best. He's a really lovely baby."
Yes, he's a really lovely baby. So glad he's breathing. Two years ago today I found out my baby was dead. I spent the next 37 hours trying to squeeze the lifeless body of my very-much wanted and begged-for child out of my birth canal. We actually refer to it as the death canal now, isn't that cute? I hope that the discomfort of her pregnancy with this "mistake" is overshadowed by the joy of a toothless grin and late-night feeding of a screaming, colicky gift. Both of her babies were "oooops" babies, and she has struggled with accepting them, both during her pregnancy, and I know after the birth of her first for certain. As a matter of fact, you've pretty much raised that one yourself, haven't you, because she's still out sowing her wild oats and doesn't really want the responsibility. Both babies were products of a misguided attempt at "keeping her man", which obviously didn't work. So, um, that whole "waiting for God to bless me if he sees fit"? Not sure where you're going with that. Do you really need for me to unleash the fury, right now? Oh, ok, if you insist.
For me to believe that any of this mess is God's blessing, is just wrong. He's blessing HER, over me? One would have to believe that "god" has anything at all to do with any of this, and if he does, he is fucked up in his head. In the conversation where you tell me I should be okay with what happened, because there might have been something seriously wrong with Nick, and did I really think I could handle raising a retarded child, you spew out some bullshit about God doesn't make mistakes. Huh? Maybe you're not meant to have any more children. Huh? Well, you seem so busy, maybe it was for the best. Right. A dual-income solid family is no place to raise a child. Rather, God gives babies to unemployed, uneducated whores to be neglected or raised by someone else. That is so logical. By the way, explain this one to me, since you have so much sage wisdom to spare... why would "god" allow a pregnancy to go to term, and then wait to kill the baby right at the finish line? He decided at the last minute that I wasn't fit? He changed his mind? He realized he made a mistake, and had to hide the evidence?
So, yeah, I guess we are just waiting for God to bless us if he sees fit. Congratulations, the best woman won, hands down. No contest. Clearly, she is fit, whereas we are not. God plays favorites. Oh and by the way: Fuck you.

There just aren't words. Seriously.

2007-02-10T00:59:00.000-05:00

It has taken me two days to obtain all the various forms of information available, and to process this situation both professionally and personally. Personally, I am an angry, vindictive bitch. Professionally, I have removed myself from the situation and my supervisor is acutely aware of the need to do so.
There are limitations to what I can discuss with anyone outside of my department, but here's the gist of it...
A dangerously psychotic patient, seven months pregnant, self-aborted her baby into a toilet. Unspeakably cruel actions were performed. There are many issues as to how and why this managed to occur, but the fact is it did, and everyone involved in the process was debriefed and counseled over a period of two days. Because of laws protecting everyone but that poor innocent baby there is no media involvement (thank my lucky stars), and the authorities are prevented from taking action at this time (involuntary committal and all that bullshit).
Ya think she'll get off for "insanity"?
Will I?

So, you want to face a challenge...

2007-02-08T13:39:00.000-05:00

I knew this day would come. Eventually. One day, I would be face-to-face with my worst fears.
I often 'role-played' my reaction.
In my head.
I knew this day would come, and I hoped it wouldn't.
Now that it is actually here, what do I do?
A coworker alerted me to a situation at work that I don't want to have to deal with. But I do have to. It's my job. My responsibility. I get paid for this. I can't call off crazy.
"I'm sorry but I'm not feeling like I can handle this right now. Or tomorrow. Maybe in a couple of weeks. I'll let you know."
I only know a little bit about what happened, and the poor ignorant soul that told me has no idea what I'm going through, trying to muster up the courage to face it.
You thought I've been a little angry or possibly loopy before? Huh. If this turns out how I'm feeling it might, you just wait. You ain't seen nothin' yet.
More later, when I have all the facts. If you don't hear from me in a few days, check the local papers.

Snow Daze

2007-02-06T01:57:00.000-05:00

Hey! It's winter. There is snow. And it is cold.
Monday morning I woke up to my weather bug telling me it was (-8) degrees, with a windchill factor making it (-35). MINUS THIRTY-FIVE, people.
School was closed. As it is again for Tuesday. If I have to drag MY ass out of bed and drive to work, I find little excuse why the kids can't go get some learnin'. Something about frostbite at the bus stop or something. Whatever.
Actually, I *do* happen to be scheduled off these two snow days, so The Boy and I are taking every last advantage of them. Together. He's kinda fun to hang with.
Today, we ate chips and ice cream and watched movies all day. Tomorrow, I might need to do some laundry and perhaps cook something nourishing for my poor neglected child. We plan to brave the cold and go OUT to a movie, and/or bowling, and maybe go to the mall.

And this is one of those times I sit back and take in all that I have, and am at peace. I can sleep in. As a matter of fact, I can get several hours of uninterrupted sleep in a row. If absolutely necessary, the kid can fend for himself (I taught him how YEARS ago). He can be left unattended. If mom has to work late, it is not a major crisis. I don't have to worry about day care, babysitters, rides to places, pick-up times, play dates, other mommies... it's pretty cool.
I have a conference on Wednesday that will take me many miles away from home. I will be gone from 6am until 6pm - at least - and Big G is in Va. My main concerns are 1) will The Boy get up in time for school 2) does he have enough gas in his vehicle 3) will he be safe driving on all this ice, and 4) will I be back in time for his hockey game? Seventeen years ago, I would have declined to attend this conference. I would be fretting about who could watch him, for how long, were they reliable, would I have to switch up caregivers mid-day, and of course there would be all the packing of diapers and bottles and food and clothes and toys and worrying that he missed me and how bad of a mommy I was for putting my career first; then there would be the mad dash for dinner and bath and bed on my return, I would be exhausted, and cranky, and ARGH!
Don't need the drama.
Life is good.

I am feeling a little bit of the empty-nest syndrome creeping up on me, though. He will be 18 in March. He graduates in June. The plan is for him to hook up with dad and join the apprenticeship, taking him back to Va as well. Which leaves me all alone. Once my contract is up, we could/will consider moving out of Mayberry and back to civilization (or the boondocks, but in which state is the burning question). I'm not sure I will know what to do with myself and all the free time an empty house will give me. Sure, they'll be back to visit on most weekends. And I have the dogs. I'll probably get a few cats. Take up a hobby. Try new hairdos and grow my nails. Or - good lord - clean. The possibilities are astounding.
I do like cats an awful lot.

Perversely Unyielding, or Possibly Deranged

2007-02-06T01:10:00.000-05:00

Ah, the paradox of parenting; when are you truly satisfied? And on what benchmark is that satisfaction based? If you prove your reproductive mastery and pop out many children on timely schedule? Or if you do the best of your ability to produce one noble creature and bask in the glory?
I ponder often about whether or not I really, absolutely, genuinely want another child.
A wise woman recently asked, Why do you want what you want?.
For me, I think it is more stubbornness than an aching need.
I ache with grief over losing Nicholas. But I don't feel like I ache any longer over infertility and my characteristic inability to carry a fetus to term. Or you know, squeeze out a live one.
There was a time I coveted other's babies. Why not ME?, I'd wail inside my gut. Jealousy, envy, gluttony. Why couldn't I be happy with the one I have?
I am! I was! I still am! Thing is, I believe I hate to be a failure. If I want something bad enough, I work hard until I achieve it. If I give up, it had better damn well be my own decision, and not some other person or force making the rules. I don't do rules very well.
So, it is with considerable uncertainty that I have decided to try to make a decision. Shit, or get off the pot, as they say.
When faced with uncertainty and a subject I'd just as soon not ponder most of the time, I have this weird little habit of overanalyzing things. Rather than just AVOID what bothers me, I dive in head-first and wallow around in it until I can't take it any more. Glutton for punishment, my mother calls me. Don't tell her, but she may be right.
Let's dissect a "decision".
By making a decision, one has to adjudicate, arbitrate, and come to a determination.
A conclusion.
Definition of conclusion: To come to an end.
Armed with my handy list of pros and cons regarding continued attempts at losing my mind much further, I have wrestled internally with just how much more I can take. And is it worth it? Really? Can't I just move on, for fuck's sake??
If a wrinkled, soiled, screaming infant was placed on my doorstep tomorrow morning, I would be beside myself with glee.
If I have to wipe thick, gooey globs of coagulated blood and cellular debris from my inflamed and achey hoo-ha for one more goddamn week I will be beside myself with the patients on the 7th floor adult psych unit, waiting for my meds, rocking and humming, and spelling complex medical terms backwards.
Either way, the sun will arise tomorrow, the bills will be stuffed in my mailbox, and we'll still be running low on toiletpaper.
Work is going well. Pretty damn good, if I do say so myself, and I am faced with opportunities to grow and flourish, if I chose to do so. Or, I could just stay comfortably where I'm at and do nothing, for now. Wouldn't the whole "I'll just keep trying and failing because I'm too fucking stubborn to give up" sort of set me back, just a little bit? But. To give up? To QUIT? I am not a quitter. And the "what ifs" keep pelting me like spit-wads in junior high.
What if I took advantage of the employer-paid tuition and went back for another degree? What if I got pregnant again? What if I worked my way up the ladder? What if the pregnancy/loss takes its toll and ruins me emotionally (if not professionally)? What if the imaginary fetus was delivered alive and I found myself faced with daycare and sick days and exhaustion and all the other fun stuff I went through already? What if I just suck it up, be proactive in my reproductive jocularity, and fix it so that there can be no more questioning, wondering, pondering, hoping, grieving?
Besides, as my loving hubster has pointed out, "We'll be having grandkids before too long."
We could build our dream home in the boondocks. Travel. Be relaxed, and happy, and grow old together.
When is enough, enough?
Why do I want what I want?
At an impending 38 years old, with an ornery high-school graduate soon to be leaving home, and a career that is sure to keep me warm at night, do I HONESTLY "need" to even consider the possibility of playing this losing game further? Been there, done that, have the gray hairs to prove it. Oh, and these nice little "worry lines" that suddenly appeared on my forehead. WTF is that all about? I'm the only woman I know who has pimples, wrinkles, gray hair, and a soul patch. I just reek of sexuality.
I have no verifiable reason to explain why this subject even needs to be tossed around in my head. The sane, analytical, feet-grounded-in-reality side of me already knows what the best answer would be. That other chick, well, she's just nutz.

Original thoughts? Nope.

2007-01-08T20:53:00.000-05:00

An idea borrowed shamelessly from Catherine, here are the religions that most closely (according to the quiz) match my beliefs. I don't see a listing for The First Self-Righteous Church of Bullhead, though.
1. Unitarian Universalism (100%)
2. Liberal Quakers (90%)
3. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (90%)
4. Theravada Buddhism (84%)
5. Secular Humanism (79%)
6. Neo-Pagan (74%)
7. Bahá'í Faith (66%)
8. Mahayana Buddhism (64%)
9. New Age (64%)
10. Nontheist (56%)
11. Taoism (54%)
12. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (53%)
13. Reform Judaism (51%)
14. Jainism (51%)
15. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (50%)
16. Orthodox Quaker (48%)
17. New Thought (46%)
18. Sikhism (42%)
19. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (42%)
20. Jehovah's Witness (41%)
21. Hinduism (35%)
22. Scientology (34%)
23. Orthodox Judaism (33%)
24. Islam (26%)
25. Seventh Day Adventist (24%)
26. Eastern Orthodox (14%)
27. Roman Catholic (14%)

Aaaaand, in more shamelessly easy lemming style... here's my entry for DD's request.

