So the day that I wrote here last, Jason called and cussed me out about the blog, and then two days later did it again. Consequently I've changed the blog to invite-only. If you know anybody I should invite, let me know, because it makes me happy for people to be reading.
Last week was just awful. I was a self-involved mess for most of it (what else is new?), but I think, ONCE AGAIN, that I've come out the other side.
It just felt so lonely and wrong and odd to be floating around over here not knowing what was going on with Jason's family at such a terrible time in their lives. The funeral was Saturday, and guess what? I didn't go. I intended to, but Jason told me it was at 3 when it was actually at 2. I think it was probably just a mistake on his part; he's never been good at details. I was really nervous about going; with the divorce, seeing his family was going to be really hard, and seeing Julia sitting with them was going to be even harder. But I still needed it for closure, to be able to say goodbye- not just to Big John, but to the Agans. Looks like I'm going to have to find that closure somehow within myself.
Jason told Reed on Friday, and he seems to have handled it remarkably well. He's brought it up once or twice, but he doesn't seem too distraught about it, which is a good thing. Plus I think Reed's too busy SUCKING MY WILL TO LIVE; he's prioritizing, see? He has been so energetic and wild lately, I have a lot of trouble keeping up. Jason has suddenly decided that he ought to be spending more time with Reed, and I agree. They hung out last night, and when they got home, Reed sung us Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes in Spanish and it was one of the cutest things I've ever seen. Knowing, seeing for real that Reed will be fine, makes me feel much lighter during such a heavy time.
Eric, my boy in Mississippi, has changed things for me in so many ways it's hard to count. I feel optimistic. If you know me, you know that that means THE APOCALYPSE BE COMIN', Y'ALL, TAKE COVER. We talk every day- as evidenced by my $8657 phone bill THANKS T-MOBILE- and we text a lot. I've never attempted a long-distance anything, so this is all a learning process for me. A yearning, bittersweet, shallow-breathing learning process, but a learning process nonetheless. He is so cute, and so sweet, and he makes jokes. AND LAUGHS. JOKES AND LAUGHS. I can't tell you what a breath of fresh air this is, to be with someone who knows how to look for silver linings, who knows how to be goofy, who knows how to make me smile every single day. Luckily he's only about three hours away, so we can visit a lot. I didn't get to go see him last weekend, but you better believe I'm going out there this weekend. We're going to have tamales for breakfast and drink beer and goof off in his living room floor and make out AND MAKE OUT AND MAKE OUT, and I can't wait.
So, you know, if you see a crazy lady burning up the road towards Kosciusko this Friday, just stay outta my way.
Showing posts with label oh it has sucked. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oh it has sucked. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Monday, March 30, 2009
Part Six.
That's right, I am still not done telling the story of Costa Rica. Here are Parts One, Two, Three, Four and Five. And there's more to come after this.
So I wake up Monday morning around 6am and go to the bathroom and have loud, unadulterated, grotesque waterpoop.
HA! Did you think you'd be reading about someone else's bowel movements today? If the answer is "no", you clearly are a new reader. Thanks for your patronage!
Anyway, I think, "Aw, diarrhea, this sucks. Oh well." I somehow didn't realize that the waterpoop was nature's signal to drag the dull-as-fuck Casa Colores kitchen machete across my throat and get it over with. I go back to the bed and start to sweat. Then I start to cramp. Then I sweat AND cramp. Then I sweat AND cramp AND waterpoop (in the bathroom, not in the bed) all at the same time. Then I hyperventilate and force Jason to stay with me at the house instead of going to do anything fun, anything besides laying next to me while I roll around in the bed tooting at will. BECAUSE IT MADE ME FEEL BETTER TO TOOT AND IT MADE ME CRAMP WORSE TO HOLD IT IN.
Marriage: Suck It Up, Fuckers.
ANYWAYS, I cramp and sweat and waterpoop and toot all morning. The cramps are really intense, so much so that I have to walk around and take deep breaths akin to those of a woman in labor BUT I HAVE NO EPIDURAL, I'VE NEVER DONE THIS WITHOUT THE DRUGS, JESUS. Finally around one o'clock (count 'em, that's seven hours of cramping and waterpooping) Jason asks if I think I should go to the doctor.
We're in Montezuma, Costa Rica: a place where, according to the internets, they're "building an atm", and we're pondering going to the doctor. The cramps have overridden my brain and we walk up to the main house and ask the owners where the closest/best/most likely to understand gringo doctor is. They tell us to go to Cobano, home of the MegaSuper. Chris agrees to drive us on account of Jason has the stage fright about driving the truck. Kristi is taking a nap because her rash is acting up (for God's sakes, you can't take us anywhere), so Chris lets her know we're leaving and we go.
It is fucking hot and there isn't an air conditioner within a bajillion mile radius of us, and we bump along to Cobano where we find the Clinico and go inside. It is somewhat crowded with native Costa Ricans, pregnant ladies and nice young men and no one looks sick.
Enter Buffy: writhing, breathing heavy, sweating, rolling around in the floor leaking waterpoop. They recoil just a little. The lady at the front desk doesn't speak any English. Except she's a liar because when I stand there and start to cry she says exasperatedly, "DOCTOR?" I say, "Si, I need a doctor." She takes my passport and looks at her little book and says, "dos" and holds up two fingers. Luckily Chris speaks the Spanish kind of ("Dos beeros, por favor!") and is there to be like, "Two." So I give her a wilty gracias and take a seat. Where I writhe and sweat and double over and moan. Then I have to get someone to tell me where the bathroom is ("Bano?") so's I can go waterpoop all over their hotass bathroom.
