"You look like a doily."

This week has been nutty.

We took Reed to the doctor on Wednesday; turns out he has the flu AND strep throat. Luckily he's on the mend now, and it's even possible that no one else in the house managed to catch any of his plague.

I went to meet a friend for a drink at Bottletree last night, and happened to see Those Darlins, and MAN, they are really good. So, so good. And Nikki Darlin gave me a free sticker! You can't beat that with a stick.

Tonight I am meeting my lawyer for a much-needed margarita. By "my lawyer", I mean Kristi. And by "much-needed", I mean FOR DAMN SURE, I NEED IT. I spend several days this week thinking maybe I was getting sick with whatever Reed has, but it never progressed, never turned into fever, body aches, total grossness. Finally I realized that I'm in some kind of slump. I hesitate to just say, "Okay, I'm depressed", because somehow this is different. I think it's probably a combination of moving, learning to live with my mom and my sister again, being unemployed and attempting to job search when I see listings for secretarial work that say "Must have ten years secretarial experience", and the time change that means it's dark by 5 every day.

Nevertheless, I have stumbled upon a few neat opportunities with writing and photography, and I'm hoping they pan out. Also I'm showing my jewelry at the Bottletree Craft Bazaar on December 5th, so if you're in Birmingham, come and check it out.

Anyways, the moral of this story is there is no moral to the story. There's no point to any of this. It's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know... a Quarter-Pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle... and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.

And now I'm quoting Troy Dyer. I think it's time to go.

I do not know what is going on with my body these days, but I think something must be wrong. My eyes are really swollen and hot, and my throat hurts, and my nose is all stopped up. I am exhausted all the time, whether I get sleep or not. I am nauseated and I've thrown up a few times. I've been getting heartburn regularly when, until about two weeks ago, I had never had heartburn before in my life.

I don't know what's up, but it's starting to get difficult to function an a daily basis when I'm feeling this badly. I long to be in bed all the time, and I've spent the last two days literally falling asleep at my desk at work. It's all getting to be too much pretty quickly.

I'm taking my vitamins, I'm drinking water and hot tea, I'm walking the dog, resting, getting some sleep when I can.

Oh, yeah, that's another thing: I've had a lot of trouble sleeping lately.

Anyway, I'm falling apart at the seams, mouth-breathing and aching and writhing around. I'm just not really sure how to deal with all of this.

And here is what I do at work...

I am a very busy woman.

In other news, we're going to get our dog tomorrow. He's excited, too.



And this right here is a very informative swine flu website you should check out. And here is another one.

AHA.

I want to talk for a moment about something that's on all our minds: vaccinations.

Okay, so it's not on anybody's minds. It hasn't been on my mind for some time as Reed has been caught up on his shots for some time; I think he was probably around 2 or 2 1/2 the last time he had to get any immunations. But it's on my mind now, and I have a few things that I'd like to say.

When I was pregnant I read a LOT of pregnancy and child-rearing books. I think by the time Reed was born I had read eight or ten of them. Any time I ran across an article or website on the subject I'd read that, too. I was pretty much terrified, and the more knowledge I soaked up about the process of pregnancy, labor, and raising a kid, the calmer I felt about all of it. You can never know everything, but in my opinion you can never know too much, either.

One of the issues that started to stick out for me was childhood immunizations and their pros and cons. This has been a hot-button issue for several years, not least because some people claim that there is a link between these immunizations and the occurance of autism. The link seems to revolve around the use of thiomersal as a preservative in vaccines. Besides autism a lot of parents find that their kids have pretty severe adverse reactions to some immunizations like rashes and bad fevers and whatnot.

Listen, I am no expert, but I have read up on both sides of this debate and I have to tell you by the time Reed was born I was really worried about these vaccinations and what effect they were going to have on my tiny baby. Pregnancy is not a condition that is known for shoving one chock full o' logic and reason which is partly why I did so much reading: I wanted to be aware of what was realistic to be worried about and what wasn't.

My opinion by the time Reed got here was that it was realistic to be worried about it. Once he was here, once I knew him, the idea of something changing him (Jerkface get off my wording here, I know that "something" will eventually change my kid, but I think you get my point here) or of my making a choice that might alter his abilities horrified and terrified and paralyzed me. A lot of this was a result of some severe postpartum depression that I have only recently gotten a handle on. I mean, driving with Reed in the car I would think "What if I get in a wreck and he gets hurt?" and when he slept I would think "What if he chokes or stops breathing and I don't hear him?" OF COURSE after all that reading I was going to think "What if I get Reed all those immunizations and he stops making eye contact with me or stops saying a word that he says now?" PARALYZING.