Wish I could make the face a little more stout without looking like a transvestite. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Anhedonia

2007-01-01T06:11:00.000-05:00

If one word can sum up 2006 for me, this would be it.
Anhedonic. The opposite of hedonistic.
For the upcoming 365 days, I resolve to:
Continue breathing, whether I want to or not.
Try to quit smoking, and subsequently not kill anyone.
Exercise; I hear endorphins are fashionable.
Return to crafting, I care not what medium my inspiration takes.
Get over this anticipatory empty-nest syndrome. Will elaborate more on this later.
Read more. Something in a non-textbook kind of literature would be great.
Try to find an acceptable balance of sleep somewhere between my usual 5 hours and the 12+ I crave.
Walk the dog(s).
Clean my house.
Keep it that way.

I wish for each of you a tremendously satisfying year ahead.

a real time waster

2006-12-22T01:40:00.000-05:00

Nothin' to say, so I'll post this:

For real

2006-11-20T19:53:00.000-05:00

Mom?
Yeah babe?
Can I ask you a question?
You just did! ::chuckle::
No, really.
Sure, hun, anything you want. What's up?
How old would Nicky be now? Two?
He'd be two in February. About a year and a half, I guess. This would be his second Christmas.
For real?
Yeah. Let's see... (counting on my fingers...) ...about one year, nine months.
You sure?
Yes, dear. His birthday is February 24th. 2005.
Wow...
Yeah.
I'm sorry I forgot.
It's okay, hun.
Mom?
Yes?
I love you.

This fat lady ain't singing, yet

2006-11-12T23:01:00.000-05:00

Perhaps the most compelling issue that made this recent obsession come to a head is that of worthiness. If we believe in a higher power who directs the day-to-day happenings of his liege, then we must believe that there is a score card and points given (or taken away).
One would find it hard, in this era of democracy and free will, to trust any such leader who just throws out decisions all willy-nilly without much thought or reasoning. Wouldn't one?
I came home to a disturbing news item which I will include below.
On the very day that DD found out about Wolf.
And I got madder than a rained-on rooster.
All I could think is how fucking unfair it is. How ridiculous.

Published: November 08, 2006 11:40 pm
Somerset father charged in gruesome abuse of infant
BY KECIA BALThe Tribune-Democrat
SOMERSET — A 21-year-old Somerset father is in jail after police charged him with repeatedly abusing his infant, including jolting the baby with a stun gun.Brandon Alan Austill of Somerset was charged Wednesday by borough police and arraigned before District Judge Arthur Cook on charges he broke several of the infant’s bones, fractured his skull twice and shocked him twice with a cattle-prod stun gun.The abuse, police said, happened between Sept. 11 – four days after the baby was born – and Oct. 31, when the baby was flown from Somerset Hospital to Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh.Officer Richard Appel said the man indicated that he was unable to comfort the baby or get him to stop crying. Austill and the baby’s mother, Briana Dawn Clark, accompanied the infant to the Pittsburgh hospital.Medical staff and medical records indicated that the broken bones and fractures were at various stages of healing and had occurred during separate incidents, according to a police release. Austill admitted to forcefully smashing his child’s head onto a bathroom sink and a dining-room table, bending the child’s leg over his shoulder until he heard it break and using a stun gun, police said.Austill, who is in the Somerset County Jail in lieu of $75,000 straight bail, faces charges including six counts of aggravated assault and eight counts of reckless endangerment. His address is listed as in apartments at 800 East Main St.

I have often thought about adoption. Foster care. Anything to help out poor, innocent children who need a loving home. Even if it meant giving them back up eventually, I could give them more love than they've received in their short life, and hopefully make a difference. I'd volunteer to be a crisis haven. Just let me love a baby.
These people had a baby.
Why?
My thoughts were on DD. On Kellie. On Catherine.
Again. WHY. Whywhywhywhywhy.
I think about DD losing Wolf.
I think about Kellie losing her uterus.
I think about Cathy losing two beautiful baby boys. And being turned down for adoption.
WTF?
Yes, you have a two-income household and desperately want to add another child to your loving family. Sorry, you don't meet our requirements.
These are words I often think I'd hear if I pursued an agency for fostercare/adoption.
Sorry, but we need a stay-at-home mom.
Sorry, but you're too emotionally unstable.
Sorry, but you're white, and we need to be politically-correct and place these children with an ethnically-matched household.
That would be from the bureaucrats.
What do you hear from "god"?
Sorry, but these people are more deserving than you.
They have more points. You suck.
Now, isn't that comforting? A loving, all-knowing god who chooses where to place babies, according to his "plan"? Free will plays little part if you really read the scriptures and understand that god knows everything. He knew these assholes would hurt that baby. Yet he still chose to give it to them.
And here we are with empty arms.
Thanks, buddy!

Facts and fallacies

2006-11-12T18:51:00.000-05:00

Unable to conceive for 14 years.
God answers prayers.
Dear God, I have been praying to you daily for the past 14 years. We are devout Christians. We attend Mass every Sunday, volunteer on parish committees, and donate large amount of time and money. Our son has attended catholic school since kindergarten, and serves as an alter boy. We aren't asking for material things or even a miracle. All we want is to share our love and home with another child, one more baby, because we have so much to give. We would give him a good life, Lord, as you see how we try so hard to live by your rules and be good people. Please, God. We have suffered with infertility for a long, long time. We have tried lifestyle changes, relaxation, and medical treatment. We need your hand in this God. Please help us. We have faith. We have faith that you will see our worthiness, and bless us with another child. Please, God. It has been fourteen years. Please acknowledge our humble begging. In your name we pray, Amen.
God gives me a miscarriage at 7 weeks.
God knows what is best for you.
Lord, I thank you for the attempt at making our dreams come true. I must have done something wrong to make it not turn our the way we'd hoped. Please forgive me of all my sins and errors I have surely made along the way, and give me another chance. I will do everything in my power to serve you in reverence and gratitude. My vocation is that of caring and easing other's sufferings. Allow me to expand that love for mankind to nurturing a tiny soul. Please, Lord, we trust in you to help us to do your will. St. Gerard, protector of pregnant mothers, we ask you to intervene on our behalf. Holy Mary, mother of God, please pray for us. Amen.
By the grace of God, I am allowed to carry a beautiful, perfect baby boy to term.
God answers prayers, but sometimes, you won't like the answer you get.
Nicholas Gerard died as the result of not one, but two knots in his umbilical cord.
God has a plan.
Dear God. I do not know what your plan is for us, or what your plan was for our little Nick. I am struggling to find the "good" to come of this, but trust that your all-knowing reasoning is beyond our mortal comprehension. Please keep him at your side and know how strongly we grieve our loss. Please help us through this difficult time and forgive us as we question your plan. We struggle with our faith, Dear Lord, but believe that for everything there is a reason. Please help us to find what that reason is, and how this experience can help us to grow as Christians and human beings. Please help us to realize our dreams as we try again for another child, Lord, because I know that you are trying, and surely it is I who am at fault. Please, by all that is good and holy, allow us to birth a live baby. Amen.
Sometimes the answer is "NO".
Little Girl Angel, 13 weeks, is purged, intact and in her watery tomb, from my uterus - without explanation.
Ok, God. You've got my attention. What is your point? Tell me, and I will fix whatever it is you're so pissed about. This passive-aggressive behavior is not winning you any points in my book. I can understand the infertility, if that's what your goal is - no more kids for me - but you have GOT to explain why you are killing my babies. It makes no sense! None whatsoever! Why, on your green earth, would you create life and then take it away - repeatedly - just like that? Innocent souls who deserved a chance to be better than we poor, wretched, miserable sorts who only wanted to love them and raise them to be good people. We are told that you are perfect and make no mistakes. So it must be me, huh? The miscarriage I can chalk up to poor lifestyle in the 15 years you ignored our pleas and I gave up "trying". You caught me off guard. My bad. I can even accept the most recent loss, possibly due to increased stress and who knows what other fault I can pin on myself. But Nick? Try as I might, I absolutely CAN NOT wrap my head around that one. As perfect as you may be, there is a design flaw in that whole umbilical cord business you created. Unless, of course, it somehow is Nick's fault he got all tangled up. Oh, but babies are completely innocent and without sin. Would you prefer me to believe my own stress levels caused him to become too nervous and *that's* how he developed the knots? Nope, no way, nuh-uh. Ain't gonna believe that one for one minute. Sorry. Ya lost me. The only reason my stress levels were so high anyway, is because You have taken babies from before, Dear Lord, and I worried as if it would make a difference. I'm a whole lot angry at you right now, God, but all my years of good, solid, Christian upbringing is causing me to feel guilty about my anger, and question my worth. Maybe my faith wasn't as strong as I led myself to believe. Maybe you had a good reason for teaching me a lesson. I'll have to mull that one over a bit. You have said before that you are always with us, and will be here for us in our time of doubt and need. I'm doubting now. I'm only seeing that one set of footprints, God, so I sure hope it's because you're lifting me up from this funk that I'm in.
Is God keeping score?
Ok. So. My friend is dying from cancer. A slow, painful death. Quite possibly this could be explained in a variety of ways. And then there's my mother in law, who is old. So very old. And Jim, who was not old, nor did he have cancer. It gets a little harder to explain that one, but much like catastrophic events and plain old accidents, sometimes, shit just happens. Sometimes repeatedly. To the same people. And this is where I wonder, why?
Is there "a plan"?
If you are a compulsive link-clicker, good for you. I aim to please. And perhaps you are wondering why I keep referring back to this same site. It is not for endorsement, as I don't even know who the group is that sponsors it. They have a few good points to ponder. And these same arguments are ones that I have been pondering for years; the difference being that *I* am unable to articulate them in a way that makes sense. So here's more.
A most compelling point.
I think what finally drove this home to me, was sitting there listening to the preacher during Jim's funeral service. I have not attended another funeral since Nicholas was buried. I've been to another memorial, which was sad and lovely, and fitting for the family (whom I can only imagine did not wish to endure another religion-laden pat on the back either). But we have stopped going to church. I tried, for a long time after Nick died, to keep my chin up and to "be good". I often found myself crying inconsolably, and seething with anger. I can't blame myself, and it's so easy to blame "God". To be mad at "He" who surely caused this. Unlike my mother, who helpfully suggested that maybe it wasn't "God" who killed my children. No, she thinks it might just have been the devil. Thanks, mom. Even MORE comforting to me. I don't know how you sleep at night.
No, I'm pretty sure it was God who killed my babies.
I zone out during the scripture and think about the man at the pulpit who said all the wrong things at a memorial for a little dead baby and was of absolutely NO comfort whatsoever to the grieving parents and brother who needed some solace. Some answers. Some platitudes. ANYTHING to ease the crushing weight on our chests. Was it appropriate to give the same "in a better place" and "no more suffering" speech? Was it acceptable to tell the attendees that God has saved little Nicholas from a life of rotting in hell by forgiving all of his earthly sins? Is there not a special service that most sane clergy-persons offer for CHILDREN? You know, the INNOCENTS? The ones whose families are so torn apart by grief at an unexpected death, the death of a baby whose life hadn't even begun, some soothing words to offer when your whole world has been torn apart? By the time these thoughts (and more!) have moved from one side of my brain to the other, unoccupied lobe, the priest is giving his homily about how we should be living our lives. Been there, done that, didn't work. And then there's the pro-lifers. The ones carrying photos of aborted babies are the best. Just what I need to see, thanks so very much. So, heathen that I am, I stopped attending church. Just too much, too painful, too awkward, too inept. I didn't immediately set out stealing and murdering people. Undoing of years of "right" takes a while. There was that little old lady that I tripped one time, but she healed. Sorry, mom.
My point is, after much consideration, is I was mad at "God".
And that makes so many people rather uncomfortable.
You can't hate God! You'll go to hell! You're wrong. That attitude will get you nowhere. How can you not believe in an all-knowing, all-powerful, perfect Lord and Saviour? All those years of having it pounded into your thick skull and this is what you've become? You should be ashamed.
Perhaps, if you are a true believer, my views give you a little quiver of shock and sadness for my mortal soul.
Perhaps, if you've experienced the type of shit that most of my readers have, you tend to sit on the fence about this issue. You might even lean my way just a little bit.
God forbid I should push you over to the other side.
Personally, I don't care what you believe. If I came up to you expressing full and utter faith in lucky rabbits feet and the number "9", you might think I was nuts. But am I?
Little kids believe in Santa Claus, but we grow up and realize that his Christmas miracles are impossible and untrue. Why then, do so many 'faithful' believe in god-related miracles, and have for all of recorded history? Could it be that the human mind finds unanswered questions to be so stressing that we have to give everything a "reason" just to accept it?
For what it's worth, I took TWO YEARS of a psych/religion program - AT A CATHOLIC COLLEGE - in which the psychology professor stressed repeatedly how religion is a man-created entity. The religion professor conceded that the bible and most Christian beliefs are, indeed, invented by man. The existence of a higher power was tossed around on many different levels. Few doubted, most believed as devoutly as any good bible-thumper would, but two of us stood our grounds on agnosticism. Call it the scientist in me, but ambiguity means very little. I will work even harder at trying to prove something than I would just roll over and accept it because everyone else does and has for years.
So, be mad at me for denouncing my faith. Hate me for hating "God". Notice the contradiction in your beliefs if you are enduring either one of those sensations. Take a moment to browse around books or websites that dissect and examine the human mind and the need for structure and control. Take some time to really THINK about religion.
Would you be less upset if I told you I just.don't.believe in a "god", rather than if I was mad at "him"? Does it change your views of me as a person? Do I matter less? Do I deserve all that I have suffered, especially NOW that I've laid it all out?
I'm still a good person who works tirelessly at caring for other people and easing their suffering. I don't covet my neighbors' anything and I believe in the golden rule/do unto others/respect your elders/don't kill/don't steal, etc. If you think about it, it is possible to be a decent human being without magical delusions. Unless I'm being delusional about my goodness and the loose change I drop in the Easter Seals and Special Olympics containers is the wrong thing to do. Why do we do that, anyway? Why won't god just fix those poor kids?

