Forgot to mention that I have gotten the kids on ADD medication. Don't judge me, they both really need this medication. The first offspring is actually doing well in school, for him. He's failing all of his classes, but at least he's managing to stay in them and not get kicked out for outrageously disruptive behavior. I hate homework. It's God's punishment for not being born knowing everything, but thinking you do when you are young.
What else. Oh, yes! I haven't had any sex for the last six weeks. I think I should be annoyed about this, but actually I'm not sure I want to have sex with the boyfriend right now. I'm still really freakin' pissed at him, and my medication has dialed down my usually racing libido. It's an interesting phenomenon, really because I remember how I used to feel. I just don't feel that way anymore.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Two Visits to the Doctor
So on Tuesday I went to the new shrink. She is really sincere and enthusiastic, and she thinks I'm really honest and forthright and was just tickled at the idea of working with me. And I just hate her. I can't get into that bubbly, oozing personality at all. I want to tell her to back up because she's just gushing all over me and I feel like I need to take a shower inside my brain. It has the emotional equivalent of being licked in the face by a big sloppy, slobbery dog tongue. I don't know quite what to do, because I'm not sure I can work with her. If that's really her personality type, ick. It's like being massaged with a cheese grater. Really. But I feel like I should try at least a couple more sessions, because if I don't I didn't give her a fair chance to get beyond first impressions. If she's always like that though, I just cannot work with her. She's too, too, TOO annoying.
There is just no nice way to tell some one that you hate their personality is there?
The thing is, I really like the medication doctor. She's calm, centered, and makes me feel secure. She's young, but she just has this air of authority that I find...comforting. Like she did her homework and she knows exactly what the hell she's talking about. Why can't I just have her as the shrink? It's sad really, that the really good people are so rare.
Also I hate the kids' doctor. That was yesterday's visit. He's so freaking slow! I don't mean stupid...um...I don't think I mean stupid. The guy got through medical school after all. (Although I don't know that this should be a criteria by which to judge intelligence, actually.) I mean deliberate slowness. Like he can't work at a speed above gentle cruise. I don't think I really need to go to the first offspring's doctor's appointments any more once I get him on the medication. If I ever actually GET him on the medication. This is another aspect of the doctor's deliberateness, and probably the thing I'm so annoyed about. Before he writes a prescription, he has to THINK about what the best approach would be. I wanted to scream "listen buddy, just WRITE THE DAMN PRESCRIPTION!"
Of course that would have gotten me nowhere. He was also more than happy to engage the offspring in one of those intermintable random debates that make me want to carry around duct tape and a tranquilzer gun. I thought it was really rude, too, since we'd been waiting to see him for two hours (he got called away for an emergency, and then another emergency and in the meantime all the staff just went home and left us there in the office completely alone), and then instead of taking care of business and then getting us the hell out of there, he was oh so willing to engage in this stupid verbal debate. Like, oh yes I have nothing to do in life but listen to the doctor and the offspring discuss whether or not the offspring will be successful in life if he never, ever can comply with any authority figure, ever. HE WON'T! There, debate over.
While we were waiting for the doctor, which took forever, the offspring stole someone's snack food. What does it say about me as a parent that I found this amusing rather than shocking? Am I just morally bankrupt? Should this bother me? I think I will talk to the shrink about it next session. She will probably find my honest exploration of my potential moral bankruptcy refreshing.
Both of these visits, by the way, took over two hours. I don't know why people complain that they don't see the doctor enough. Maybe they just aren't interesting enough to hold the doctor's attention? And aren't I the elitist bitch? Actually, yes, I am.
There is just no nice way to tell some one that you hate their personality is there?
The thing is, I really like the medication doctor. She's calm, centered, and makes me feel secure. She's young, but she just has this air of authority that I find...comforting. Like she did her homework and she knows exactly what the hell she's talking about. Why can't I just have her as the shrink? It's sad really, that the really good people are so rare.
Also I hate the kids' doctor. That was yesterday's visit. He's so freaking slow! I don't mean stupid...um...I don't think I mean stupid. The guy got through medical school after all. (Although I don't know that this should be a criteria by which to judge intelligence, actually.) I mean deliberate slowness. Like he can't work at a speed above gentle cruise. I don't think I really need to go to the first offspring's doctor's appointments any more once I get him on the medication. If I ever actually GET him on the medication. This is another aspect of the doctor's deliberateness, and probably the thing I'm so annoyed about. Before he writes a prescription, he has to THINK about what the best approach would be. I wanted to scream "listen buddy, just WRITE THE DAMN PRESCRIPTION!"