So finally the nurse calls me back and mother mercy, her little room is so air conditioned, so cool and dim and quiet that I almost offer her all my money just to let me hang out back there for an hour or two. I ask her if she speaks English (I say "Habla Englais?" which is TOTALLY INCORRECT, fucking Spanish classes were like, 11 years ago, I totally looked at the nurse and said, "He/she/it speaks English?"), and she smiles [at my stupidity] and says yes. So I say, "I'm having really bad cramps and diarrhea." She looks at me for a minute, after that bitch in the front being all "DOCTOR" I don't know if I can trust these people, and she nods and writes some stuff down and tells me to go back to the waiting room.
I go back out and almost immediately the doctor calls me back. The best is that I don't even recognize my name in that heavy accent, and some random guy next to me sort of nudged me and pointed at the doctor. Apparently they were all very aware who the sick white girl with the sick white girl name was. So I go back there and sweet, sweet Mary, his room was all air-conditioned and dim and cool, too. I said "Habla Englais?" (God, what a fucking moron I am) and he smiles and shakes his head. And we sit there staring at each other.
So, genius that I am, I say very slowly, "Okay, I'm having really baaaad craaaaamps," at this point I'm pressing my hands into my lower abdomen, "and diaaaarrheeeeaaaah." and here I lean over and wave my hand around behind my ass.
I wonder why other countries think Americans are such stupid assholes?
So he has me lay on the table and he pokes my tummy and squeezes my arms and legs for a while, and then says a whole bunch of shit I don't understand, hands me a piece of paper, and sends me on my way. He had said "farmacia" several times so I go straight to the farmacia (which is also inside the Clinico) and try to hand them my little sheet. They point me back to the liar up front, who crossly takes my sheet and stops acknowledging my presence.
Then some nice lady leads me back to the back of the building to the billing lady. BOY, WAS SHE GLAD TO SEE ME. Not really, she didn't speak English and was very snippy and didn't like me at all. Finally I figured out that they only take colones, so off to the Banco we go where we navigate through hoardes of uzy-toting, smiling and friendly policemen to change some dollars for colones, then back to the Clinico where I pay and get my medicine and we head back to the house. I continue to cramp and writhe for the remainder of the day, and I wait until that evening to take any of the medicine and even then I only use some of it because I can't read what it is or what it does and God knows I am entirely too anal and obsessive to just start popping random Costa Rican pills without even knowing what they made of. So, you know, a whole day of illness and a few hours at the doctor: time well spent, right?
Incidentally when we get back to the house Kristi comes out onto the porch sweating her ass off, and we all kind of stop and look at her and she's like, "Y'ALL TOOK BOTH OF THE GODDAMN LIGHTERS AND THE DECK OF CARDS." Apparently when she awoke from her nap she thought, "I guess I'll play solitaire and smoke cigarettes until they get back." (Keep in mind that she is in the middle of the fucking jungle on top of a mountain in super heat with no tv, so company, no radio, no car, no books, no nothing.) No no no NO, this can't HAPPEN. Upon realizing that Chris had taken both (he didn't know Jason had the only other lighter and he thought he and Jason would play cards in the waiting room at the Clinico- who IS this guy?) Kristi proceeded to WALK DOWN THE AFOREMENTIONED, GOD-FORSAKEN HILL to buy a lighter in Montezuma and then WALK BACK UP THE GODDAMNED HILL AGAIN with her shiny new red Costa Rican Bic. She had the courtesy and foresight to leave a note just in case we got back while she was gone; it said, "I walked down to get a lighter, ASSHOLES. Be back soon. Love, Kristi" She told us that it was by sheer rage alone that she made it back up the hill.
But what about Kristi's rash? What happens with that? Do I wake up well and refreshed? More tomorrow.
So I wake up Monday morning around 6am and go to the bathroom and have loud, unadulterated, grotesque waterpoop.
HA! Did you think you'd be reading about someone else's bowel movements today? If the answer is "no", you clearly are a new reader. Thanks for your patronage!
Anyway, I think, "Aw, diarrhea, this sucks. Oh well." I somehow didn't realize that the waterpoop was nature's signal to drag the dull-as-fuck Casa Colores kitchen machete across my throat and get it over with. I go back to the bed and start to sweat. Then I start to cramp. Then I sweat AND cramp. Then I sweat AND cramp AND waterpoop (in the bathroom, not in the bed) all at the same time. Then I hyperventilate and force Jason to stay with me at the house instead of going to do anything fun, anything besides laying next to me while I roll around in the bed tooting at will. BECAUSE IT MADE ME FEEL BETTER TO TOOT AND IT MADE ME CRAMP WORSE TO HOLD IT IN.
Marriage: Suck It Up, Fuckers.
ANYWAYS, I cramp and sweat and waterpoop and toot all morning. The cramps are really intense, so much so that I have to walk around and take deep breaths akin to those of a woman in labor BUT I HAVE NO EPIDURAL, I'VE NEVER DONE THIS WITHOUT THE DRUGS, JESUS. Finally around one o'clock (count 'em, that's seven hours of cramping and waterpooping) Jason asks if I think I should go to the doctor.