Of chemical reactions and an active imagination

2006-11-10T23:26:00.000-05:00

We're back from Jim's funeral.
Oh, how was it?
I'd give it two thumbs up, minus a few points for the preacher's performance.
You shouldn't mock a funeral. That's just wrong.
I'm not mocking the memorial service. His family's remembrances were particularly moving, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house.
You sound so disrespectful. Their loved one has died and is gone forever.
I'm not being disrespectful of anything relating to Jim and his family and friends. The two of us even cried as we recalled stories of how Jim touched our lives in so many ways. I can't believe we'll never see him again. All the things we'd planned to do, but never got around to. Time, wasted.
He's in a better place, now.
His body is in a box awaiting cremation.
But, I mean, heaven! He'll be happy and pain free. You'll meet up with him again someday.
Let me stop you right there. This is where I took issue with the platitudes and fantasies offered up by the preacher man.
Do you think for one instant that the family took the slightest bit of comfort in hearing how Jim, a sinner, has been saved by the lord and led to pretend fantasy land to be happier than he was down here with them, all because some high falutin' big shot created his own child (half man, half magic) for the sole purpose of being murdered to allow us to break free from the miserable life we've led and thus live on forever in the place that is so perfect and wonderful and need-free that it defies the very essence of the sacrifices we are supposed to endure down here as mortals? Sorry, you lost me. Wait, where are you going? I'm not done!
When you die, you die.
And so it goes.