After talking to Reed's pediatrician about it we decided- the doctor, Jason, and I- that Reed would get his immunizations but on a slower schedule than the schedule recommended by most pediatricians. The norm is to shoot your kid up with a LOT of vaccines in a short amount of time, sometimes four or five in one doctor's visit, and I didn't like that. Reed's doctor was understanding and kind and cooperative, and helped us work out a schedule that made me feel a lot better.

At some point a person who I was very close to judged me, openly ridiculed me for my concerns, and it hurt and embarrassed me and ultimately played a part in my total alienation from that person. That person had no children of her own and was very open about never wanting to have kids. She was also in the medical field which I'm sure is part of what made her so sure of herself in her judgements.

Again, I haven't really thought about it much in past year or so, but then I read this post on Dooce and reading what Heather has to say about it really made me feel good about all of it. I appreciate what she's saying about the real and extreme dangers involved in not immunizing your children. But what I really like in this post is her interest in other people's thoughts and her ability to welcome differences of opinion while still expressing her own.

Basically I am meandering around this point: Please, please, whether you have kids or don't have kids, want kids or don't want kids, know kids or don't know kids, allow your friends to grow and learn and work towards their own decisions without the added pressure of your impending gauntlet-throwing. It is always helpful to engage in discussion and debate on these kinds of topics, and if you're lucky everyone involved will learn something from them. But let's all take the time to either sympathise or empathise with how difficult, how mind-blowing, how crippling parenting can feel for some of us. Please know that when someone you love is trying to make any of the myriad important decisions associated with being a mom or a dad that that someone is probably trying really very hard to make the right decision when there is no right decision there. BE SUPPORTIVE, for fuck's sakes, and if you feel differently about something than your parent friend then talk to them about it. Make it a discussion, not a ruling.

Incidentally, Reed had what I'm pretty sure was an adverse reaction to one of his rounds of immunizations once. It scared the shit out of me. Of course the doctors at the emergency room didn't want to discuss whether or not it was related to the vaccine- they literally wouldn't say whether or not they thought the two things were related. But it made all of my fears and concerns and paranoia feel real, logical, tangible. I am a crazy bitch, but that doesn't mean that every thought I have is crazy.

It's kind of like how Taco Bell is really kind of a shithole, but not everything that they make there sucks. You know?

Part Seven.

This is Part Eleventy-Million of the story of our trip to Costa Rica. Here are Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six.

So, here it is Tuesday morning, Saint Patrick's Day. I am writhing around in bed. No more waterpoop; apparently Costa Rican prescription diarrhea medicine corks that shit right up. But I'm still having the bad cramps and the sweats. I am writhing around, twisting up in the mosquito net, and Jason comes in and gingerly says, "Uh, so, Kristi and Chris are hiking to the waterfalls." We look at each other. I say, "Okay." We look at each other. I writhe a little. He says, "Um, so, do you want to go?" FOR GOD'S SAKES, JASON. NO HIKING. I DON'T WANT TO HIKE. I HAVE NEVER CLAIMED TO WANT TO HIKE. I HAVE NEVER SUGGESTED THAT I MIGHT WANT TO HIKE. I HAVE NEVER LIED TO ANYONE AND SAID "Oh, I like hiking."

Point is, I don't want to hike and I tell him so. Kristi and Chris leave, and I decide that I cannot spend another day in bed waiting to feel better. I get out of bed and sit on the porch and watch Jason draw and play solitaire while I sweat and cramp.

Kristi and Chris come back from the waterfalls with tails of almost dying, having scaled a sheer flat rock face that someone lied and called a "mountain". Kristi and Chris are pretty adventurous so I have to tell you, it surprises me when they come back sweaty and shaky and dirty, telling us that they both got so scared that they were shaking and weren't sure what to do and got lost and were having to leap and grab and pray that roots would hold until they got to the top, where Kristi realizes that the camera is gone. Apparently her purse wasn't zipped and their camera is gone, killing forever any hopes of my ever laying eyes on this terrible climb that they've endeavored 'cause I SHO AIN'T EVER GOING UP THERE MYSELF.

We decide to go sit in the pool for a while. Sitting there, the cool water makes me feel a little better, and suddenly I make a decision which I announce: "Well, I guess I'm just going to see if the beer can heal me, since I didn't have any yesterday and I'm still not well." Chris likes this idea, has been suggesting it all along, and walks down to the house to get us all beers. We float around and drink a couple of beers. I sincerely feel better. Kristi's rash sincerely doesn't feel better. It has spread from her arms to her chest, stomach, and thighs. She still fears that it's a flesh-eating bacteria. She goes to the main house and asks the owners; they say it's probably nothing serious, but go to the Clinico.