We're in Montezuma, Costa Rica: a place where, according to the internets, they're "building an atm", and we're pondering going to the doctor. The cramps have overridden my brain and we walk up to the main house and ask the owners where the closest/best/most likely to understand gringo doctor is. They tell us to go to Cobano, home of the MegaSuper. Chris agrees to drive us on account of Jason has the stage fright about driving the truck. Kristi is taking a nap because her rash is acting up (for God's sakes, you can't take us anywhere), so Chris lets her know we're leaving and we go.
It is fucking hot and there isn't an air conditioner within a bajillion mile radius of us, and we bump along to Cobano where we find the Clinico and go inside. It is somewhat crowded with native Costa Ricans, pregnant ladies and nice young men and no one looks sick.
Enter Buffy: writhing, breathing heavy, sweating, rolling around in the floor leaking waterpoop. They recoil just a little. The lady at the front desk doesn't speak any English. Except she's a liar because when I stand there and start to cry she says exasperatedly, "DOCTOR?" I say, "Si, I need a doctor." She takes my passport and looks at her little book and says, "dos" and holds up two fingers. Luckily Chris speaks the Spanish kind of ("Dos beeros, por favor!") and is there to be like, "Two." So I give her a wilty gracias and take a seat. Where I writhe and sweat and double over and moan. Then I have to get someone to tell me where the bathroom is ("Bano?") so's I can go waterpoop all over their hotass bathroom.
So finally the nurse calls me back and mother mercy, her little room is so air conditioned, so cool and dim and quiet that I almost offer her all my money just to let me hang out back there for an hour or two. I ask her if she speaks English (I say "Habla Englais?" which is TOTALLY INCORRECT, fucking Spanish classes were like, 11 years ago, I totally looked at the nurse and said, "He/she/it speaks English?"), and she smiles [at my stupidity] and says yes. So I say, "I'm having really bad cramps and diarrhea." She looks at me for a minute, after that bitch in the front being all "DOCTOR" I don't know if I can trust these people, and she nods and writes some stuff down and tells me to go back to the waiting room.
I go back out and almost immediately the doctor calls me back. The best is that I don't even recognize my name in that heavy accent, and some random guy next to me sort of nudged me and pointed at the doctor. Apparently they were all very aware who the sick white girl with the sick white girl name was. So I go back there and sweet, sweet Mary, his room was all air-conditioned and dim and cool, too. I said "Habla Englais?" (God, what a fucking moron I am) and he smiles and shakes his head. And we sit there staring at each other.
So, genius that I am, I say very slowly, "Okay, I'm having really baaaad craaaaamps," at this point I'm pressing my hands into my lower abdomen, "and diaaaarrheeeeaaaah." and here I lean over and wave my hand around behind my ass.
I wonder why other countries think Americans are such stupid assholes?
So he has me lay on the table and he pokes my tummy and squeezes my arms and legs for a while, and then says a whole bunch of shit I don't understand, hands me a piece of paper, and sends me on my way. He had said "farmacia" several times so I go straight to the farmacia (which is also inside the Clinico) and try to hand them my little sheet. They point me back to the liar up front, who crossly takes my sheet and stops acknowledging my presence.
Then some nice lady leads me back to the back of the building to the billing lady. BOY, WAS SHE GLAD TO SEE ME. Not really, she didn't speak English and was very snippy and didn't like me at all. Finally I figured out that they only take colones, so off to the Banco we go where we navigate through hoardes of uzy-toting, smiling and friendly policemen to change some dollars for colones, then back to the Clinico where I pay and get my medicine and we head back to the house. I continue to cramp and writhe for the remainder of the day, and I wait until that evening to take any of the medicine and even then I only use some of it because I can't read what it is or what it does and God knows I am entirely too anal and obsessive to just start popping random Costa Rican pills without even knowing what they made of. So, you know, a whole day of illness and a few hours at the doctor: time well spent, right?
Incidentally when we get back to the house Kristi comes out onto the porch sweating her ass off, and we all kind of stop and look at her and she's like, "Y'ALL TOOK BOTH OF THE GODDAMN LIGHTERS AND THE DECK OF CARDS." Apparently when she awoke from her nap she thought, "I guess I'll play solitaire and smoke cigarettes until they get back." (Keep in mind that she is in the middle of the fucking jungle on top of a mountain in super heat with no tv, so company, no radio, no car, no books, no nothing.) No no no NO, this can't HAPPEN. Upon realizing that Chris had taken both (he didn't know Jason had the only other lighter and he thought he and Jason would play cards in the waiting room at the Clinico- who IS this guy?) Kristi proceeded to WALK DOWN THE AFOREMENTIONED, GOD-FORSAKEN HILL to buy a lighter in Montezuma and then WALK BACK UP THE GODDAMNED HILL AGAIN with her shiny new red Costa Rican Bic. She had the courtesy and foresight to leave a note just in case we got back while she was gone; it said, "I walked down to get a lighter, ASSHOLES. Be back soon. Love, Kristi" She told us that it was by sheer rage alone that she made it back up the hill.
But what about Kristi's rash? What happens with that? Do I wake up well and refreshed? More tomorrow.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Oh, it's already been broughten!