Hebetude

2006-11-08T22:43:00.000-05:00

I have written, rewritten, edited and revised more ways to express my feelings today than I care to acknowledge.
My views on life, love, and the pursuit of happiness are insignificant; my beliefs on topics such as religion and luck and delusions and imagination are not necessary.
I don't want to argue, I don't care to explain, and my wish is to not have to persuade anyone to understand what paths my life has led me to arrive where I am.
Furthermore, I don't have the energy nor concern to correct the flow of the preceding statement.
~~~
I've gone into details already about my mother-in-law and my friend, both of whom are not faring well. Someone IRL said to me, "Aw, what a shame, and so near the holidays." The fuck. Holidays? Holydays?! Any GODDAMN day, asshat. What the fuckingfuck difference does it make if she's sick (or dead) by December 25th? Or maybe sometime in the spring (but not too close to Bunny Day, of course!). And if by "holiday" you mean "Thanksgiving", then let's observe the giving of thanks TO EACH OTHER for the small, everyday moments we give and share with one another, because *that*, my friends, is what makes the world go 'round. *That* is what creates our realities and shapes our experiences and changes our lives. The 'holy'days as we know them are based purely around pagan observances, and I'm ending my conversation of religion right there.
~~~
One of our - Gerry's - closest friends died on Monday. Natural causes. He was 50. And now he's dead. Just like that. Just stopped breathing.
And that's how it happens. From the elderly person who has finally suffered long enough, to the unborn baby that never got to look into his parent's faces - the heart stops, and you cease to breathe. Just like that. I wonder, under what circumstances, is it easier to accept another's death? When they've struggled and suffered for a long period of time, or when they just go suddenly? A violent accident or a stillbirth? Cancer or old age, or it was just his time. It doesn't matter when they die. They just will. And it will be an inconvenience as the world moves on around us. Life is short. Savor the small things, the little moments, the nothing that is everything. You never know which breath will be your last.
~~~
I had to call G in Virginia to break the news. We talked for an hour. He called me back seven times to relive One More Memory. One More Story. So Many Questions.
The last time they spoke, Gerry told him, hey buddy, next time I'm down that way, I'll stop in to see ya. He never did. Life moved on, we got busy, it wasn't convenient, maybe later, summer came and went, he'd still be there next time... And now he's not. And Gerry is wracked with the guilt of "what ifs" and "should haves".
So we're driving to WV in the morning to celebrate life. Life that Jim was once a part of. Ours.

Sorry, girls. He's all mine.

2006-11-07T01:54:00.000-05:00

I'm going on a date!
My husband called me at work tonight...
He's taking tomorrow off to spend with me.
*giggle*!!
His plans:
We're going to walmart to get tires put on his truck, and get my hair done.
And if there's still time left over, there's a little chinese buffet place next door for lunch.
Damn, I'm spoiled.
Doh!
Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

And on a final note:
Don't forget to vote!
Vote early, and vote often.

Shadows

2006-11-04T23:04:00.000-05:00

Sorry I have been quiet lately. Many thanks to those who have checked in on me.

Today marks one year since we lost our little girl. She was bound to be gorgeous, I am sure. And spoiled beyond all measure. 13 weeks with us; I never felt her move. There is a large part of me that wishes we hadn't found out the gender, however, I'm pretty certain it would have bothered me more not to know. We didn't name her. Gerry couldn't deal with making it any more real than it already is. We have had the "perfect" girl name reserved for 18 years now, and I can't bring myself to seal our fate by using it on dead baby.

I've been quite ill with viral gastroenteritis aka one nastymuthafucka of a stomach bug. Nausea, vomiting and diarrhea aside, I feel as if I have had the shit (literally) beat out of me, and then sucker-punched just for fun. Muscles I didn't know I possessed ache. A lot. You ever throw up SO hard for SO long that it feels like you bruised your ribs? Add whiplash and some IV fluids. Yes, I had to go to the hospital for medication and rehydration. I'm fun like that.

My friend is continuing the chemotherapy, because the cancer has now been located in her liver as well. She has lost all of her hair. The pain medications make her demented. She developed a blood clot in her spleen. I can't be around her while I'm sick.

My mother-in-law is settling in at the nursing home. My sister-in-law, on the other hand, seems to think I have ample time and desire to visit her every day and likes to spread the guilt on real thick and gooey. It's not my fault she didn't listen to us five years ago and consider a personal care home when she needed it back then. The transition would have been a bit easier.

And, of course, while I haven't been posting, I have been reading. My heart goes out to so many of you as you continue your own personal struggles. Please know I do care, albeit in silence.

when it rains...

2006-10-10T21:55:00.000-04:00

My 84-year old mother in law broke her hip today; she'll be having surgery in the morning. Normally, this isn't too major of a deal, but her health isn't all that wonderful to begin with. I'm carrying thoughts of pneumonia, deep vein thrombosis, pulmonary embolism and stroke as potential side effects. At the very least, I forsee an extended stay at a rehab facility that will likely snowball into residing in a nursing home for the remainder of her days.
Sigh.

Can you hear me now?

2006-10-09T11:21:00.000-04:00

Last week was not a pleasant week in many ways, the least of which being without power intermittently, and phone service indefinitely. The brilliant minds of our local borough decided it was high time to use the $5/mo "electrical wire maintenance charge" to replace some of the lines. (This fee is helpfully labeled EWMC on our bill, resulting in riotous laughter between the hubster and I. If I could charge someone $5 a month to maintain my similarly-acronymic you-know-what, well, count me in).
Anyway, somewhere amidst the blackouts, my phone went dead. Just mine. Not my neighbors', no one else in the neighborhood had complained. Just me. Took several CELLphone calls to the phone company to convince them that I did have a problem (nothing was showing amiss at their end), I have no little grey box on the side of my house (everyone has one, they scolded me), and I could be persuaded to pay their $91 charge if someone would just fix my effing phone already! Friday afternoon, about 4pm, the dude shows up to have a look-see.
Turns out I was right - I didn't have the typical modern convenience of an outside box, so he installed one; and, the problem was the dropline from the pole, not inside my rat's nest wired home, so it was f-r-e-e. Yay! I didn't make one call all weekend. But dammit, I could have if I had wanted to. So there.
Yesterday there was a message on my answering machine, encouraging me to call them back if I still was without service.

Remembering John

2006-10-09T07:48:00.000-04:00

October 9, 1940
December 8, 1980

How
John Lennon

How can I go forward when I don't know which way I'm facing?
How can I go forward when I don't know which way to turn?
How can I go forward into something I'm not sure of?
Oh no, oh no
How can I have feeling when I don't know if it's a feeling?
How can I feel something if I just don't know how to feel?
How can I have feelings when my feelings have always been denied?
Oh no, oh no

You know life can be long
And you got to be so strong
And the world is so tough
Sometimes I feel I've had enough

How can I give love when I don't know what it is I'm giving?
How can I give love when I just don't know how to give?
How can I give love when love is something I ain't never had?
Oh no, oh no

You know life can be long
You've got to be so strong
And the world she is tough
Sometimes I feel I've had enough

How can we go forward when we don't know which way we're facing?
How can we go forward when we don't know which way to turn?
How can we go forward into something we're not sure of?
Oh no, oh no

and now for a word from our sponsers

2006-10-07T10:14:00.000-04:00

Taking a break from my usual whining... I honestly do not have the energy left to complain anymore, so...
A non-compensated plug for something amazing.
I just had to share.
New shower.
Black shit stuck on the non-slip surface.
Bleach, c0met, soft sc.rub, daily shower sprays... nothing worked.
Nothing.
On a brand new shower floor.
Pissed.
Mr. Cle.an Mag!c Era.ser.
Wonderful. Works. Buy it.
No fumes, no gloves. Little bit of scrubbing.
That is all.

Get ovary it already

2006-09-28T01:04:00.000-04:00

He rummaged under the sheet, stiff tool in hand, watching the screen with curious abandon.
"A little lower," I suggested.
Sorry, he offered, embarrassed.
"Right there, you got it," I encouraged.
That's good? he asked.
"That's good."
endometrium is pretty damn thick.
Doubtful my 15 days of spotting should be considered a period. LMP date goes in chart as 7/2/06.
Right ovary is near explosive proportions, including a ginormous cyst that may or may not need attention. My current risks include torsion or rupture.
Pain pills, rest, wait and see.

Avoidance

2006-09-24T08:27:00.000-04:00

I sat here today, hand on the phone, trying to work up the nerve. I haven't spoken to her in days... possibly weeks. Okay, maybe just two weeks - but had it really been that long? It might have. What do I say? She hadn't called me, either. Knowing MaryAnn, I'm placing a huge bet that she doesn't want company, she didn't feel like talking, she's being strong, or stubborn, or just pretending. However, having been through grief myself, I know that sometimes human contact is welcome, even if not desired. The attention creeps up on you, and by the time you tell them thank you, you realize that you did need it, after all.
So, I called her. I don't know if I was avoiding her and her situation, or if it was mutual, but she wasn't cold, at least not completely. I sort of apologized, and she sort of acknowledged that she hadn't really been interested in company anyway. The results of her bone scan showed the cancer is in her bones; ribs and right femur. What they had originally proposed as a 'cure' (!) has quickly spiraled down to just getting her into remission. She starts chemo on monday.
Once metastisis has begun, the life expectancy for SCLC is about 6-18 months (around 12 weeks if left untreated). It's been almost five months since they found the tumor, which was good sized to begin with, and they hadn't done the bone scan until now. It is possible it had spread a while ago. Do we figure the lost weeks out of her survival time?
I'm visiting her today (with her permission). I thought I'd bring her flowers - but they die all too quickly. I thought maybe a book, then, to give her something to do during her long chemotherapy sessions. Somehow I know that a feel-good, inspirational, chicken-soupy kind of book just isn't going to work. I think just a caring presence might be worth something, at the very least. I feel guilty. I feel like I should be doing more. I want to run and hide. I don't want regrets hanging on me after she's gone. I don't have the strength to deal with this.
She was with me during my hospital stays with Nicholas. She couldn't bring herself to visit when he was born. She came to his funeral. We didn't talk much about it after that. I know she cared, she just has this avoiding-uncomfortable-thoughts thing. As do I. I know she cares. She knows I care. And it doesn't matter anyway, because nothing is going to fix it.
Even though she doesn't want hugs and tears and pity, I will be available to help her when she gets weak and is hurting. Chemo alone is an ugly thing, but once this spreads further into her bones and organs, as it quickly eats her away from the inside, she will be needing more help than her family can give. She probably won't ask for hospice care, but I hope that she does. I will do my best to nurse her through this. I don't know that I can. But I have to.
Somehow.
And I think back to all the "god thoughts" and the dismissive statements that there's a reason for this, this is his will, it's part of The Plan, ad nauseum. Who, exactly, benefits from this? Am I going be a stronger person? Is her family going to sit back and say, Ok, I get it now, we didn't need her anymore? Just when I thought I was getting a grip on any possible 'good' coming from losing Nick, such as taking in foster babies, I'm hit with losing her, and I'm more pissed than ever. It is senseless and hateful and has no purpose whatsoever. This is why I don't believe in a all-powerful 'plan'. It is just random, and that's all there is.
Finis.

Thoughts on Hope

2006-09-14T08:52:00.000-04:00

Or, the loss of.

Hope is a palpable, living emotion. You can feel it, sometimes only by its absence.

This is so true.
It got me to thinking about the little silver medallion from Catherine. The first thing I thought of when I pulled it from the package was, "She sent this to me, because she's not using it anymore". Hope, that is. She's lost hers. And so have I, in many ways. As I clench the cold metal in my hand, it warms slightly, and I'm left feeling confused, sad, and detached. I can hold on to hope only as long as I feel obligated, committed, compelled. Soon, I find I need my hand free. I need to move on, to get busy living life. My life. Whether or not that life holds every single dream I've dared to fancy for myself or not. The quality of my existence is what I make it to be, what I strive to achieve, what I can control. Does that always turn out the way I had intended? Do I still mourn my losses, my failures, my shortcomings?
I'm so tired of being force-fed the Big Plan the universe supposedly has in store for us. I honestly do feel that life is a big series of unmitigated random events that compile into what choices we next make.
If I had been 5 minutes later arriving at my friend's house that day, I'd have not met her brother's friend, whom I later married. If I would have accepted the invitation to attend OU and play my clarinet in the marching band... If I would have moved to Stittsville... If I didn't have passive restraints in that old VW that got totaled... If I didn't recycle that old psychology paper just to get a passing grade in a rhetoric course... If Nicholas would have been born.
So many things that would make my life different. Some regrets, some not. Some decisions, some just chance. Some would call it fate. Perhaps. Who really knows?
I will place this hope on the mantle among the angels residing there. I will hold it, I will set it aside, I will cling to it, I will remember the sentiment, and I will always wonder at the "what ifs".

When hope is removed, the air is violently sucked from the environment leaving an oppressive stagnation in its wake.

The atmosphere becomes heavy.

You become numb and your knees want to buckle under the weight of the anvil on your chest.

You stop breathing. For a minute.

All the stress leading up to that moment shows its effects in your face and the exhaustion that has been building, repressed, flows to the surface.

Questions are asked. You answer them, but you don't remember what you said.

You begin to dread what you now know will happen.

Your body still functions. You walk, but you don't feel your legs. You cry, but the anvil stays firmly in place. You try to sleep, but you are too exhausted. You haven't eaten in three days. You aren't hungry.

The questions begin. Why? What if? How?

Questions that will often be unanswerable.

Pick a number, any number

2006-09-13T17:52:00.000-04:00

CD74/CD1 - eh... who the hell knows, really.
Either this "spotting" business is developing into an insanely "light flow", or I now have a legitimate excuse to stuff the crotch with some cotton.
At any rate, the helpful staff at Dr. Wonderful's office agree that my endometrium has begun "to shed". Is that cool, or what? I'm shedding! Molting, if you will. I'm losing my summer coat in preparation for the long winter months. Whatever. You always knew I was backassward. At any rate, I'm guessing the old ute got so full it had to eek out eventually.
The jury is still out on whether or not I can consider this a cycle or not. I need to see just a little more action going on before this phenomenon can be called, in fact, a.period. Whatever it is, I'm going to make it the best goddamned happy period I can. Put on your party hats, bring on the cake!
In continued celebration of my extraordinariness, I will take a moment now to recognize the incredible Catherine for her adept timing on the "thinking of (me)" front. Even through her own personal hell, my very good friend was kind enough, generous enough, and damn well ambuscading enough to send me gifts on two.seperate.occasions. (!) I wuv her to pieces. One was a care package doubling as a birthday gift that she intended to bestow upon me during our postponed but still very necessary retail therapy appointment. In this, she included two awesome candles of the orange spice cake variety, a sterling silver "hope" medal, and a kick-ass tee-shirt that was intended to be worn together with hers on aforementioned outing. Today, I received a congratulatory gift card to buy some work-stuff! So I still get to go shopping, even if it is all alone. (That is somewhat bittersweet, my dear). You, my darling bud, are a wonderful person, and I do not deserve your thoughtful friendship.
Donations will continue to be accepted. Ask how now! Hee hee, just kidding. Sort of....
So, The Boy just waltzed in the door asking to be fed, so I'm taking my shedding self into the kitchen to find an MRE.

Mudslide

2006-09-12T19:11:00.000-04:00

I just spent a happy hour with gals from work (including a few assorted children thrown in for distraction). Remember the good old days when drinks were half price? Or maybe the appetizers? Better yet - BOTH? Heh, well, no longer my sweeties. Drinks were $1 less and a few, selected, "choice" appetizers were reduced. These would be the ones that don't sell well on their own. Why(?), you may be pondering. Because they suck.
Total damages were worth at least 3 hours spent hard at work. This is why I do my drinking at home, alone, in my underwear.
Speaking of underwear. Dr. SomewhatHot must have been wearing a thong today. No panty line whatsoever, not even a thigh band from long-leg skivvies. You could see where his shirt-tail was tucked, but the rest of his khaki pants were smooth and snug from the behind. We spent a few moments pondering the possibilities - commando vs. a slingshot - but nobody was in agreement. Some mysteries just need to stay that way, I suppose.
Gas is gone, after my morning coffee. Still the occasional spot on the paper, but no other signs of impending menses. Thanks for your concern about my stick-peeing faculties. I've got it under control. They know when it is Thursday, and are ready to turn fifty shades of white. There's only so much pink dye to go around, and I'm not getting more than one line, ever. EVER! Argh! And that's that.
DD tagged me. I never do these memes, but since she's such a stogger I figured I'd better play nice this time. :-) Wouldn't want a plague of creepy-assed spiders to find their way to me.
I am to type the first thing that comes into my pea-brain at the following words:
1) Jacket: Off - (2nd thing I thought of was Full-Metal... just so you don't think I'm a nasty ho)
2) Bury: Strawberry - all I can think of are fruits!
3) Lexus: Dream on, darlin'.
4) Pansy: Ass
So, my tags will go to:
Catherine, Kellie, Ann, and Diana
Your words, should you choose to accept the mission, are:
Dynamite
Bill
Press
Read
~~~~
Enjoy!