Chris and Kristi head to the Clinico in Cobano. She sees a doctor in the pharmacy (I didn't know they did that!) who speaks English (I didn't know they did that!) and who gives her a skin cream and some Allegra and is able to tell her what she is getting and how to use it and what it does (I didn't know they did that!). She comes back, slathers on her cream and pops an Allegra, and gets back in the pool with us. We spend most of the afternoon floating around, feeling better all around, drinking beers.

Was this when we played Euchre? I know we played at some point on the porch. I think this is when. We played Euchre and continued to drink. Later Chris and Jason cook dinner: by now we've been living on a steady diet of gallo pinto- beans, rice, plantains, and any combination of onions, avocado, tomatos, hot sauce, and salsa. At this point I haven't eaten a meal since Sunday night on account of my intestinal distress. I push my food around while everyone else eats. My stomach starts to feel gross, and I give up on the eating. We sit up and play Spades for a while. Around 10pm, I give up entirely and go to bed feeling grody.

The next morning we get up early, pack up, and catch our shuttle back to San Jose. We have to do all that traveling in reverse: head to Paquera, take the ferry, then catch our shuttle from Puntarenas to Hostel Pangea in San Jose. Apparently Kristi's cream has made her sensitive to sunlight and her arms are covered in blisters. It's a pretty hot, sweaty trip, but we make it, and we're STARVING. We go to the Banco and get some cash, then head back to Hostel Pangea for casados.

This is the first meal I have eaten since Sunday dinner. It's Wednesday Lunch. I effectively didn't eat for about two-and-a-half days. I am ravenous. We drink beers and eat lunch and check into our rooms for a little rest. We go walking in San Jose and buy souveniers and meet the funniest, nicest Costa Rican lady ever. She says things like, "Fuckin' damnit!" and "fuckin' shit yeah!" while she tells us how much she likes Americans and how she traveled across the U.S. from California to New York (or was it the other way around?) and how Alabama has the best fried chicken. She said we need to come back to Costa Rica and bring all our kids and stay at her house "and we'll eat some fuckin' fried chicken!"

That night we sit at the bar at Hostel Pangea and eat the tastiest nachos I've ever had and drink Imperial and relax. Some of Kristi and Chris' law school friends have just gotten back from Jaco or Manuel Antonio or some place and tell us about getting pick-pocketed by gangs of hookers and harrassed by policemen (they have to bribe them to stay out of trouble) and going deep-sea fishing. At some point one of the girls says something like, "Well of course we had air conditioning. We had to have air conditioning."

WE DID NOT HAVE AIR CONDITIONING. NOW GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY TABLE.

The next morning, Thursday morning, we head to the San Jose air port and fly home without incident. And that's the story of Costa Rica, in only seven parts.

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.

On my packing list: butt plugs and pepto.

Only two weeks until Costa Rica.

Two weeks from this moment I will be tired as hell, probably sitting in the airport in Fort Lauderdale, dreaming of a rooftop bar in San Jose.

Right now I am just hoping, willing us all to be well when this trip happens. I want to be well, and I want Reed to be well so I won't be worried about him while we're gone, and I want my family to be well and our friends to be well. JUST BE WELL, for the love.

Sunny day, chasin' the clouds away.

BOOM, February is more than half-gone.

San Antonio was pretty fun. It was my first-ever business trip, so that was a little weird- being out of town without Jason or any of my friends there- and it was my first flying experience, which was okay. All except for getting stuck in the bathroom on the Express Jet.

Yes, that's what I said: I got stuck in the bathroom. It was awesome, because I was doing really well, staying calm and all that, and I just really had to use the bathroom, so I forced myself to get up and go even though it was scary. So I went, and I was feeling all proud of myself for not feeling freaked out. Then we hit turbulence and I thought, "I'm fine. See how I'm fine? It's fine." And then I couldn't get the door open. I could get it unlocked, but the door wouldn't budge. Finally I knocked on the door and said, "Hello?" The guy sitting closest to the door opened it for me, and threw in a good eye-roll to all of the other passengers like, "God, get a load of this dumbass." It's okay; I didn't even mind because I was just so excited to be getting out of the bathroom.

Other than that it was all pretty uneventful. I was somewhat ill the whole time, nasty bathroom experiences and headache and all that good stuff. I was happy to come home; that hotel room was lonely at night all by myself. I watched a lot of tv in bed. It was nice, but I would much rather either have someone with me or be at home.