Oh man, have I been sick the past few days. I think it boils down to a really awful sinus infection that was causing constant and severe migraine headaches and was slowly moving down into my chest. I spent the past few days on the couch, either in terrible pain or dizzy and out of it from all the medication.
Then last night I came out of my medicoma long enough to pack for my trip to San Antonio.
Oh, wait, back up just a tad. You know I mentioned that Kane had strep throat and the flu a couple of weeks ago? Well last week Jude was feverish and feeling bad, and everyone assumed he was catching what Kane had. Then on Thursday their mom asked (in a text, naturally) if we wanted to take them to a sock hop at Jude's school Friday, since they were coming to our house anyways. So Friday, their mom texted and said nevermind the sock hop, Jude was sick, we should just pick them up at the normal time. Jason asked if she had taken him to the doctor; her response: "No, it's a stomach thing. If it gets worse you can take him to the doctor tomorrow." ("Tomorrow" being a Saturday, FOR FUCKS BLUE EYED SAKES)
Listen, back in the day when they lived with us there were more than one occasion in which their mom would say she was sick, not feeling well, and the kids would just have to stay with us for the weekend instead of going to her house.
Now consider just a couple of factors about this weekend: 1) I was terribly ill, and fairly incapacitated by the meds. 2) Reed was ill as well. 3) Jason is still trying like hell not to catch anything from anybody. 4) I am leaving Monday for a work trip, a trip in which all the arrangements have been made, a trip in which we fly and stay at a hotel, my very first flight ever. 5) Kane is still getting over strep throat and the flu. 6) Jude has a stomach bug.
So I was the bad guy, the mean guy and said, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm sick, Reed's sick, Jude's sick, and Kane's sick, and I have to pack and prepare and then manage to GO on a trip on Monday. Kane and Jude need to stay at their mom's this weekend. I can't handle this. That's just the way it's going to have to be."
So of course Jason said that to his crazy ex-wife, and she said, "Oh, I don't think it's a stomach flu or anything. He went to a party Thursday night and had too much cake."
So OF COURSE I was overruled and they came and Jude moped around feeling like shit all weekend.
And today, as I am about to get on a plane for the very first time, Jason is at home with Reed who is squirting poop and throwing up, and I am squirting poop and cramping and having chills and sweats.
FUCK YOU, EX-WIFE. It is on now. I hope you don't think that what you've witnessed to this point was me bringin' it, because NOW I AM GOING TO BRING IT.
P.S. Everybody wish me luck flying. Posting will be light this week as I'll be out of town. Let's hope I make it there and can chug margaritas and regret getting drunk in front of my boss.
Then last night I came out of my medicoma long enough to pack for my trip to San Antonio.
Oh, wait, back up just a tad. You know I mentioned that Kane had strep throat and the flu a couple of weeks ago? Well last week Jude was feverish and feeling bad, and everyone assumed he was catching what Kane had. Then on Thursday their mom asked (in a text, naturally) if we wanted to take them to a sock hop at Jude's school Friday, since they were coming to our house anyways. So Friday, their mom texted and said nevermind the sock hop, Jude was sick, we should just pick them up at the normal time. Jason asked if she had taken him to the doctor; her response: "No, it's a stomach thing. If it gets worse you can take him to the doctor tomorrow." ("Tomorrow" being a Saturday, FOR FUCKS BLUE EYED SAKES)
Listen, back in the day when they lived with us there were more than one occasion in which their mom would say she was sick, not feeling well, and the kids would just have to stay with us for the weekend instead of going to her house.
Now consider just a couple of factors about this weekend: 1) I was terribly ill, and fairly incapacitated by the meds. 2) Reed was ill as well. 3) Jason is still trying like hell not to catch anything from anybody. 4) I am leaving Monday for a work trip, a trip in which all the arrangements have been made, a trip in which we fly and stay at a hotel, my very first flight ever. 5) Kane is still getting over strep throat and the flu. 6) Jude has a stomach bug.
So I was the bad guy, the mean guy and said, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm sick, Reed's sick, Jude's sick, and Kane's sick, and I have to pack and prepare and then manage to GO on a trip on Monday. Kane and Jude need to stay at their mom's this weekend. I can't handle this. That's just the way it's going to have to be."
So of course Jason said that to his crazy ex-wife, and she said, "Oh, I don't think it's a stomach flu or anything. He went to a party Thursday night and had too much cake."
So OF COURSE I was overruled and they came and Jude moped around feeling like shit all weekend.
And today, as I am about to get on a plane for the very first time, Jason is at home with Reed who is squirting poop and throwing up, and I am squirting poop and cramping and having chills and sweats.
FUCK YOU, EX-WIFE. It is on now. I hope you don't think that what you've witnessed to this point was me bringin' it, because NOW I AM GOING TO BRING IT.
P.S. Everybody wish me luck flying. Posting will be light this week as I'll be out of town. Let's hope I make it there and can chug margaritas and regret getting drunk in front of my boss.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The low tonight is 8 degrees farenheit. I need a hot toddy.
One of my favorite bitches came over last night to cut some of my hair off. Good times.
It's funny how things turn out. So much of what I hear these days is at once predictable and surprising.
Reed has noticed my perplexedness lately. "Don't be sad, mommy." He breaks my heart. I have been taking some very good advice and telling him, "Yes, I'm sad, but it will go away in a minute. I love you." That seems to help.