whatEVER

2006-09-11T20:32:00.000-04:00

I was in bed by 5pm yesterday. I didn't intend to fall asleep and stay that way, I just did. My initial plans were to make a dent in the seemingly insurmountable pile of clothes residing in baskets stacked on top of baskets, on top of my bed. My pillows whispered to me in a low, dusky drawl... hey baby, we need fluffed. And they did. I decided to do one. I fluffed it, and fluffed it well. I wanted to do them all. So there I am, fluffing my ass off, when the crisp clean sheets perked up that they needed some smoothing. Smoothing, and fluffing, and writhing about made me want to just snuggle in and bask in the glow of a freshly made bed. Yes, I do things backwards. But I wasn't the last one out, so I very well couldn't make the bed with my old man still IN it, right? What's a little bed-making behind his back? Alas, I fell asleep, and the laundry still sits on the floor next to that naughty, naughty bed.
Somewhere around 9pm the hubster asked me if I really wanted to sleep, undisturbed, all night. I believe his words were "I thought you were going to put the clothes away". I told him I wasn't feeling well. And, in fact, I wasn't at that point. Earlier in the day I had suffered an unusually painful bout of unpassable gas. It's not that I couldn't fart at work if I had really wanted to, it just that this gas wasn't interested in escaping. During one attempt to sit on a chair, a sharp pang of surprisingly intense, knock-the-breath-out-of-you pain hit me like a bolt of lightning throwing meat cleavers. I spent the remainder of the afternoon feeling somewhat constipated, though I absolutely know that was NOT the case, and wishing I could just cut the cheese and go home. Upon my arrival home, the feelings had passed - and possibly the gas as well, though I do not recall an event that mighty - and as such I promised the spouse I'd do some chores. heh. Well.
I rolled over, and the damn meat cleaver twisted in my gut as I wrenched myself into a pretzel shape. No lightning this time, just sharp metal slicing through my pelvis. WTF? I felt such an immense pressure, but not really an 'urge' to go visit the porcelain goddess, so much as a 'might as well try it' concession. Nada. I'm telling you, I am not constipated, I know, I know, I know. Then it hit me. I have a tumor in my colon. I'll bet that's what it is. Or an ovary has just festered up and torsed (is that the proper usage of torsion? Will torse, has torsed?) Maybe I 'do' have endometriosis, and it has grown to the point it has covered every pelvic organ I own and is choking the life right out of them. Hmmm.
Throughout today the feeling has waned just a wee little bit, and, as days do, things got in the way of my self-diagnosing and obsessing. Until I noticed a slight hint of pink on the paper. Am I spotting? Is it my period? After a mere 72 days? Wha?
And... that was the end of that. I haven't spotted one teensy bit since. I even put on a pad for the occasion. All dressed up, and no place to go. My poor little girl, the wallflower. (I always thought she was a little dorky, but I try to improve her self esteem).
Yeah so anyway. Sigh. Woe is me.
In other fantabulous news, I .. uh... well. I got nothin.

I told you not to eat that

2006-09-10T05:25:00.000-04:00

So last night I gave myself the mini-spa treatment. I shaved, I tweezed, I exfoliated. I colored my hair. I did some godawful damage to my facial skin. I think they tell you not to scrub after a chemical peel, and if they don't, they should. I did a pedicure. I ate a burrito. I went to bed.
Somewhere between all the chemicals on me, and the refried beans in me, I had a weird dream. No, this one isn't prophetic, or even loosly grounded in any sense of reality. (This, after I've come to grips that Catherine's mother will not be twirling with a high school marching band anytime soon).
I was in England, visiting some very good friends of mine whom I've never met. It was raining, of course, and we were awaiting "the big event", such as a wedding or something. They lived in this sprawling mansion, yet the front porch looked suspiciously like the one at my brother's old house, complete with a mortorcycle covered in a tattered blue tarp, and various car engine parts strewn about. I had been wandering the grounds, and found myself towards the rear of the property, lush green with rolling hills and large, ancient trees towering overhead. In the distance, I saw a gathering of an unusual sort of critter... what appeared to be a typical Pennsylvania groundhog sat up and hopped, like a kangaroo. These smallish creatures must be a type of European Wallaby, I thought. How odd! As I got closer, I noticed one of them was sporting a sports drink bottle, complete with nylon carrying pouch and neck strap. I wondered why he didn't just keep it in his pouch. As I turned to leave, the animal with the bottle scurried up next to me, and asked, "Where're ya off to, mate?" This wasn't a groundhog OR a wallaby! It was a capybara! That hopped! And walked upright! And was talking to me!
I immediately noticed that the water-bottle-on-a-rope belonged to The Dude of the house, and suggested we return it post-haste. The capybara was in agreement. "I meant no harm," said he. We sludged through the now-swamplike yard (because it never stopped raining) towards the home. I rang the bell and asked to speak to Pru, who was getting ready for her evening of elegant show-offery. Of course, she was too busy to attend to me and my needs, but The Dude came to the door. I explained how I had located his water bottle, and asked if my new friend could attend this evening's festivities as well, because he was kind enough to be honest and return the bottle, and besides that, he spoke perfect english. We agreed it would be fine. But he could only have one plate of salad because he was exceeding the guest list and the amount of food that had been prepared.
I awoke to a screeching alarm telling me it was time to get up for work this morning. I never got to see how it all turned out. Damn.

Hurry up and wait

2006-09-07T05:30:00.000-04:00

In the month of May, my friend noticed chest tightness, a cough, and difficulty breathing.
By the end of June, her cancer was detected and she began an array of testing.
Not treatment.
All through July and August, she went to Big City Hospital for one procedure or another, only to find out the samples obtained weren't good enough for what they needed to know how to treat it.
Her latest biopsy on Friday hit the jackpot.
Small cell (oat cell) lung cancer.
The really bad kind.
According to the National Cancer Institute, this type of cancer can only be staged in two ways. Limited-stage, or extensive. Usually, by the time SCLC is diagnosed, metastases has already occurred. As opposed to NON-small-cell cancers, which carry an array of letter and number coding to their staging, and have numerous treatment opportunities... this kind is inoperable. Chemotherapy is her only option. Which will be beneficial just in case it has spread. Oh, and the survival rates? Only 10% of the total population of patients remain free of the disease over two years from the start of therapy... the time period during which most relapses occur. Even these patients, however are at risk of dying from the cancer. The overall survival at 5 years is 5% to 10%.
One of her doctors called it "aggressive". They will not be doing any more cutting and sampling "just in case it were to enter [her] bloodstream or lymphatics". Shame they didn't think of that eight biopsies ago.
Now, to be sitting on this side of the news, having seen first hand how slim "odds" don't mean a thing (how many of my readers fall into the " < 1% " category?)... it is hard to be hopeful. My friend, who has a long and varied medical background, has also seen some amazing shit in her life. She knows. She's not wearing blinders. She watched her own mother died of gallbladder cancer, which is pretty rare. She knows what she's up against, and right now appears to be in the acceptance stage.. If you subscribe to the Kubler-Ross model of grief, MaryAnn went from denial and bargaining a few months ago, skipped anger altogether, was in depression while waiting so damn long to find out what she already assumed to be the answer, and has now landed dead-on in acceptance.
At 57, she is trying to get her affairs in order.
She hasn't told her children (three boys my age) the magnitude of her illness. She doesn't want to upset them. Her husband is completely out of the loop, even though he knows the diagnosis. He just doesn't know what it means, really. Either he wouldn't understand, or she doesn't want to sit down and teach him, so he's merrily moving along about his day without a second thought. She calls me when she needs to vent. I'm at a bit of a loss on how to deal with it, myself. I know the "right things" to say, and not to say, I have learned how to give comfort and care, but this is different than dealing the typical patient/patient's family. This is different than if it were my own family. If it were my parents or inlaws, I could swoop in and take control and be the hero.
She wanted me to come over and help her wash her hair. She can't shower yet or lift her arms above her shoulders, because this latest biopsy involved cutting out a piece of her rib and going in from the side to "punch out" a portion of the tumor. She has pain. She has to sleep sitting up on the couch. Life goes on around her, and she has (temporarily) lost her independence. She knows she will have to get used to it, though. Her independence went out the window once she got the final diagnosis. Chemo will completely kick her ass. She will lose her hair. She will be nauseated. She will become weak and sickly, and contract every virus she comes in contact with. She is a proud person, who doesn't want everyone feeling sorry for her, and for now has chosen not to share the news. She wants to spend more time with her grandkids. She wants to acomplish a few things she never got to do. She will be too weak. She isn't too hopeful about this whole thing. And rightly so. How on earth does one come to grips with something like this? I can't and it's not even me who is facing it.

Balooney

2006-09-04T00:30:00.000-04:00

Dear Husband,
The primary reason for sealing foodstuffs in plastic is to protect it from the air.
When you continue to seal large amounts of air INSIDE the bags, you are drastically reducing the life expectancy of the bread, cheese, lunchmeat, fresh tomatoes, etc.
Stop it.
Crusty McCheeser

Grounded in Reality

2006-08-30T09:08:00.000-04:00

Weird dreams and premonitions. I guess that what you'd call them. Vivid dreams.
Firstly, I've been so freeeeeeking tired lately; I've had two days off in a row, and slept though them both. Sleeping tends to lead to dreaming, and boy howdy have I had some humdingers.
Can I remember their content now? Nope. I used to keep a dream journal... I'm not sure why. It had something to do with meditation and trying to achieve an OBE. Ahhhh.... those innocent days of secret metaphysical experimentation. So long ago. That was before reality moved in and shut down my sixth sense.
Found myself watching Medium on tv. Television, folks. I hardly ever watch TV. I work the late shift, hence missing any primetime shows; daytime tv simply sucks. Anyway, it got me to thinking (scary thought, I know). I used to be very aware of my world, very sensitive to every little nuance around me, within me, without me. I swear to this day I could pick up vibes like you wouldn't believe. I wouldn't go so far as saying I could predict the future, but more often than not, if my radar honed in on one person or event strong enough, something was bound to occur. And, much like fortune cookies the newspaper horoscopes, you can read anything you want into the generalizations. So, I entertained myself with thinking I had a gift. I was quite young, you see, and my world hadn't yet fallen apart. Now, I'm quite numb to anything otherworldly. Or, in-this-worldly for that matter!
I remember in my early 20's, a gal I had just started working with had befriended me. One day, I asked her if her mother's name was Elizabeth. It took her a moment to reply, because she always knew her mom as Betty. She probably thought I was nuts, but I told her that I was "seeing" a girl in a yellow dress, next to a cow. A week later, she brought in a picture of her mother, on a farm, in a yellow dress with white daisies on it, but the cows were behind the fence in the background. I never really picked up on any features of "the girl in the dress", it wasn't a three-dimensional vision, just more of a thought I guess. She told me how her mother had died from liver failure a year prior, and she felt so guilty with herself (and angry at the doctors) for not catching on that her mother's self-medicating with too many acetaminophen-containing products were building a toxicity that would eventually kill her. I mentioned that perhaps her mother had something else wrong with her (that led to the medicating behavior), and that was the true culprit. There is no conclusion to this story; we went on about our business, would chat about it on occasion, and she moved on to healing day by day. I never pried any deeper, and she never made me feel like a phenomenon or a creep.
So anyway, fiction like Medium and Final Destination still tantalize me. I'm not a weirdo, I assure you, but my delusions do keep me entertained. Not all of these creepy dreams involve death. Sometimes, I have no idea what is going on or why I'm thinking about a certain person with such intensity. And I have to impress on you very vigorously that I do not suffer from any sort of "magical thinking" or mental disorder that would include a risk of commitment to the local looney bin. I'm just stating what is, or what "was", back when I was immature and quite possibly bored. My current state of "huh?" is probably brought on by sheer exhaustion and... well I guess just sheer exhaustion. Did I mention I'm tired? So, in my new reality, the weirdness is just that, sleep-deprived weirdness, and I easily forget the who's and what's in my dreamworld. Which is a good thing. Because if I see a certain person's mother again tonight, I'm going to have to call her! WooooEeeeeeeOooooooh (cue Twilight Zone music here)