Of course that would have gotten me nowhere. He was also more than happy to engage the offspring in one of those intermintable random debates that make me want to carry around duct tape and a tranquilzer gun. I thought it was really rude, too, since we'd been waiting to see him for two hours (he got called away for an emergency, and then another emergency and in the meantime all the staff just went home and left us there in the office completely alone), and then instead of taking care of business and then getting us the hell out of there, he was oh so willing to engage in this stupid verbal debate. Like, oh yes I have nothing to do in life but listen to the doctor and the offspring discuss whether or not the offspring will be successful in life if he never, ever can comply with any authority figure, ever. HE WON'T! There, debate over.
While we were waiting for the doctor, which took forever, the offspring stole someone's snack food. What does it say about me as a parent that I found this amusing rather than shocking? Am I just morally bankrupt? Should this bother me? I think I will talk to the shrink about it next session. She will probably find my honest exploration of my potential moral bankruptcy refreshing.
Both of these visits, by the way, took over two hours. I don't know why people complain that they don't see the doctor enough. Maybe they just aren't interesting enough to hold the doctor's attention? And aren't I the elitist bitch? Actually, yes, I am.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Battles on the Homefront
So the first offspring is getting in trouble in school, but what else is new? I wish I could say that the way the boyfriend is dealing with this issue is different, but that's old news too. They just don't like each other, and I'm stuck right in the middle. The boyfriend thinks I need to get tougher with the offspring (as if that were going to do anything) and that he doesn't respect me, and the offspring thinks that the boyfriend is full of shit and doesn't respect me. And honestly, I can see both of their points. When did I become this wimp that everyone could walk over? I wasn't like this before I had kids. I was ferocious. I remember being ferocious. Now I'm just tired.
I don't understand why they can't find some common ground. It tears me in two, really. As sad and pathetic as it is, I do love the boyfriend. And I love the first offspring too, although it seems to be his mission in life to make that as close to impossible as he is able to. And damn if he's not close. But as difficult as he is, I can't stand for the boyfriend to insult him when we're talking about him. It's as if he doesn't think about the fact that the person we're discussing is my child. He says he gets angry because the offspring is hurting me and he doesn't like to see me get hurt, but somehow he can't see that when we have these arguments the things that HE says are hurting me too. I'm guess I'm just the punching bag in the middle of the gym that everyone gets to take a swing at whenever they're feeling a little frustrated.
It's a good thing that my anti-crazy drugs are so stellar. If they weren't I might be dressed up like a chicken right now, walking trying to hold up the sky. At least this way, I'm not dressed like a chicken.
I don't understand why they can't find some common ground. It tears me in two, really. As sad and pathetic as it is, I do love the boyfriend. And I love the first offspring too, although it seems to be his mission in life to make that as close to impossible as he is able to. And damn if he's not close. But as difficult as he is, I can't stand for the boyfriend to insult him when we're talking about him. It's as if he doesn't think about the fact that the person we're discussing is my child. He says he gets angry because the offspring is hurting me and he doesn't like to see me get hurt, but somehow he can't see that when we have these arguments the things that HE says are hurting me too. I'm guess I'm just the punching bag in the middle of the gym that everyone gets to take a swing at whenever they're feeling a little frustrated.
It's a good thing that my anti-crazy drugs are so stellar. If they weren't I might be dressed up like a chicken right now, walking trying to hold up the sky. At least this way, I'm not dressed like a chicken.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Michael Phelps
Whoo hoo! Eleven gold medals and counting. Do you think he can talk about anything besides swimming?
I wish I were that good at something. I guess if they ever make procrastination an Olympic sport, I could be a contender.
I wish I were that good at something. I guess if they ever make procrastination an Olympic sport, I could be a contender.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Men's Gymnastics
I was going to Twitter this, but I can't remember my password:
The Olympic finals of men's gymnastics was truly awesome last night. I was holding my breath a couple of times there. Too exciting. And I've never been prouder to see my country get a bronze medal.
I do hope that Michael Phelps wins his tenth gold medal.
The Olympic finals of men's gymnastics was truly awesome last night. I was holding my breath a couple of times there. Too exciting. And I've never been prouder to see my country get a bronze medal.
I do hope that Michael Phelps wins his tenth gold medal.
Pen and Paper
I go back and forth about whether or not I like keyboarding my thoughts or writing them with pen and paper, but I think I like pen and paper, at least right now. There's something about the feel of a pen (or a pencil, or a crayon, if that what you can get) gliding across the paper that makes me feel more connected. Somehow typing words makes them feel like the thoughts and emotions I'm expressing aren't quite connected to me, and I'm just scattering bits of myself across the Universe.
This could also be another effect of the drugs.
This could also be another effect of the drugs.
Depression, Drugs, Anger and More About the Boyfriend
Hmm, so where do I start now? Here’s where: Can anti-depressants actually make you more depressed? I don’t know if my new pills are working or if they’re driving me just a little bit closer to a bloody, self-inflicted and unforgivable act of self-termination. I don’t think I’m suicidal in the normal sense thought. I think my anger has gotten so large and uncontrollable that the only place I can direct it any more is at me. And I’m very good at hurting me. I may, in fact, have done my heart permanent damage by stubbornly refusing to take the medication that will prevent it from eventually just blowing up from the pressure of too much crap in my arteries.