I am working on my life in a lot of ways, and letting it go in a lot of ways. I am writing a lot and coming up with new ideas. I'm working at a great job.
I'm about to change a lot of behaviors that I thought were for the best, for me and for everybody, but I realize now were only hurting me and keeping everyone else in the dark. This just goes back to my saying that I'm going to trust myself more and be more vocal about what's going on in my head and heart. I think it helps me to say it over and over, to remind myself that I'm supposed to be telling folks what's bothering me. I am just so accustomed to trying to be nice all that time, to trying not to stir anything up, trying to smooth things over. It's hard to change behaviors that are so ingrained in me that they come like reflexes, just pop up quickly without my even thinking about it. I am retraining myself to stop and think about it, think about my feelings, what I'd really like to say.
Some people are born without a filter between their brains and their mouths. I need to trim mine back a little. Please pass the scissors.
Have you ever wondered what all has happened on January 15th throughout history?
It's funny how things turn out. So much of what I hear these days is at once predictable and surprising.
Reed has noticed my perplexedness lately. "Don't be sad, mommy." He breaks my heart. I have been taking some very good advice and telling him, "Yes, I'm sad, but it will go away in a minute. I love you." That seems to help.
I am working on my life in a lot of ways, and letting it go in a lot of ways. I am writing a lot and coming up with new ideas. I'm working at a great job.
I'm about to change a lot of behaviors that I thought were for the best, for me and for everybody, but I realize now were only hurting me and keeping everyone else in the dark. This just goes back to my saying that I'm going to trust myself more and be more vocal about what's going on in my head and heart. I think it helps me to say it over and over, to remind myself that I'm supposed to be telling folks what's bothering me. I am just so accustomed to trying to be nice all that time, to trying not to stir anything up, trying to smooth things over. It's hard to change behaviors that are so ingrained in me that they come like reflexes, just pop up quickly without my even thinking about it. I am retraining myself to stop and think about it, think about my feelings, what I'd really like to say.
Some people are born without a filter between their brains and their mouths. I need to trim mine back a little. Please pass the scissors.
Have you ever wondered what all has happened on January 15th throughout history?
Friday, December 26, 2008
2008.
I'm pretty sure some crazy stuff is about to blow up around me and Jason pretty soon. It's all a crazy mess, the result of mistakes we've made recently concerning Kane and Jude. I'll have a lot, A LOT more to say on this in the next few weeks if things calm down that quickly.
As the year rambles to a close I am left thinking about what an awful period of my life this has been, how awful it's been for me and how awful I, in turn, have made it for everybody around me.
I am so lucky to be surrounded by people who empathise, sympathise, keep caring, persevere, who understand that a lot of this is bigger than me, bigger than my heart can take, bigger than my TEENY, TINY BRAIN can comprehend. I need a lot of help sometimes, and thank jeez there are people around me who want to give it to me. I don't know where I would be now if it weren't for you guys. I would NOT be at work in a good job, listening to Elvis Costello, thinking how we will make it through this. I would probably be one of those people who is always, ALWAYS over on the far side of the bar at the Plaza, drinking and not talking or making eye contact with anyone, only thinking quietly about the shambles his life has become.
Lucky for you guys I'm still sending texts and emails and making phone calls about OH GOD THE DEPRAVITY and FUCK ALL BOLLOCKS CRAZY PEOPLE and OH HOLY SHIT I'M GOING TO DIE, I'M GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW, BUT NOT BEFORE I HAVE ONE MORE NATURAL LIGHT WITH YOU RIGHT NOW BE THERE IN A MINUTE.
Y'all are so damn lucky I'm around, because your life would probably be so boring without me in it.
Seriously, though, every year I sort of momentarily consider New Year's resolutions and I usually move on without making any because, SHIT, this life is so unpredictable and bizarre I just never feel like I can live up to resolutions. This year, I have considered it carefully and I think I want to resolve to be more fierce, more steadfast, more calm, steady, sure. I have this tendency to be super paranoid, to start thinking weird things are going on or to second-guess decisions, and looking back on this year makes me realize that I am frequently right or at least not totally off. I resolve to listen to myself a little more closely, to stop being so hard on myself, to stop telling myself that I'm wrong, stupid, crazy, so automatically. I resolve to remember that I can make it through anything. I resolve to listen to my instincts and to feel less like I need to bend against my gut reactions.
I resolve to stand up for myself loudly, clearly, make myself heard if anyone fucks with me, my marriage, my family the way some people have this year. I will not take any more of this quietly, will not walk away without PUNCHING SOME BITCH IN THE FACE, at least metaphorically. Maybe what I could do, you know, to help the economy, is pay a homeless guy to punch you in the face and I'll stand by with my Martin guitar and play More Than Nothing by the Vindictives. WHATEVER. I do not care what this says about me, I do not care what impression this gives, just know that you got off easy this time and it will not happen again.
Tired of hearing about it? No you're not. Shut up.
Those of you who take such good care of me, who worry about me and help so much, you all sort of mesh together and form a nice soft place for me to fall, and I love you for it. Y'all all come over here and sit on mama's lap and I'll pour you a bourbon and sing Crimson and Clover quietly in your ear. You know who you are. Thank you.