Reed was really sick while I was gone, and Jason had to stay home from work from Monday to Thursday, then I stayed home on Friday. This stomach bug stuff is really rough, I tell you; the doctor said it has been lasting about five days, and Reed's lasted six. Jason talked to the kids on Sunday and Kane has it now. Someone at our facility in San Antonio had it, someone at my mom's work had it, and now my dad has it. It's going around, folks.

So now things will calm down for a bit until Costa Rica, which is just barely over three weeks away. I got my passport and I'm ready to go. Jason and I still need bathing suits: anyone know where to get a Superman Speedo with a fanny cape?

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.

You Americans, you're all the same. Always overdressing for the wrong occasions.

5 weeks until Costa Rica, and 5 days until San Antonio. I can't believe all this traveling that I'm doing. Since Jason and I have been married (five years ago), we had a nice honeymoon, a five-day trip to New Orleans, and a five-day trip to Gatlinburg. Besides that, it's just been a couple of weekend trips to friends' houses a few hours away. Not that those aren't nice, but it's very different from getting on a plane and staying in a hotel (or a house in the jungle) and all that. I'm terribly excited, which is why y'all keep having to read about it.

I'm also a little sick. My chest is hurting and I'm feeling pretty low; I think I'm calling the doctor today.

Reed has a really nasty sinus infection. We've been watching a lot of Indiana Jones, or Marianna Jones, as he's determined to call it, and last night he kept saying "I want to watch the one with all the steaks!" He said this over and over, and was totally frustrated that I was like, "I don't think there IS an Indiana Jones with steaks..." Finally I figured out that he was talking about SNAKES, the one with all the SNAKES. Actually there are snakes in pretty much all of the Indiana Jones movies, but I figured out he was referring to the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We happily snuggled under a blanket and watched it for bedtime last night.

When I really think about it, get myself down to the bottom line, this life is the life I've always wanted, with just a few snags here and there (crazy ex-wife, her crazy husband, no-money-having, etc.). We're working on the snags, and it feels good to be able to say that.

Yet another day in the life.

Oh, Lordy mercy. This morning I threw my neck out.

I guess that's the correct phrase. This morning as I was sitting up in bed I turned my head to the right and reached for my glass of water with my right hand. Then I died a slow and painful death.

Actually then I had an intense burning, fiery, the-devil-is-giving-me-a-shoulder-rub-with-his-charred-burning-hands sensation in the left side of my neck and shoulders. It was almost as cool as hitting myself in the face with a shovel. I somehow managed to put the glass of water back on the table and lie there thinking, okay, I can't move. It was like, I was capable of moving, but when I even thought about it the sensation got worse.

I somehow reached over and got my cell phone and texted Jason, yes that's right I texted my husband who was in the kitchen at the time, and said, "I'm dying. If you want to pay your last respects come back here but don't expect any sexy stuff because I can't move." Actually I just said, "Come here."

So eventually after aspirin and rest and a heating pad, my husband left me there alone, immobile, in the bed. I decided that I didn't want to lie about in bed all day, but when I tried to sit up, the pain was just too intense. So that's when my genius that I inherited from my mother kicked in and I thought, I'll just roll out of bed. Simple. So I simply rolled myself over, falling out of the bed, and narrowly escaping slamming my face into the corner of the nightstand.

What you don't know is that I used to be a guest-star on the Benny Hill show and that's where I learned all of these righteous comedy techniques.

Anyways, I managed to get up, managed to get towels and get the shower turned on, and then I stepped into the shower.

And then I slipped and fell down, right on my ass, in the shower, alone in the house.

When I later talked to Jason I said, "And I could be there still, drowned in the shower, and subsequently your water bill would be OUTRAGEOUS."

Now go and read this for a laugh.

P.S. Heard at work: "I'd rather be a good liver than have one." Also, "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy."

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!"

Sometimes it seems like things never stop happening, never slow down, never stay good for very long. Nothing catastrophic is happening, and I am thankful that we're all (relatively) healthy and happy and warm and dry and all that.

But sometimes I wish we could have a couple of weeks of calm, of placid waters, of little to no disturbance.

Reed and I both have walking pneumonia. When my doctor did a chest x-ray he said that it had "infiltrated" my lungs "severely". What that means is I feel like doody. He said it could take as long as four weeks for me to get well. FUCK THAT. I was like, "HAHA. I would like to be well this afternoon, please."