I hate my medication. Every pill feels like a failure of will.
I do think the anti-depressants are making me calmer, but I don’t know if I would call this calm a good calm. It’s more like a I’m-tired-and-I-don’t-want-to-get-out-of-bed-today-or-any-day kind of calm. I have the urge to listen to sappy love songs that make me feel bad about my relationship, angry rap that makes me feel bad about society, and indie rock that just makes me feel bad. I wish I could just be an alcoholic or a drug addict, but I don’t have the stamina for that kind of life. I’m too busy trying to figure out a way to please everyone else to please myself. Besides someone has to drop the kid off at daycare.
On the other hand, I’ve decided to start meditating. Supposedly this will make me happier, because meditation occurs in the right brain or something. I don’t know, I don’t really believe it, but I’m going to try it anyway. Because it my duty to keep trying, and a lot of days that’s all I feel like I have left. I’m not even sure I want to be happy any more. Or if I would know who I was if I were. Or even if I would know who I was if I weren’t struggling somewhere in life. I guess I can take comfort in the fact that no matter how good it gets, the kid will always be there to help me be miserable on the parenting front.
And there’s the boyfriend. Who is apparently also clinically depressed and really determined not to do anything meaningful about it. Why does being in love so often turn into a form of psychological torture? It’s the cosmic joke, right? The real punishment for being turned out of Eden. That reference to bringing forth children in pain had nothing to do with the act of birth, it was really talking about all the bullshit you go through in the relationship, before and after the kid. Or regardless of the kid. And since some people chose not to have kids, somebody thought of romance novels, and love songs, and chick flicks so the rest of the relationship-burdened world could be tortured by the concept of happily ever after. It sucks.
And the worst part of it all is that I don’t really know what I want from the boyfriend. Do I just want really good sex? Do I want attention? Do I want achievement? What? Will anything make me happy? And damn him, he asked me why I don’t have any faith in him. And I didn’t even know that I didn’t until he asked that. So now I’m completely tortured by that question. Why DON’T I have any faith in him? And this question: If I don’t have any, why do I still want him in my life so much?
I know part of it. Of course I do. It has to do with the years that he told me over and over that he didn’t want me. With absence, with other women, with anger and rejection, he told me this over and over. And I knew in my heart that it was a lie. I knew this. I had faith that underneath it all I loved him enough to rekindle the feelings I knew were inside him somewhere. And so now he tells me that he loves me. And instead of feeling good about it, instead of feeling vindicated and content with the results of my determination never to give up on him, all I do is wonder if my desire overcame his resistance. I can’t believe in what’s between us because I had to work too hard to get it. I wonder if he’s not sincere. I don’t know how to convince myself that I was right.
Maybe I can’t believe that he can love me, when I’ve never really been able to love myself.
I hate my medication. Every pill feels like a failure of will.
I do think the anti-depressants are making me calmer, but I don’t know if I would call this calm a good calm. It’s more like a I’m-tired-and-I-don’t-want-to-get-out-of-bed-today-or-any-day kind of calm. I have the urge to listen to sappy love songs that make me feel bad about my relationship, angry rap that makes me feel bad about society, and indie rock that just makes me feel bad. I wish I could just be an alcoholic or a drug addict, but I don’t have the stamina for that kind of life. I’m too busy trying to figure out a way to please everyone else to please myself. Besides someone has to drop the kid off at daycare.
On the other hand, I’ve decided to start meditating. Supposedly this will make me happier, because meditation occurs in the right brain or something. I don’t know, I don’t really believe it, but I’m going to try it anyway. Because it my duty to keep trying, and a lot of days that’s all I feel like I have left. I’m not even sure I want to be happy any more. Or if I would know who I was if I were. Or even if I would know who I was if I weren’t struggling somewhere in life. I guess I can take comfort in the fact that no matter how good it gets, the kid will always be there to help me be miserable on the parenting front.
And there’s the boyfriend. Who is apparently also clinically depressed and really determined not to do anything meaningful about it. Why does being in love so often turn into a form of psychological torture? It’s the cosmic joke, right? The real punishment for being turned out of Eden. That reference to bringing forth children in pain had nothing to do with the act of birth, it was really talking about all the bullshit you go through in the relationship, before and after the kid. Or regardless of the kid. And since some people chose not to have kids, somebody thought of romance novels, and love songs, and chick flicks so the rest of the relationship-burdened world could be tortured by the concept of happily ever after. It sucks.