Double nickels

2006-08-25T00:44:00.000-04:00

What to do, what to do.
I got to thinking yesterday, as I boldly pulled on undies without adding insurance... I kind of like not having periods. My periods suck. They are horrendous, and heavy and long and miserable and messy and I certainly could do without them. I could do without the questions, the maybes, the wishing and hoping and certainly the disappointment.
So I went about my day.
Sometime in the middle of the night/wee morning hours, however, I became sad. What if this is it for me? Obviously, something isn't working too well somewhere. And the weird thing is, I *could* be okay with that. I was okay with that prior to the Mystery Conception of 2003. That little fiasco sent me swirling back into the whole "not giving up" and TTC bullshit all over again. I had moved past that. Like, a decade ago. Now I'm sort of stuck somewhere out in limbo-land, and I don't like it. There is no control. I base my hopes on some shiny feathered magical fairy that lives in my imagination.
I dislike not being in control.
I feel as if I could live with the DECISION to end my chances and wishful thinking, but not having that decision being made for me in some unfair lottery style fate.
When I had my D&C, I told the doc to go ahead an give me the works while he was in there. "If you won't take it out, at least do an ablation". At my checkup, I asked him if he had done the ablation (my post-procedure bloody output was nil). He had not. For one, I was in no position mentally or emotionally to give informed consent. Also, blah blah something about the size and condition of my uterus at the time blah blah not able to do it right then blah.
Today I am on CD55. I feel fine. I feel happy. I'm wondering if I should request the provera just to clear out the muck, or if I should just let it go until my stupid body decides it will right itself and do the job on its own. Not real interested in the clomid or anything else right now. My cholesterol is high, my blood pressure is high, my weight is high, my tensions are high; my warm fuzzy feelings are not.
Don't get me wrong, CD55 is hardly anything. I've gone well into the 80s before without incident. As a matter of fact, back in 1997 or 1998, I went close to six months without a period. I believe one should probably get checked after about 3 months, and the 6 month mark is a bit of a red flag. I've done birth control in the past to keep things on a more even keel, but I didn't care for the weight gain and zits and nausea, much less trying to remember to take them and swallowing an ounce of prevention when I really needed a kilo of cure.
So anyway, I guess it comes down to this. I'm tired of thinking about it. I'm fed up with wondering. I'm not at the point where I am ready to make any decisions right now, about anything. I'm tired of wearing pantiliners "just in case". I'm tired of watching the calendar.
I also realized last night, that we have gotten into a routine here at home. The Hubster is back to work out of town, so its just me and The Boy. He's a big boy, who more often than not likes to fend for himself. I'm on a long stretch of second shifts currently. I sleep in, do a little housework, go to my job, come back home, do the dishes and laundry, go to bed, lather rinse, repeat. He gets up for football practice, eats there, comes home for a nap, goes to lifting, comes back home and fixes himself dinner, watches some tv, and goes to bed. Some nights we watch a movie together. We see each other enough that he still bums money off of me, and I hand him a short list of chores that need to be done. It works. Do I want/need a tiny creature that is completely dependent on me to give me hassle?
The yearning to snuggle a little baby who looks at me with wonder and curiosity is still there. The need to mother, take care of, and dote on something is still there. I could get a kitten. Kittens let you snuggle on occasion. They look at everything with wonder and curiosity. And as a bonus, they bathe and toilet themselves. Of course its not the same thing, but its all I've got.

Indemnity

2006-08-23T09:16:00.000-04:00

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes, I appreciate your thoughts (and attention!).
Recently, I reacted in a bit of a surprised horror when one of my friends told me "The next time Joe pisses me off, I'm buying new appliances!". She wasn't talking coffee pots, either. Her stainless steel fridge, stove, dishwasher, trash compactor and microwave are almost ten years old now! I thought, now that's a bit harsh. But then I thought, she is insane. My husband would KILL me. Plus, we don't even HAVE that kind of credit. Wonder what she'd buy me if Joe pissed ME off? I'll have to get on that.
But then my big day came and went and at first I wasn't too miffed because we were just too preoccupied to even bother to care. It wasn't until The Hubster and I were at one of those dented can & surplus crap stores that it hit me. He's looking at sweatshirts and jean jackets, and all I wanted was this poodle-fluff throw, and HE TOLD ME NO. Uh... WTF? No? Oh no you di'unt. So I bought it, and came home and started looking at jewelry online. Oh yes. I have purchased two gold bracelets. One is an Omega. Scorn!

...and it was good

2006-08-21T00:11:00.000-04:00

Woweeee! I've never enjoyed a shower more than that. I didn't want to get out. I must've washed my hair a half dozen times. Today, I even shaved.
Don't get me wrong, we *did* practice basic hygiene, but birdbaths only get you so far. Every other day we'd sludge our way over to the in-laws for a good scrubbin'.
But this, THIS, is just too wonderful.
Yay, Mr. Fixit! You deserve a special treat for your heroic effort. ::wink,wink::
Ah, but still. We have the walls and floor to finish. We'll get around to the kitchen ceiling eventually. Really, plumbing is a wonderful thing. I'm all set. Good to go. Worn out.
~~~
Saw the doc. Diastolic pressure is high(120/90), ankles not too swollen (yet) today. Heart sounds good, pulse on the high side of normal(84), went for bloodwork and peed in a cup. If nothing is wrong medically, then I *am* just nuts. She gave me my paxil. And I've gained a lucky 13 pounds. She urged me to contact Dr. Wonderful about my periods (or lack thereof). Unless my thyroid suddenly went on the blink (which she is checking, again. Along with the blood sugar and cholesterol and electrolytes and tread wear and wiper blades, all for the low low cost of $19.95 (plus tax)), there doesn't seem to be any reason other than my bum ovaries to blame.
~~~
I go back to work tomorrow. While I'm sad to have to kiss my vacation goodbye, I'll be absolutely thrilled to get.out.of.this.house. And wear real clothes. Today I managed to do my hair and makeup and put on some spiffy digs just to remember what I could look like in the real world. My word, the laundry I have to do! Everything is covered in drywall dust. I mean EVERYTHING. Trace amounts of gypsum will show on my UA.
~~~
I'm off to do a few errands, and buy a bucket of chicken before I start the "new me" routine. Girl's gotta have a little fun, right?

Caulk Watch 2006

2006-08-19T08:33:00.000-04:00

This just in...
Authorities have announced that bathing shall commence at 0900 today, but are quick to warn that any suspicious extraneous moisture activity should be immediately reported to officials. In the unlikely event that the cabin loses water pressure, an emergency towel will be issued and instructions in its use will be provided. Please familiarize yourself with the strategically placed buckets located directly below the daedal enclosure.

Immerge te in aquam!

This Week in Scourge

2006-08-18T11:25:00.000-04:00

So much for a "vacation" - I'd have been more relaxed at work.
Day 7 of home improvement hell. I'm telling you, any marriage that can stay strong through this kind of torture can handle anything.
Don't ask me for my opinion if you don't want to hear what I have to say.
If I do not understand something, I will be asking well thought out questions.
I am not your toolbuddy, your apprentice, or an underpaid helper.
Bite me.
~~~
Yesterday I turned 37. No cards, no gifts, no cake. Being insanely sick of sandwiches, we did go out for lunch on the way to Woe's to pick up the shower door. No, of course not the one I wanted. We got the one that fits instead. Seems the manufacturer of the "kit" we ended up with has it so that only one door works with the ensemble. I really don't care anymore. I'd just like to bathe, and soon.
~~~
The Boy has been injured at football camp. More than a sprain, he has torn fibers in a tendon or something. Swollen, black and blue, and no weight bearing. He feels like a sissy on the crutches, says he. What a pisser. I can't even baby him like I want, because of this bloody hell of a bathroom situation. And of course he's too much of man lately to tolerate my doting anyway.
~~~
The last time we undertook such massive renovations was when we were expecting Nicholas. What a waste of time and energy that was. The room that has remained closed-off for 18 months is needed, temporarily, to house the cabinets and various other items while we put in the new floor. And as such, I had to enter Nick's room, and pile the baby furniture and bags of clothes and crib sheets and other (no longer) essentials against a wall to make space.
I had a bit of a meltdown. This so fucking sucks on so many levels. What in the hell did I ever do to deserve this? All these assholes out there having babies they don't even want. Why them? Why not me? I'm not worth it?
~~~
When we sort-of fixed the bathroom last time, I opted to remove the tub door and use a curtain. My reasoning was, being barely pregnant with Nick's predecessor (which I swiftly miscarried), I knew I would rather not lean over the tracks to be bathing a baby in the tub. This time, we went all out and got a fancy-dancy shower - no tub - 60", with seats. Little less worried about the whole having to bathe a baby issue these days. We'll have vinyl flooring instead of carpet, and if it were up to me, he'd install a urinal on the wall because my guys have a bit of an aiming issue.
~~~
I actually know a woman who did just that. She has five sons. Six guys, three bathrooms, one with a urinal. She even has her very own private space with a whirlpool. And I'm betting a pretty good stash of excedrin.
~~~
I have a doctor's appointment of Monday. Just my regular doctor, not the gyne. I'll mention that I'm on CD48, but I doubt she'll do much about it. I'll have to see Dr. Wonderful and go back in the stirrups for a tune-up. This particular appointment has been scheduled for months. I have been weaning myself off the prozac (in hindsight, probably not such a grand idea, but at the time, things were just peachy). I really don't want to start back up on that again. The best results I've ever had on anti-d meds was paxil (several years ago). For some reason, neither my family doc nor my gyne seem to want me on it again. Beside working wonders for the big d, it helps with anxiety. And that is the main reason for this checkup. Ever since my hemorrhage and subsequent blood transfusion in December, I've been having these little niggling palpitations. While I was still in the hospital, imbibing the fourth unit of O+, shaken not stirred, I complained of sternal pain and dyspnea. The EKG was normal, and the cardiac enzymes looked fine. Well, guess what, it still continues on occasion. Not when I'm upset, nor when exercising. No. It will wake me up in the middle of the night, or overtake me when driving along in solitude. I can't trace it to any particular stressor. It feels like the onset of a panic attack, but never comes to fruition. While not completely debilitating, it is pretty fucking annoying.
~~~
I guess that's really all I have to say for now. I needed a break and had to get some things off my chest. I feel oh so refreshed.
Have a great weekend!