As the year rambles to a close I am left thinking about what an awful period of my life this has been, how awful it's been for me and how awful I, in turn, have made it for everybody around me.
I am so lucky to be surrounded by people who empathise, sympathise, keep caring, persevere, who understand that a lot of this is bigger than me, bigger than my heart can take, bigger than my TEENY, TINY BRAIN can comprehend. I need a lot of help sometimes, and thank jeez there are people around me who want to give it to me. I don't know where I would be now if it weren't for you guys. I would NOT be at work in a good job, listening to Elvis Costello, thinking how we will make it through this. I would probably be one of those people who is always, ALWAYS over on the far side of the bar at the Plaza, drinking and not talking or making eye contact with anyone, only thinking quietly about the shambles his life has become.
Lucky for you guys I'm still sending texts and emails and making phone calls about OH GOD THE DEPRAVITY and FUCK ALL BOLLOCKS CRAZY PEOPLE and OH HOLY SHIT I'M GOING TO DIE, I'M GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW, BUT NOT BEFORE I HAVE ONE MORE NATURAL LIGHT WITH YOU RIGHT NOW BE THERE IN A MINUTE.
Y'all are so damn lucky I'm around, because your life would probably be so boring without me in it.
Seriously, though, every year I sort of momentarily consider New Year's resolutions and I usually move on without making any because, SHIT, this life is so unpredictable and bizarre I just never feel like I can live up to resolutions. This year, I have considered it carefully and I think I want to resolve to be more fierce, more steadfast, more calm, steady, sure. I have this tendency to be super paranoid, to start thinking weird things are going on or to second-guess decisions, and looking back on this year makes me realize that I am frequently right or at least not totally off. I resolve to listen to myself a little more closely, to stop being so hard on myself, to stop telling myself that I'm wrong, stupid, crazy, so automatically. I resolve to remember that I can make it through anything. I resolve to listen to my instincts and to feel less like I need to bend against my gut reactions.
I resolve to stand up for myself loudly, clearly, make myself heard if anyone fucks with me, my marriage, my family the way some people have this year. I will not take any more of this quietly, will not walk away without PUNCHING SOME BITCH IN THE FACE, at least metaphorically. Maybe what I could do, you know, to help the economy, is pay a homeless guy to punch you in the face and I'll stand by with my Martin guitar and play More Than Nothing by the Vindictives. WHATEVER. I do not care what this says about me, I do not care what impression this gives, just know that you got off easy this time and it will not happen again.
Tired of hearing about it? No you're not. Shut up.
Those of you who take such good care of me, who worry about me and help so much, you all sort of mesh together and form a nice soft place for me to fall, and I love you for it. Y'all all come over here and sit on mama's lap and I'll pour you a bourbon and sing Crimson and Clover quietly in your ear. You know who you are. Thank you.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Rearin' his ugly head.
Jeez, after all that nice stuff I wrote yesterday about my child, then last night was terrible. AWFUL. HE WAS AWFUL.
Besides "I'm going to punch you in the face!", besides "I'm going to kick you in the face!", besides "I'm going to kick your ass out!", he said "I'm going to spit on you!" and then he actually spit on Jason, a big, gooey strand of spit.
We are totally horrified at this point.
There are some things that Reed does that I know where they come from, that I know he got from Jason ("ass") or Kane and Jude (wrestling, playfully hitting, gleefully jumping on top of people) or me (the crazy, the attitude, THE CRAZY), but these are phrases and attitudes that he did not get at home.
We've questioned our choice of daycare before, but so far we've continued to send him and tried not to worry about it because it's very difficult to do anything else about it.
Now that I have a job we hope that our finances will get better, but right now they are in the shitter pretty badly, to the tune of about -$300, with the next payday about eight days away.
Reed is absolutely worth any amount of money, more than money, and I would do anything to keep him safe and sound. But I've said before when there's no money, there's no money.
There is a daycare right across the street from where I work now and I've called and they have a slot, but it would mean about $50 more a week, about $200 more a month. Can we do it? I don't know. I can spout off about Reed's importance all I want, but if we can't come up with the money to pay the daycare, they won't let him stay, and I'll have to stay home from work, and I'll eventually get fired.
That right there is called The Illustration of How My Brain Works.
So that's where we are right now- PANICKED. UNSURE. WORRIED. BEATEN DOWN.
And now I have to go home to a toddler who's going to spit on me and then kick my ass out. I can't get a break.
Besides "I'm going to punch you in the face!", besides "I'm going to kick you in the face!", besides "I'm going to kick your ass out!", he said "I'm going to spit on you!" and then he actually spit on Jason, a big, gooey strand of spit.
We are totally horrified at this point.
There are some things that Reed does that I know where they come from, that I know he got from Jason ("ass") or Kane and Jude (wrestling, playfully hitting, gleefully jumping on top of people) or me (the crazy, the attitude, THE CRAZY), but these are phrases and attitudes that he did not get at home.
We've questioned our choice of daycare before, but so far we've continued to send him and tried not to worry about it because it's very difficult to do anything else about it.
Now that I have a job we hope that our finances will get better, but right now they are in the shitter pretty badly, to the tune of about -$300, with the next payday about eight days away.
Reed is absolutely worth any amount of money, more than money, and I would do anything to keep him safe and sound. But I've said before when there's no money, there's no money.