And the worst part of it all is that I don’t really know what I want from the boyfriend. Do I just want really good sex? Do I want attention? Do I want achievement? What? Will anything make me happy? And damn him, he asked me why I don’t have any faith in him. And I didn’t even know that I didn’t until he asked that. So now I’m completely tortured by that question. Why DON’T I have any faith in him? And this question: If I don’t have any, why do I still want him in my life so much?
I know part of it. Of course I do. It has to do with the years that he told me over and over that he didn’t want me. With absence, with other women, with anger and rejection, he told me this over and over. And I knew in my heart that it was a lie. I knew this. I had faith that underneath it all I loved him enough to rekindle the feelings I knew were inside him somewhere. And so now he tells me that he loves me. And instead of feeling good about it, instead of feeling vindicated and content with the results of my determination never to give up on him, all I do is wonder if my desire overcame his resistance. I can’t believe in what’s between us because I had to work too hard to get it. I wonder if he’s not sincere. I don’t know how to convince myself that I was right.
Maybe I can’t believe that he can love me, when I’ve never really been able to love myself.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Bathroom Serial Killer
I was just thinking that if I was going to be a serial killer, I would want to pick my targets from someplace really unimaginable, like the public bathroom, or the water fountain in a public park. But I don't think I'm ever going to be a serial killer. Not because I'm not filled with impotent rage and a desire to harm random strangers. Just because I'm too frickin' lazy to do anything that involved. I mean, it takes quite a bit of planning to be a successful serial killer, and if you're going to deliberately launch your life in such a twisted direction, you really owe it to the public to do it well enough so that they'll be entertained when they go to see the movie, right? So no random murdering of strangers for me. I got too much other crap to deal with right now.
Seriously though, I just read this book, "Way of the Pilgrim" which was very entertaining but kind of mired me in this existential question. Could man be happy as the slave of an entirely alien race if they were stronger and taller than we were, more disciplined and more honest?
Or is our xenophobia so genetically ingrained that we would resist alien rule just because they were aliens?
I am so not writing my 10 minutes per day. I might be writing 10 minutes per week if we average it out over the last 2 years. And include every time I filled out a form at the doctor's office, and entered a sweepstakes at the grocery store.
And this wasn't ten minutes either.
Seriously though, I just read this book, "Way of the Pilgrim" which was very entertaining but kind of mired me in this existential question. Could man be happy as the slave of an entirely alien race if they were stronger and taller than we were, more disciplined and more honest?
Or is our xenophobia so genetically ingrained that we would resist alien rule just because they were aliens?
I am so not writing my 10 minutes per day. I might be writing 10 minutes per week if we average it out over the last 2 years. And include every time I filled out a form at the doctor's office, and entered a sweepstakes at the grocery store.
And this wasn't ten minutes either.
Monday, July 21, 2008
I can't sign on to Twitter
So I guess I'll just have to make my random thoughts an official and permanent part of the blog. Lets see:
The boyfriend is out of town. I miss him a little, but I have to say that it's not bothering me nearly as much as it usually does. Probably I shouldn't let him know that though. Is it possible to appear bored and distracted on Skype? He called last night, and I couldn't help but feel like he thought I should be entertaining him, but really I wasn't in the mood.
My room is a mess. A serious, serious mess. Also, I lost my driver's license a couple of days ago, which sucks for so many reasons. It's a good thing I have to renew it this year, or I'd be super annoyed, instead of really annoyed and a little freaked out.
I filed my income taxes, yay for me. Now I just have to catch up on some other crap and I'll be good.
That is such a lie, I'm never good for more than about six weeks. I think I'm addicted to being in trouble. It's become a game to figure out how many safety nets I can find to land in, or bounce out of.
What else?
I dunno, I guess that's all for now...oh, yes, one other thing - I'm supposed to be trying to write for ten minutes every day. Does this count? SURE it does. I don't know if this was ten minutes, but whatever. Something's better than nothing. At least in theory.
Sorry for wasting your time with the drivel.
The boyfriend is out of town. I miss him a little, but I have to say that it's not bothering me nearly as much as it usually does. Probably I shouldn't let him know that though. Is it possible to appear bored and distracted on Skype? He called last night, and I couldn't help but feel like he thought I should be entertaining him, but really I wasn't in the mood.
My room is a mess. A serious, serious mess. Also, I lost my driver's license a couple of days ago, which sucks for so many reasons. It's a good thing I have to renew it this year, or I'd be super annoyed, instead of really annoyed and a little freaked out.
I filed my income taxes, yay for me. Now I just have to catch up on some other crap and I'll be good.
That is such a lie, I'm never good for more than about six weeks. I think I'm addicted to being in trouble. It's become a game to figure out how many safety nets I can find to land in, or bounce out of.
What else?
I dunno, I guess that's all for now...oh, yes, one other thing - I'm supposed to be trying to write for ten minutes every day. Does this count? SURE it does. I don't know if this was ten minutes, but whatever. Something's better than nothing. At least in theory.