Can't say no to caulk

2006-08-13T09:16:00.000-04:00

Big G sure is handy with caulk. He'll fill the crack up with all the caulk it can hold. But really, it is quality not quantity that makes the difference in caulk. Or so he says.
I have been remanded to explain a little further the nature of our current project, so as to not shed an unflattering light on Mr. Fixitagain. Excuse me, Mr. Tool.
The reasons our kitchen ceiling has not already been repaired are three-fold.
1) "Most people don't look "up"".
2) "I was getting around to that".
3) "I wanted to make sure the previous repairs worked".
The disposition of our plumbing/carpentry fiasco(s) are based on previously botched work courtesy of the former owners of this humble abode. Nothing is level, nothing is "to code", everything is patched and bent and sealed in the most unusual manner. We had not known this until a mystery leak led us to discover a quaint labyrinth of pipes and tubing within the walls on the north side of the house running from the basement up three stories to the uppermost bathroom (the one with the tub). I'll explain the odd manner of wiring contained within some other time. That particular wetness problem was actually caused by cracked tiles that had gone unnoticed for years, until one day, the wood and plaster could hold no more.
Anyway, to make a long story longer, Mr. Tool sawed and soldered his way to "sufficient" once before, and one thing led to another and in the absence of any further problems, we never quite finished the aesthetic faculties. Well. This problem had absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Tool's abilities to perform any and all household handiwork with the skill and efficiency of the most talented contractor. Really. As a matter of fact, it had everything to do with the poor quality of the caulking and the un-level-ness of the tub,that allowed the splash from the shower to run the wrong direction and seep somehow behind the wall and down into the flooring, etc. etc. etc. It is the product, not the user, to be blamed. I am not saying this with any sort of sarcasm that said weekend contractor could take to heart; I am merely stating the facts as explained to me.
Anyway, I get two whole rooms redone thanks to this! Rather than bemoan the current state of $*^$&%#$ in this house, I'm off to do a little shopping! Today's list includes paint and rugs and those drapes that have absolutely nothing to do with the bathroom or kitchen, but dammit, they're on sale.

Jerry-rigging it

2006-08-13T00:30:00.000-04:00

I'm preparing my morning tub o'coffee, when I feel a small drop of water on my bare feet. I figured I splashed from the sink. It happened again. There was no water on the counter, none under the cabinet, what the.... I looked up. There, seeping from the previously damaged, cracked and peeling bulge in the ceiling, was a nice-sized new water stain and a string of pearls ready to drip, drip, drip the day away.
Dammit.
Just two short days ago, in a moment of supreme levity, the hubster and I snuggled on the couch and marveled at how "ordinary" our lives have been recently. We joked that we were "bored" without some crisis or stressor hanging around. He began planning out the next big "project", the next several years, big purchases, our retirement. I, on the other hand, have a hard time planning out next WEEK, so I started to put on the brakes. Slow down, I cautioned, something else will come along - it always does. Such is our life.
Dammit.
There I go, jinxing things again. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, this is so amazingly minor I'm almost amused by it. Our bathroom needed fixed anyway. I have the floor tiles already. The bandaid style repairs we have attempted in the past finally caught up with us. Now, we have to go all-out and fix it the right way.
We chose the tub, the surround, the sliding shower doors, the faucets and shower heads. I *tried* to wager for a new vanity countertop, but failed. We enlisted the help of a large, slow man the hubster knows to give us a little extra muscle. Beer and steak are wonderfully enticing forms of payment. So is gas money. Ergo, The Boy shall also assist.
Tomorrow, the men are going to get the drywall, plywood, 2x4s, glue, nails, screws, paint, etc. I have to find somewhere else to be during this project. Much swearing will be enjoyed by all. I'm getting up at 7am to remove "all my shit off the counters" and rescue the fluffy bath towels before we commence the destruction. In the end, I will have new floors and walls and a neat-o new tub to clean. I'd bitch about having to clean shower doors again, (our more recent version of the bathroom from hell included a crappy shower curtain - all but duct taped to the walls to seal it) but I did luck out and get the pretty doors I wanted for just slightly more than the plain frugal choice du jour.
Now I am looking forward to fighting the drywall dust that will invade every crevice of my home. I might need new carpet after this. And I know I need new drapes....
see what you started, oh dear husband of mine?

People Of The Corn

2006-08-10T12:58:00.000-04:00

That was.... interesting.
I drove about an extra 50 miles trying to find the conference center, find the motel, find a liquor store, find the motel again, a place to eat, another route to the conference center, and finally realized - there's only a few hours of sunlight left! I must get to the pool! With a mountain dew bottle full of firewater! And a pillow! Stat!
Alas, I did not get a tan. Damn SPF 30. What I *did* do was bleach out irregular areas of my orange faux-tan-in-a-bottle skin. Yeah. I look hot. I took care to protect my color-treated hair (slathered on a deep conditioner and put it up in a bun). It would take two separate washings to release the slime. Ick.
The room was absolutely adequate. It had a bed, and A/C. And a TV with CABLE! Allowing me 7 whole channels to choose from, including one shopping and two spanish-speaking networks. And the plumbing flowed forth with clean water. Can't complain.
Met up with some nice folks at the pool. One family was from Israel; they had flown into SF a few weeks ago, and spent some time out West before heading to DC. Na'im me'od. Why had they chosen here, of all places, to stop? She said they wanted to visit Hamesh. I said Hmm? She said, you know, the Hamesh, with the horses. Ohhh, I say, the Amish, the Mennonites, the "locals". Yes. And how long will it take them to get to DC, did I think? I have no idea, I'm from the other edge of the state... 3, 4, 5 hours? She didn't believe me. And I honestly did not know.
So anyway, that's that for my business trip; I'm back, and well rested, and looking forward to visiting to northern part of the state next week. I'm such a rolling stone.

Mind you, moose bites can be pretty nasty

2006-08-08T10:30:00.000-04:00

So I'm posting a quickie before I head out of town for a few days.
I got up much earlier than I really needed to today, to putter around the house and tie up some loose ends (you know, like pay bills, feed the dogs, lecture The Boy, etc.). Had to renew my driver's license, and drop off an auto insurance payment that somehow got missed (not late yet!). Got side-tracked at B&Ndotcom and used an online coupon to save some money on items I might-or-might not really need. Found my swimsuit and hope it still fits. Plans include commencement of drinking at an insanely early hour and a crispy sunburn as penance.
Recently in the obits was a memorial to two young boys, brothers, who died roughly two years apart. I didn't do the math, but the pictures show teenagers about the age of my own son. I thought, oh that poor mother. How would it be to loose your son? One is bad enough, but two? So close together? What would I do without my little guy? And it made me think of Catherine and her two angels. How on earth can one soul bear such a burden? And how do you qualify something such as that? Is it better or just as bad to have lost children you didn't get to nurture and enjoy compared to having had at least some time with your kids? Most likely, there is no comparison, as both scenarios have their own special sorrows. And it just makes me sad. That's all there is. Nothing I can do, because wondering "why" hasn't done shit to bring any of our babies back to us, where they belong. Maybe more mad than sad, really, but then I just get pissed off and bitter and so far that hasn't gotten me very far. I'm trying to shed some hatred for the upcoming fall season. That is so last year.
So our actual vacation vacation has been sidelined on account of The Boy's football camp inconveniently scheduled on the exact dates we had planned to be in Virginia Beach. His coach is an inconsiderate ass. And to think we had full use of my parents' place while they are enjoying a family reunion in South Dakota, followed by the other side's impromptu get together in Oklahoma. Awww, and I have to miss it all. Sniffle. You wouldn't believe the wrangling I had to do to procure that particular week off (new job and all). So, we won't tell them I'm no longer "going" anywhere, and I'll still have 9 days to work on my alcohol content. Oh and possibly clean the house or something. Yeah that's the plan. Snicker. Actually, if she doesn't bail, Miss Catherine and I do have plans in the works for some retail therapy and time away from it all, if only a day or two. See how nicely things work out sometimes? We deserve this. The only suffering had shall be the vacant echoes moaning from our depleted pocketbooks, and our guys at home who surely will be missing us greatly.
CD38, still no period, and if there are any tell-tale signs of supposed symptoms, I'm at a loss to notice them anymore. My little dare to the universe did not pay off, as I did not ride the tide as expected immediately after proclaiming a wry "maybe" in my mind. And no, I will not be peeing on any sticks. This is just another one of those fuck-yous from beyond. I'll probably start the provera/clomid combo (or just go straight to the clomid chaser if Dr. Wonderful says so) in September or October or never or whatever. Too ambivalent to plan now.
The Hubster is on a brief hiatus from work currently, and is doing a bang-up job of keeping the daily chores in check. Would you believe me if I told you that every-single-item-of-laundry in this house is clean, right now? All at once? Folded and put away, even. I am awestruck by this man's efficiency. Not to turn you on or anything, but he even vacuums. Daily. Well he did miss that one day because he mowed and weed-whacked and raked and bagged all the clippings, and tended to our teeny little vegetable garden. The man certainly needs more oral.
I simply must get going, however, as I am late for an oil change and rotation of the tires and such. TT4N.

The Game

2006-08-03T05:45:00.000-04:00

G had a weird dream. I'd try to call it a nightmare, but that's just too sissy.
Picture a Q. Tarent!no-style movie set as a reality-show game.
One of the underlying questions G had during the dream was "What are we playing for?".
In it were people of all walks of life: rich, poor, educated, not so educated, women, men, middle-class, executives, service workers, people from a variety of backgrounds and ethnicities.
People began to turn on each other. This was a "society" with "rules", and if you did something wrong, you were punished. If you were told to or made to kill someone, you in turn were also punished. There was guilt. If you weren't punished for whatever reason, the grief you felt over breaking "the rules" pushed you to suicide. The master of this game was some guy that G described as a "long-haired, well-to-do, European dude"; sort of like Gary 0ldman as (the young-looking) Dracula wooing Mina/Elisabeta. The underlying assumption was that this was the devil. So anyway, they had been handed cards at the beginning. By this point in the dream, many people had suffered physically or emotionally, and the master decided to eliminate some of the players himself. "Anyone with an Ace has to go". G looked at his card, and saw it was a King, so he felt relieved; yet somehow he still had to go. What is the point of this game? Where do we go? To quote Hotel California - "You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave"....
ANYWAY - the darling hubster wakes me up at 4 a.m. to discuss this dream, and what follows is two hours of mind-numbing conversation about religion and politics. We're still having it now, except I'm not really listening. Oh, he thinks I am, by my convincing "Mmmhmm"s and "Wow, I never thought of it that way, tell me more"s. If I can fake an O, I can feign interest in this, too. Just let me sleep, man. Oy.

Double-dog dare ya

2006-08-02T18:05:00.000-04:00

Boobs sore...
Possibly from being smashed in a bra all day.
Exhaustion...
Um, its like 428 degrees out there.
I can keep inventing possible symptoms as long as my body wants to play this game.
Headache, dizziness... with a hint of nausea - possibly because I'm so hungry I can't stand it.
While I was typing this the first time, my little dawg crawled under the desk and managed to sit on the power strip, turning the computer off.
That has to be a sign, right?
Did I mention its hot?
My only craving so far is airconditioning. *chuckle*
I'm not going to bother to test until September.
I'm not new at this. Just waiting. Patiently. Ahem.
I'm going to watch a movie.
Toodles.