There is a daycare right across the street from where I work now and I've called and they have a slot, but it would mean about $50 more a week, about $200 more a month. Can we do it? I don't know. I can spout off about Reed's importance all I want, but if we can't come up with the money to pay the daycare, they won't let him stay, and I'll have to stay home from work, and I'll eventually get fired.
That right there is called The Illustration of How My Brain Works.
So that's where we are right now- PANICKED. UNSURE. WORRIED. BEATEN DOWN.
And now I have to go home to a toddler who's going to spit on me and then kick my ass out. I can't get a break.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Headache- check. Plague- check. Sheer panic- check.
You remember all my whining about "ob la di", about how something is ALWAYS happening?
When I got out out to my car last night, the battery was dead. THE BATTERY WAS DEAD, I TELL YOU. Jason came up and jumped me off, but it wouldn't hold a charge, so we had to borrow money to buy a new battery and get it in there and working asap so's we could both go to work today.
AND THEN, this morning, my NEW phone crashed. I spent my lunch hour speeding from one end of town to the other and back again for it to suddenly start working again while I was standing in the phone store, and for them to be like, "Well, let's just give it a couple of days. It might be fine now."
Then my boss is out sick today so I'm doing both our jobs AND IT'S SCARY. I'M SCARED.
This all gives a whole new meaning to that line in Almost Famous, "It's all happening!"
When I got out out to my car last night, the battery was dead. THE BATTERY WAS DEAD, I TELL YOU. Jason came up and jumped me off, but it wouldn't hold a charge, so we had to borrow money to buy a new battery and get it in there and working asap so's we could both go to work today.
AND THEN, this morning, my NEW phone crashed. I spent my lunch hour speeding from one end of town to the other and back again for it to suddenly start working again while I was standing in the phone store, and for them to be like, "Well, let's just give it a couple of days. It might be fine now."
Then my boss is out sick today so I'm doing both our jobs AND IT'S SCARY. I'M SCARED.
This all gives a whole new meaning to that line in Almost Famous, "It's all happening!"
Monday, September 29, 2008
We took Reed to the zoo for the very first time yesterday. He REALLY loved it. We only got around to about half of the zoo; he is a little person with short legs, plus it was hot we were sweaty, so after about two hours he asked if we could go home.
I have come down with the plague, complete with sinus headaches, chest pain, and mouth-breathing.
These past few days I've spent a lot of time with a couple of girls who I don't see very often. I'm sorry for the circumstances, but thankful for the closeness. It has been really nice.
I watched the presidential debate last Friday with friends, and we all raised our eyebrows or chuckled or pishawed at the same parts. I particularly enjoyed how McCain's eyes bug out when he gets pissed off. This Thursday we're watching the V.P. debate with the same folks, and I'm excited about it.
Still no job-offers. FOR THE LOVE OF SHIT. I did, however, get to visit wonderful Bug Tussel, Alabama today. I want to move there.
I have come down with the plague, complete with sinus headaches, chest pain, and mouth-breathing.
These past few days I've spent a lot of time with a couple of girls who I don't see very often. I'm sorry for the circumstances, but thankful for the closeness. It has been really nice.
I watched the presidential debate last Friday with friends, and we all raised our eyebrows or chuckled or pishawed at the same parts. I particularly enjoyed how McCain's eyes bug out when he gets pissed off. This Thursday we're watching the V.P. debate with the same folks, and I'm excited about it.
Still no job-offers. FOR THE LOVE OF SHIT. I did, however, get to visit wonderful Bug Tussel, Alabama today. I want to move there.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
I have arrived.
This week I am just trying to stay calm as our situation gets worse and worse. I am still applying for jobs, still following leads, still "knocking on doors." THANKS, DAD.
I applied for unemployment last week. It took me two months and about 45 impotent job applications to get to this point. Hello, point. I'm here.
I applied for unemployment last week. It took me two months and about 45 impotent job applications to get to this point. Hello, point. I'm here.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Yesterday was my 29th birthday, and guess what I got? Foreclosure.
It's been a damn long time since we've been able to pay the mortgage, so it's not like it's a complete surprise. It's just that every payday, the money is gone before we get it, paying the daycare and the power and the loans etc. So here we are.
This weekend we start moving stuff into my mom's house.
It's been a damn long time since we've been able to pay the mortgage, so it's not like it's a complete surprise. It's just that every payday, the money is gone before we get it, paying the daycare and the power and the loans etc. So here we are.
This weekend we start moving stuff into my mom's house.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
"Happiness is when you really feel good with somebody..."
Well, things are changing all the time- feelings, opinions, options, desires, pleasures, pains, illnesses, favorites, irritations- and I can't keep up. I am trying to just breathe and eat Rolaids and pretend our lives are normal and calm.
Tonight I am going to see Al Green- surely all I need is a little love and happiness...
Tonight I am going to see Al Green- surely all I need is a little love and happiness...
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Making a wish.
There has been so much going on lately- nauseation, continued bleeding, A LOT of crying, pulling of hair, frustration, worry, constant phone-calling, and then a couple of good things.
I think this super-cute little boutique in Homewood called Happi is going to carry my jewelry. I am so excited and hopeful and grateful- it's really a big deal to me, and I hope that it works out well for everyone involved.
An article that I wrote is being published in the June issue of Lipstick Magazine. Again, great opportunity, very excited, could lead to other opportunities, super-awesomeness.