Sorry for wasting your time with the drivel.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
My Review of Long Drop-Waist Knit Dress
Originally submitted at Chadwick's
Versatile day or evening option. Dropped waist, full sweeping skirt.
- Flattering fit-and-flare silhouette.
- Polyester/rayon/spandex; machine wash.
- Imported.
Misses 35” from natural waist
Comfy, elegant and easy
By Amy P. from Seattle, WA on 5/31/2008
Fit: Feels true to size
Waist: Feels true to size
Length: Feels true to length
Pros: Comfortable, Flattering, Attractive Design, Versatile
Best Uses: To School, On a Date, Comfort-Oriented, On The Weekend, Casual Work Days
Describe Yourself: Career, Bargain Shopper, Eclectic, Classic, Casual
I bought this dress in amethyst and the black. I think the fabric for the amethyst dress is a little lighter than the fabric for the black, and I was initially a little disappointed. But then I wore it on a hot day and found that it was a perfect weight for summer. It also looked very flattering on my overweight body, and made me feel very good about myself. I would recommend trying it, as others have said, with the caveat that you might have to return it if it's not quite what you're looking for.
(legalese)
Thursday, May 29, 2008
My Review of 4-Piece Matte Jersey Wardrober
Originally submitted at Chadwick's
Versatility equals value, and this wardrober is rich with mix-and-match possibilities! Includes: Long sleeve V-neck cardigan, scoop neck tank with side slits, pull-on style pants with elastic waist and elastic waist A-line skirt. All in easy-care, easy-wear polyester matte jersey. Machine wash. Imp...
Poor quality fabric, uneven fit.
By Amy P. from Seattle, WA on 5/29/2008
Waist: Feels true to size
Sleeve Length: Feels too short
Chest Size: Feels too small
Pros: Durable
Cons: Chafes
Best Uses: Travel, Casual Wear, Office
Describe Yourself: Conservative, Comfort-oriented, Practical
The pants and skirt were a good fit, but the tank top and shirt were both too tight, and the fabric was a polyester that felt like sandpaper. Also, the fabric seemed uneven in weight, the tank top seemed heavier than the shirt fabric. I returned this item.
(legalese)
Sunday, May 25, 2008
My New Sewing Machine
Soooo, I got a completely unexpected gift from my aunt on Mother's Day, a new sewing and embroidery machine. It's a pretty nifty machine, it has all kinds of bells and whistles like an automatic thread cutter, and automatic buttonholer (which so completely rocks!). It also does a pretty nifty overlock stitch, satin stitch, darning stitch, and monograms. It's generally a very cool machine and I'm happy to have it. You can check it out on Amazon here.
The sad thing is that I'm not really that excited to have a new sewing machine. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally grateful that she bought it for me...but it feels really selfish that I got this new think just for me. I keep thinking that for the same price as this machine, we could have gotten the kids a Nintendo Wii
On the bright side, I guess that means I'm not a sociopath.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Paint Dancing
I want to go Paint Dancing next month. I keep making excuses not to go, and I know it's because I'm afraid to be uninhibited in public. But I don't know why I'm afraid to be uninhibited. Is it because I think I'll be embarrassed? Or because I might like it too much and lose my mind entirely? Could be both.
I do kind of feel like losing my mind, because I'm faced with moving again, and I really, really, really don't want to do it. Argh!
It's late and I'm supposed to be doing something else right now, so I will round this out tomorrow with the saga of the tooth. Which still hurts. Even though the dentist says there's nothing wrong with it.
I do kind of feel like losing my mind, because I'm faced with moving again, and I really, really, really don't want to do it. Argh!
It's late and I'm supposed to be doing something else right now, so I will round this out tomorrow with the saga of the tooth. Which still hurts. Even though the dentist says there's nothing wrong with it.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
My Toofis Hurts
So I've been avoiding having this tooth pulled forever, and now I know why. It hurt like the dickens (what does that mean anyway?) to get it out, and it hurts now. Oh and I have this big hole in my mouth that it will take six to eight weeks to go away, and in the mean time, I've got to rinse with saline after every meal to get the nasty food particles out.
Don't eat rice when you have your tooth pulled. It gets trapped in the hole and it's a pain in the ass to get out.
Don't eat rice when you have your tooth pulled. It gets trapped in the hole and it's a pain in the ass to get out.