Watch while I perform magic

2006-08-01T19:56:00.000-04:00

My white capris are in the wash, so I can't wear them to the double-wide discount store.
I only have one remaining emergency back-up FRED stashed away in a dark and secluded area of my sock drawer.
I had two days of complete bliss, without work, and enjoyed *shopping* with my husband.
And I'm CD31.
Ok, so I caved and counted.
It's freaking AUGUST already, and I realized I had lost track of the days.
Any sign of auntie? Nope.
Boobs a little tender? Perhaps.
Feeling the urge to empty my bladder at least 5.5 times in a three hour span? Yup.
Knowing that merely mentioning this will bring on the tide in a hurry? Bang-on YES.
So you see, this isn't a typical "I wonder if I might be?" kind of post. Naw, I'm outright demanding that I start tonight. Or possibly tomorrow at work. You know, whenever least convenient. Just bring it on already.

Yay!

2006-08-01T17:26:00.000-04:00

Hearty congrats to Team Milo! I am very happy for all, and I can't wait to see the little guy.

Stressed?

2006-07-30T02:03:00.000-04:00

This is like the most horrible-quality image; and I apologize.
Found taped to the inside of our employee break room, it is a copy of a copy of a copy infinity...
Still funny as hell.

With special thanks to Matt Groening

"and that's... okay"

2006-07-25T21:00:00.000-04:00

Lest my readers think I am unhappy at my job, or worse, work with a complete bunch of idiots... I really do like my job. And only some of them are idiots.
The rest of them think I'm pretty fabulous. I know, it surprised me too.
I don't want to jinx anything, but I must be doing something right. Beyond "User friendly" and "Funny as hell", my reviews have been astonishingly positive - something I'm not used to.
I really have no reason to complain, and yet I do. Other than the fact that I have this strong desire to jab someone with a sharp pointy projectile, I'm doing good. Blah, blah blah, something about eggs in a basket, blah blah. I don't have a lot to work with, so I cherish what I get.
So, just kwicherbitching already, you might say. I can't! Its what I do. (And quite well, I might add). Thing is, I can't come home and complain to The Boy. The Hubster is pretty tired of it as well. I figure, if anyone would understand, it would be the people inside my computer. I know you "get it", and can put up with the whining and torment. When it gets to be too much, you can just change the channel. These people IRL don't have that luxury. Which is one reason I haven't desired to share my woes with the coworkers up until this point. I don't want to be poor pitiful Julie with an unstable psyche. I want to be Wonder Woman! Or a Solid Gold Dancer. With Farrah Fawcet hair.
Meh. Anyway.
"Because I'm good enough, and I'm smart enough, and doggone it - people like me!"

Nyah nah nah nyah nah nah

2006-07-25T18:00:00.000-04:00

Oh, he's so cute! Look at that hair! Awwww... he looks much bigger than 7 pounds.
Really?! 9 hours of pushing? Wow! And no pain meds.
Ok, ok, lets look at Amy's new grandbabies now. Twins! Of course! One of each! Wow, they sure are tiny. Awwww.... she had to have a c-section? She must have been disappointed.
Awww.... I want one. If you know of anyone giving them away, just let me know! Seriously, my boyfriend and I feel like, "if it happens, it happens", no big deal. But I think I want one more than he does. I wish my sister would give me the one she's pregnant with now, she doesn't even want it, she has three already. I've wanted one since I was a little girl. They're so cute and snuggly. I want a whole house full of them.
By the grace of whomever, a sub-fertile coworker stepped in here, explaining how "it's not as easy as it looks: sometimes you can't get pregnant, even when you try really really hard". Of course, her darling 3 1/2 year old gives her a little something to gush about, several times a day, so I can't cut her a lot of slack, but at least she sort of gets it. I mean, it took her 6 months to get him, and she still can't get pregnant a second time. She really should have tried while she was breast feeding. That's the way it works (when you least expect it or don't want it to). /sarcasm
At any rate, I was actually reduced to tears today. I sat there quietly ignoring them, finally realized I could take no more, breathed an odd sob/gulp/sigh thing, and walked reallyreallyquickly away. One person noticed, and called down the hall "What's wrong Julie? Are you okay? Where are you going?"...
{!!!?!}
Don't.you.fucking.imbiciles.get.it.YET?
Time for a full disclosure.
I will tell little miss "what's wrong?" what.is.wrong.
I will tell two of my closest coworkers what.is.wrong.
I will wear a goddamn sign if it helps .
I don't want pity, and I don't want them to have to ignore cute little babies or cease having general conversation about their own children. I just don't think that a teensy bit of respect and/or sensitivity would be tooooooooo much to ask.
And am I the only one who has to fucking WORK around here??? Get busy!!!!

Please pass the muzzle

2006-07-21T00:38:00.000-04:00

She always bled during her pregnancies (all five of them). She said it had to do with her tilted uterus, a fibroid, and something else. But all of her pregnancies and babies turned out just fine! As a matter of fact, whenever she hears someone being all worked up about spotting, she just brushes it off with an exasperated sigh and exaggerated eye-rolling, and tells them not to worry because SHE had bleeding during each of her pregnancies (all five of them), and... drumroll please.... all of her pregnancies and babies turned out just fine!
Wow, I said.
Everytime I spotted during pregnancy it ended up in a miscarriage.
Aren't I just an attention-seeking drama whore.

When you care enough to send the very best

2006-07-18T12:07:00.000-04:00

Hallmark Rejects:

• "Looking back over the years that we've been together, I can't help but wonder: What the heck was I thinking?"
• "I've always wanted to have someone to hold, someone to love. After having met you, I've changed my mind."
• "As the days go by, I think of how lucky I am that you're not here to ruin it for me."
• "As you grow older, Mum, I think of all the gifts you've given me. Like the need for therapy..."
• "Thanks for being a part of my life! I never knew what evil was before I met you!"
• "Congratulations on your promotion! Before you go, please take this knife out of my back. You'll probably need it again."
• "Happy Birthday! You look great for your age... almost lifelike!"
• "When we were together, you always said you'd die for me. Now that we're apart, I think it's time you kept your promise."
• "I'm so miserable without you, it's almost like you're here."
• "Congratulations on your new bundle of joy. Did you ever find out who the father was?"
• "You are such a good friend that if we were on a sinking ship and there was only one life jacket.... I'd miss you heaps and think of you often."

Don't ask

2006-07-16T15:39:00.000-04:00

The less than ideal parking spot. Thanks, kid.

4

3

2

1

lift off

And then

2006-07-15T17:46:00.000-04:00

Is nothing sacred?
I have been g00gled. Someone was looking for "free n00kie", and my site appeared (among a gazillion others, of course). What I hoped they realized is that I was advertising "hassle free n00kie", not a freebie. I have credit cards that need paid, dude.

Read it and weep
This article was interesting.
CONCLUSION: Women with prior fetal death are at high risk for subsequent pregnancy loss and recurrent fetal death, with fewer than 25% of pregnancies resulting in surviving infants. These data underscore the need for additional research into the pathophysiology and prevention of recurrent fetal death.

Trying to WORK here
I guess its not considered a "drive by" as such, if you are stuck hearing the same conversation for 8 hours straight. Yes, I'm glad the two of you had such wonderful pregnancies and cute little children, and I'm sorry your one baby was born early and you had a scary 48 hours at the hospital and worrisome first month or so while she continued to thrive, because she weighed the same as my dead baby who was delivered at the same gestational age, except, you know, he was dead and all. And no, I don't want more children, I'm just happy with the live one I've got and the one I get to visit at the cemetery because he never causes me any trouble. Thanks for sharing your birth stories and going on and on and on and on and on and on ad nauseum about how many MONTHS it took you to get knocked up the third time around, and how disappointed your husband was it wasn't a boy. Heh, yeah, that's funny. Could you just imagine if it was twins? What a hoot! Bet that would have been quite the stressor. Hey, um, would you shuthefuck up for a couple of hours, I apparently need to concentrate a little more than you to do.my.damn.job.

How I spent my day off

Having trouble loading the pics, will try them in a different post.

Oddz'n'endz

2006-07-10T21:48:00.000-04:00

Am I out of my funk yet? Hell no! But, I figured I might as well make an attempt at posting that doesn't involve crying in my soup.
First off, let me report that I had a very long, drawn-out, yawn-fest of an inservice today regarding corporate compliance, privacy practices, goals, vision, and blahblahfuckingblah.
Half of the people in attendance were snoozing during the powerpoint. I, however, was seated front and center and was forced to doodle my way to alertness. Someone in my general vicinity smelled a little like butter, wrapped up in stale damp skidmarked underwear. I was not a happy camper.
Came home and took a nap. It was a bit warm out, so I cranked up the a/c and snuggled in on the cool leather sofa lined with doghair. Had a wicked dream. Check it.
There were rottweilers and Nazis and my friend with the cancer, her husband, me, and one of those silver Airstream RVs from the 70's. Her husband (in the dream) was portrayed by this new security guard at work, that happened to look quite a bit like Joe, but didn't seem to fit in the dream for any real purpose. Other than the fact I was trying my darnedest to convince him how much I loved him, and I KNEW we belonged together. If it wasn't for the fact that we were trying to outsmart the rotts and the germans so they didn't take my friend away (who didn't seem to mind, she thought they'd just make her work a little bit and then let her return), there was little indication he was supposed to be her husband, other than the resemblance. And the RV was smokin' hot, though it served no purpose beyond a lawn decoration, and a place to hide from the tanks. Oh yeah, I forgot, there were tanks. And dogs can't climb up the side of an airstrem. Booyah.
So anyway, about my bud with the tumor. They did the bronchoscopy, but were unable to get a satisfactory sample. Her needle biopsy was cancelled, due to the location of the mass vs the risks involved, so she's scheduled for another type of diagnostic next week, with possible radiation to shrink it until they can yank the fucker out. They just don't know yet what kind of treatment this particular tumor will require. Small details like that kinda piss with you, ya know?
In other news, I am not cycling this month. I have a vague idea of what cycle day I'm on, but I haven't even temped once. The peesticks are buried at the bottom of the drawer, and there are no red or green marks on my calendar. How refreshing.
Little dawg is back in the cone. She ended up with a golf-ball sized lump on her floppy little ear, and was walking around with her head cocked to the side, looking all curious and running into things. The HotVetGuy told us she had been scratching and digging her ears again, and gouged down into the cartilage, which had then tried to heal, resulting in a big infected bloody wad of goo that needed to be surgically removed. She even had to stay overnight! I was sad. But now I just laugh at her, she looks like a dork. I wonder if The HotVetGuy would do my insemination.
Lastly, I'm coming up on three years since the due date of my first miscarriage, and two years since I conceived Nicholas. And I'm surprisingly calm. I hadn't even noticed the date until now. How do you recognize the due date of a miscarriage, anyway? I don't even know how to write it without sounding silly. It was that pregnancy that blew me out of the water, and started the renewed efforts of TTC anyway. If for nothing else, I can credit it for that. I don't where he/she came from, or how in the world it happened after so many years, but it did, and made me think maybe I'm not completely broken, just a little rusty and dented. So, I took the old ute out on the track for a couple more laps, and barely made it back to the pit. Can't blame a girl for trying. I want my fucking trophy! One for "Best In Show"?