I am not downplaying either of those things because they are both so rad and exciting, but I must say that the past two days of making 734 phone calls to 347 different people, telling our story those many times, talking to people who didn't know, or didn't care, or didn't want to disturb their lunch is really defeating. It has gotten to the point where every time I hang up the phone, every single time, I start to cry. I sit there for a few minutes and cry and rub my eyes and collapse in on myself, and then I straighten my shoulders and find my list and make the next call. It's not even that we're getting bad news from anyone; we just can't seem to light on the right branch, so to speak.
Luckily we're checking out another couple of branches on Thursday. So the beat goes on.
P.S. I just noticed that Lipstick has a link to my blog under "Our Favorite Websites". How cool is that? WAY.
I think this super-cute little boutique in Homewood called Happi is going to carry my jewelry. I am so excited and hopeful and grateful- it's really a big deal to me, and I hope that it works out well for everyone involved.
An article that I wrote is being published in the June issue of Lipstick Magazine. Again, great opportunity, very excited, could lead to other opportunities, super-awesomeness.
I am not downplaying either of those things because they are both so rad and exciting, but I must say that the past two days of making 734 phone calls to 347 different people, telling our story those many times, talking to people who didn't know, or didn't care, or didn't want to disturb their lunch is really defeating. It has gotten to the point where every time I hang up the phone, every single time, I start to cry. I sit there for a few minutes and cry and rub my eyes and collapse in on myself, and then I straighten my shoulders and find my list and make the next call. It's not even that we're getting bad news from anyone; we just can't seem to light on the right branch, so to speak.
Luckily we're checking out another couple of branches on Thursday. So the beat goes on.
P.S. I just noticed that Lipstick has a link to my blog under "Our Favorite Websites". How cool is that? WAY.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Not even kidding.
This week has been really, awfully, terribly long, filled with thinking, re-thinking, fearing, raging, planning, calculating, researching, puking, bleeding, drinking, and then fearing and thinking and planning some more.
In other words, you have not wanted to be around me this week. Someone send Jason and Kristi a medal- they spent a lot of time with me this week.
I'm looking back on pictures from our show and trying to relive the happiness, the carefreeness, the feeling that things are good and will continue to get better.
This picture has most of my most favorite girls in it. DON'T EVEN GET PISSED OF IF YOU'RE NOT IN THE PICTURE AND WANT TO BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE GIRLS. I have others. These are must most of 'em.
In other words, you have not wanted to be around me this week. Someone send Jason and Kristi a medal- they spent a lot of time with me this week.
I'm looking back on pictures from our show and trying to relive the happiness, the carefreeness, the feeling that things are good and will continue to get better.
This picture has most of my most favorite girls in it. DON'T EVEN GET PISSED OF IF YOU'RE NOT IN THE PICTURE AND WANT TO BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE GIRLS. I have others. These are must most of 'em.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Scratch, scratch, scritch scratch.
So last night, totally exhausted, Jason and I snuggled up in bed around ten. Jason wasn't in the best mood because I had nagged him to fold a load of jeans while I washed the dinner dishes, so when we started hearing the scampering, scraping and scratching above our heads he wasn't happy.
I've mentioned the squirrels fucking in our ceiling; last night they weren't so much fucking as squirreling- scratching about, making noises, just generally making angry the man of the house. Jason got up and banged on the ceiling a few good times, which did nothing whatsoever. He went poking about and stepped into our closet to have a listen from there; he said, "Buffy. Come here."
I stepped into the closet and followed his pointing finger to discover a little hole in the ceiling, a little place where something had popped or scratched or scraped through the popcorn.
I have to tell you, I NEARLY SHAT MYSELF. Now I can't stop thinking about squirrels and rodents and RABIES, RABIES, people. It has made it's way into the house!! It has GUTS and GUMPTION and I will run away if I see it. Jason jammed a small suitcase underneath it so whatever has been poking its rabies-laden nose through there can do so no longer, but now I'm thinking, it'll just do it again! Next thing I know there will be little holes everywhere in the ceiling, with little noses and eyes poking through! GROSS. SCARY. I mean, what we heard last night was likely the sounds of the next hole, the next stop on the way to Buffy's insanity.
It's a short trip.
I've mentioned the squirrels fucking in our ceiling; last night they weren't so much fucking as squirreling- scratching about, making noises, just generally making angry the man of the house. Jason got up and banged on the ceiling a few good times, which did nothing whatsoever. He went poking about and stepped into our closet to have a listen from there; he said, "Buffy. Come here."
I stepped into the closet and followed his pointing finger to discover a little hole in the ceiling, a little place where something had popped or scratched or scraped through the popcorn.
I have to tell you, I NEARLY SHAT MYSELF. Now I can't stop thinking about squirrels and rodents and RABIES, RABIES, people. It has made it's way into the house!! It has GUTS and GUMPTION and I will run away if I see it. Jason jammed a small suitcase underneath it so whatever has been poking its rabies-laden nose through there can do so no longer, but now I'm thinking, it'll just do it again! Next thing I know there will be little holes everywhere in the ceiling, with little noses and eyes poking through! GROSS. SCARY. I mean, what we heard last night was likely the sounds of the next hole, the next stop on the way to Buffy's insanity.
It's a short trip.
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