Friday, April 11, 2008
I Skipped Over the Foot Thing
So...on New Year's Eve I broke my foot. Somehow I haven't managed to tell this story until now, maybe because I was too busy being in the midst of the drama to write about it. It goes something like this:
I fell down a hill, don't ask me to explain how, and hit my foot on the sidewalk. (My son says this story will be better if I claim to have been attacked by ninja midgets wearing purple suits, but I think that happens often enough in life so that I don't need to be making up stories about it.) This was at work, outside the building I work in, btw. I laid there on the sidewalk, with the pain in my foot steadily increasing, and wondering if it was possible to die of foot pain. While there I managed to observe no less than three people see me laying there, say nothing and walk off. Nice, right? Finally these guys asked if I needed some help, to which I hesiatated before replying yes. Was it because of shock, or because I really for a moment thought I didn't need help. I'm not sure any more, because I was actually contemplating being able to walk on this incredibly, INCREDIBLY painful foot as I lay there, get this, if I waited a few more minutes (laying on the sidewalk, in the cold). When they got to me, they asked if they should call an ambulance.
I told the nice gentlemen that I didn't need an ambulance, I only hurt my foot. I also told them that if they could help me get back on my feet, I thought I could make it back to my office on my own. They exchanged some very skeptical looks, and rightly so. Then they helped me all the way back to my office, acquiring an ice pack and an abandoned office chair to help move me along the way. I wish I had gotten their names, they deserve good samaritan awards or something.
After I got back to the office, it occurred to me that I had NO IDEA how I was going to get home or to the emergency room or wherever else I thought I should be going. Also, my co-worker left after I assured her that I could handle my rapidly swelling foot on my one. Stupid me. So I called boyfriend.
Of course he rescued me, although he was really, really annoyed that he had to. I did have to make my own way out of the building, using a surplus chair that I then abandoned on another floor. (Screw that chair.) Here's where it gets good:
I went to the emergency room. After letting me sit in the waiting room for an hour, at least, in extreme pain, they gave me some halfway decent drugs and took an x-ray. During which they want me to bear weight on the incredibly painful foot. Riiiight. Diagnosis - sprain, no broken bones. Go home and walk on it as soon as possible and it will get better. They gave me an ace bandage and some crutches and sent me on my way. I'm a gospel sort of girl so I tried to walk on it almost immediately. Meanwhile, it's swelling even more and getting really purple. Can you guess where I'm going with this?
I couldn't walk on it the next day which was New Year's Day, which sucked. On January 2nd, I called in sick to work and called to make a follow up with my regular doc, since it still just didn't look right. When I call in, the operator says to me "I see you have a couple of broken bones in your foot." Huh? So ok, then, I have two broken bones. I go in to the doctor, they want to take another x-ray, more requests for weight-bearing (idiots, you want me to put pressure in the broken bones?) Then they give me this incredibly heavy cam walker, and tell me to make an appointment for a CT scan. Oh and I have three broken bones, one of which is a bone that almost never gets broken outside of professional sports.
So I go in for the CT scan, which is really far away from the entrance to the hospital, by the way. They are really rude, there. Then they show me the scan, with the four broken bones. (Remember the sprain?). So I have to go to the orthopedist. Before I even get THERE, the doctor reads my scan and x-rays and decides that because of the delicate nature of the break, all five broken bones are along the midjoint of my foot and my whole foot could just fall apart at any minute, I need to to see a specialist. I'm kind of scared to do that, actually, because every time someone new looks at my foot, more bones are broken. It's...alarming, to say the least.
The specialist is really great. The number of bones don't go up, and they put me in an aircast, which is lighter than the cam walker and actually gives me the support I need. The rest of the story is boring...I might need surgery, or maybe not, I go in for the surgery, they put me under, but I don't need the surgery, I get a cast, I can't go back to work for six weeks and when I do go back I'm persona non grata, and then they 'don't need me anymore.'
I have a new job that I like better, but my foot is still pretty damaged, and it's never going to be the same. Which totally sucks. On the other hand, I got a six-week vacation, even if I didn't get to go anywhere. Unfortunately I can't remember it because of all the painkillers.
Grand total of injury statistics: Five broken bones and one job.
I fell down a hill, don't ask me to explain how, and hit my foot on the sidewalk. (My son says this story will be better if I claim to have been attacked by ninja midgets wearing purple suits, but I think that happens often enough in life so that I don't need to be making up stories about it.) This was at work, outside the building I work in, btw. I laid there on the sidewalk, with the pain in my foot steadily increasing, and wondering if it was possible to die of foot pain. While there I managed to observe no less than three people see me laying there, say nothing and walk off. Nice, right? Finally these guys asked if I needed some help, to which I hesiatated before replying yes. Was it because of shock, or because I really for a moment thought I didn't need help. I'm not sure any more, because I was actually contemplating being able to walk on this incredibly, INCREDIBLY painful foot as I lay there, get this, if I waited a few more minutes (laying on the sidewalk, in the cold). When they got to me, they asked if they should call an ambulance.
I told the nice gentlemen that I didn't need an ambulance, I only hurt my foot. I also told them that if they could help me get back on my feet, I thought I could make it back to my office on my own. They exchanged some very skeptical looks, and rightly so. Then they helped me all the way back to my office, acquiring an ice pack and an abandoned office chair to help move me along the way. I wish I had gotten their names, they deserve good samaritan awards or something.
After I got back to the office, it occurred to me that I had NO IDEA how I was going to get home or to the emergency room or wherever else I thought I should be going. Also, my co-worker left after I assured her that I could handle my rapidly swelling foot on my one. Stupid me. So I called boyfriend.
Of course he rescued me, although he was really, really annoyed that he had to. I did have to make my own way out of the building, using a surplus chair that I then abandoned on another floor. (Screw that chair.) Here's where it gets good:
I went to the emergency room. After letting me sit in the waiting room for an hour, at least, in extreme pain, they gave me some halfway decent drugs and took an x-ray. During which they want me to bear weight on the incredibly painful foot. Riiiight. Diagnosis - sprain, no broken bones. Go home and walk on it as soon as possible and it will get better. They gave me an ace bandage and some crutches and sent me on my way. I'm a gospel sort of girl so I tried to walk on it almost immediately. Meanwhile, it's swelling even more and getting really purple. Can you guess where I'm going with this?
I couldn't walk on it the next day which was New Year's Day, which sucked. On January 2nd, I called in sick to work and called to make a follow up with my regular doc, since it still just didn't look right. When I call in, the operator says to me "I see you have a couple of broken bones in your foot." Huh? So ok, then, I have two broken bones. I go in to the doctor, they want to take another x-ray, more requests for weight-bearing (idiots, you want me to put pressure in the broken bones?) Then they give me this incredibly heavy cam walker, and tell me to make an appointment for a CT scan. Oh and I have three broken bones, one of which is a bone that almost never gets broken outside of professional sports.
So I go in for the CT scan, which is really far away from the entrance to the hospital, by the way. They are really rude, there. Then they show me the scan, with the four broken bones. (Remember the sprain?). So I have to go to the orthopedist. Before I even get THERE, the doctor reads my scan and x-rays and decides that because of the delicate nature of the break, all five broken bones are along the midjoint of my foot and my whole foot could just fall apart at any minute, I need to to see a specialist. I'm kind of scared to do that, actually, because every time someone new looks at my foot, more bones are broken. It's...alarming, to say the least.
The specialist is really great. The number of bones don't go up, and they put me in an aircast, which is lighter than the cam walker and actually gives me the support I need. The rest of the story is boring...I might need surgery, or maybe not, I go in for the surgery, they put me under, but I don't need the surgery, I get a cast, I can't go back to work for six weeks and when I do go back I'm persona non grata, and then they 'don't need me anymore.'
I have a new job that I like better, but my foot is still pretty damaged, and it's never going to be the same. Which totally sucks. On the other hand, I got a six-week vacation, even if I didn't get to go anywhere. Unfortunately I can't remember it because of all the painkillers.
Grand total of injury statistics: Five broken bones and one job.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
More about the Christmas Tree, House Rotation and Sundry Other Stuff
Huh, so the previously mentioned Christmas tree is finally off the property altogether, along with last year's Christmas tree, assorted cat furniture, the old couch, some mattresses, and a whole U-Haul full of garbage. Yay! I feel lighter. Of course in the time-honored tradition of never making a clean break, I forgot to put the old vacuum cleaner in the truck, so that's still hanging around in the middle of the backyard. I think of it as an art piece now. Plus I enjoy the reaction I get when people come over and look out the back door (which has two muddy boy hand prints right about at viewing level) and say "hey, do you know your vacuum cleaner's in the backyard?" and then I say, "It's not my vacuum cleaner." There's always this moment of silence which I think of as a golden opportunity for a really witty comment. Mostly people let me down though.
What else is new? The clean up was accompanied by my roommate moving out, and a Korean exchange student moving into the revolving room. I think I'm going to start calling it that, because it seems like someone is always moving in and out of it. I wish I could find someone who would just stay in it, and not have to keep finding new roommate options. I wish I could afford to just leave it empty or turn it into an office.
I need new area rug for downstairs, and being the incredibly cheap person that I am, I think I will start trolling the free items on Craigslist and Freecycle, hoping to find something semi-presentable, since I don't want to spend money on a new one. I figure the cats will pee on it anyway, so something used is easier to let go of, in theory. Of course if we follow the example of the old couch, which sat in the carport for six months because I couldn't bring myself to admit that it wasn't still a viable asset that SOMEBODY would want, or the example of the desk that sat in front of my house with the free sign on it, getting rained on and warping until one of my neighbors begged me to let him cut it up with his chainsaw and dispose of it, once I own the carpet, it will pretty much be a permanent part of the inventory until...well, until it falls apart I guess.
One really comforting thing about owning a lot of crap: I never worry about anything getting stolen. I figure I can find something just as good at the next rummage sale for under $20, so where's the anxiety? Ok, I am a little anal about the silverware, but hey that's good stuff! I had to pick through a lot of Goodwill bins to get that matching stuff!
What else is new? The clean up was accompanied by my roommate moving out, and a Korean exchange student moving into the revolving room. I think I'm going to start calling it that, because it seems like someone is always moving in and out of it. I wish I could find someone who would just stay in it, and not have to keep finding new roommate options. I wish I could afford to just leave it empty or turn it into an office.
I need new area rug for downstairs, and being the incredibly cheap person that I am, I think I will start trolling the free items on Craigslist and Freecycle, hoping to find something semi-presentable, since I don't want to spend money on a new one. I figure the cats will pee on it anyway, so something used is easier to let go of, in theory. Of course if we follow the example of the old couch, which sat in the carport for six months because I couldn't bring myself to admit that it wasn't still a viable asset that SOMEBODY would want, or the example of the desk that sat in front of my house with the free sign on it, getting rained on and warping until one of my neighbors begged me to let him cut it up with his chainsaw and dispose of it, once I own the carpet, it will pretty much be a permanent part of the inventory until...well, until it falls apart I guess.
One really comforting thing about owning a lot of crap: I never worry about anything getting stolen. I figure I can find something just as good at the next rummage sale for under $20, so where's the anxiety? Ok, I am a little anal about the silverware, but hey that's good stuff! I had to pick through a lot of Goodwill bins to get that matching stuff!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The More Things Stay the Same
I wish I could find the magic formula for keeping my life together. I can see quite clearly that I'm doing something wrong, but I don't know what it is. And once a year, everything goes all to hell. I need to find a new job, possibly a new place to live and a new direction for my energy. I have hated what I do for a living for most of my adult life, but the idea of changing makes me feel desperate and shaky, because I really need to have steady money, and changing careers usually comes with unsteady money. It all sucks. I wish I could back up 20 years and start again. I wish I could believe that if I did, I would do something different now.
The most insane part of this is that I'm not only in charge of my life, I'm in charge of two other lives, and how am I supposed to give them guidance when I am acutely aware, every day, that I have no fucking clue what I am doing? If there was a business I could sign up for that would just call me every morning with a list of how to run my life, I think I would subscribe. The problem is that the only ones I know of want to throw God into the mix, and I'm not interested in hearing a justification for why someone else knows how to run my life better than I do, I'm just interested in having someone do it.
Ack, I told myself that I should have gone to bed hours ago. See what comes out of my head when I take cold medicine and then don't go to sleep?
The most insane part of this is that I'm not only in charge of my life, I'm in charge of two other lives, and how am I supposed to give them guidance when I am acutely aware, every day, that I have no fucking clue what I am doing? If there was a business I could sign up for that would just call me every morning with a list of how to run my life, I think I would subscribe. The problem is that the only ones I know of want to throw God into the mix, and I'm not interested in hearing a justification for why someone else knows how to run my life better than I do, I'm just interested in having someone do it.
Ack, I told myself that I should have gone to bed hours ago. See what comes out of my head when I take cold medicine and then don't go to sleep?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Start this soon
http://www.web-writer.net/fantasy/30days.shtml
I think I'm going to build an interactive website for submitting worldbuilding ideas, and then the ideas will scroll continuously. Or something like that.
Or, I will go and watch Buffy reruns and eat sweet potatoes.
Buffy wins!
I think I'm going to build an interactive website for submitting worldbuilding ideas, and then the ideas will scroll continuously. Or something like that.
Or, I will go and watch Buffy reruns and eat sweet potatoes.
Buffy wins!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Post-Holiday Deconstruction
Is it late for a quick commentary on Christmas? Too bad if it is because I just got my sad, sad, dried up Christmas tree out of the house this weekend, and I'm still wondering if I'm going to bother to take my lights down at all.
So what happened to the Christmas blog? Nothing exactly, it just didn't happen. And I had an idea for another blog, which means I now have to ignore THIS blog. Maybe I will put together a schedule so all the blogs get attention. Hmmm...maybe I will post the schedule on the other blog, which is really consuming my attention. Maybe I have invented a new pasttime - scatterblogging. This is where you start multiple blogs, post a couple of times and then abandon the blog in favor of a new blog.
This is ridiculous. I need ADD meds.
So what happened to the Christmas blog? Nothing exactly, it just didn't happen. And I had an idea for another blog, which means I now have to ignore THIS blog. Maybe I will put together a schedule so all the blogs get attention. Hmmm...maybe I will post the schedule on the other blog, which is really consuming my attention. Maybe I have invented a new pasttime - scatterblogging. This is where you start multiple blogs, post a couple of times and then abandon the blog in favor of a new blog.
This is ridiculous. I need ADD meds.
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