Luckily I have a job where I can sit at my desk and do my work quietly and drink hot chocolate. With only a tiny splash of bourbon. IT'S FOR MEDICAL PURPOSES, CALM DOWN.

You probably are aware that I've had some phone issues and then I bought a new phone last weekend. Well, my new phone "crashed". LUCK, PEOPLE. IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANY, GO BUY SOME AT TARGET.

Of course I've already spoken with my carrier and I can exchange the phone for one that works, it's just the damn principle, the CIRCUMSTANCIAL BULLSHIT that brings these kinds of things about. It took me a long time to re-enter everyone's phone numbers into this phone, to set up all my accounts and get everything aligned correctly. Now I have to start over, and I'm whining about it.

Anyway, ob la di and all that. More later from my contagious, infected self. If you're coming to my house, bring a mask and some Clorox wipes.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

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.

Mining for gold.

Poor Reedy. I'm afraid that he might have walking pnemonia, but I'm not sure. I'm thinking I'll pick him up from school early today and let the doctor check him out.

We had a fun trip to the emergency room with him last Friday night: he grabbed my flat iron when it was blazing hot. He REALLY freaked out for about an hour; about the time we got up to the burn unit at Children's Hospital he calmed down. He was such a grown-up, showing his hand to the doctors and nurses. They were all wowed by how calm, sweet, and cute he is. Now all that's left is a couple of watery blisters, and they're almost gone.

We took Reed with us to Kane's open house at his new school not long ago. I never ceases to amaze me how impressive he will suddenly be in situations like that. At home we're still having writhing fits and screaming fits and crying fits. Then he goes out into public and sits still and smiles and acts right. The best part was during one of the teacher's talk about her class and her expectations, Reed suddenly wanted to get up, go stand directly in front of Kane's mom and stare at her while smiling intensely and picking his nose. He had that finger about 3/4 of the way up his nostril, grinning like a pig in shit and going to town. It made me happy.

One must remember to take pleasure in the little things, musn't one?

I love the taste of phlegm in the morning.

This week I have a bronchial infection and it is very seriously sucking my will to live. Last night I coughed until I threw up. Yay, right?

The problem is that the only thing that makes me feel better is that perfect combination of Benadryl and cough syrup, which renders me nearly unconscious. I took it yesterday and felt much better, until I forced myself out of bed at 2:30 in the afternoon. This morning I'm thinking, "Okay, do I want to take the medicine and feel better and sleep all day long, or do I want to not take the medicine and feel awful but be able to be productive?" And then I'm like, "Who am I kidding? I've never been interested in being productive. I think I'll throw in a martini on top of the meds to give them that extra oomph."

So now I'm waiting for sweet, sweet unconsciousness and thinking about our money situation. It is bad, folks. There are a couple of things that may get cut off this week, plus we have to pay the child support, and we have about $250 in the bank.

I'm really trying hard to find something, anything, to bring some money into the house. I was really hopeful about this one job at Whole Foods, but they're hiring from the inside so no luck there.

It's really indescribably discouraging, this way that things are. I send out resumes all the time with cover letters explaining why I would be a perfect receptionist/office manager/executive assistant/copy editor/data entry person/ANYTHING THAT WOULD PAY ME; I am getting no phone calls.

For now I will just try to be thankful that at least I have the Benadryl.

When I first realized that I was really sick, Jason says to me, "Hey, look on the bright side: at least you don't have to call in." Small blessings.

Pot liquor.

Painting my toenails, doing laundry, wiping Reed's diarrhea-rear: these are the days of our lives.

Reed and I have some tiny virus that includes fever, tummy grossness, and general grumpiness, but I think it might be gone by tomorrow.

Our finances have finally reached a really awful, emergency point in which we can't afford to buy... well, anything.

Kane and Jude were here for the weekend and they both seem to be enjoying their new school. I just sincerely hope this has all been worth it, their moving back to their mom's house. I think it's probably best for them to be stable somewhere, to not change schools any more, so I hope everyone can just calm down and live life for a while.

Their mom and step-dad still inspire me to pluck the eyeballs out of my head: they send rude text messages, refuse to talk to us or make eye-contact (should they actually meet us face to face)- pretty much the usual. C'est la vie.

Jude started a Flickr if you're ever interested in the photographic talent of an intense nine-year-old.

Finally, I've been making some neat things for my Etsy lately. This one's called Mary Ramey, after my grandmother:

Not even kidding.

DSC_0057.jpg
Originally uploaded by cuttingroomfloor

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.

Flowers or weeds?

Flowers or weeds?
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

The last week or so has been a blur, an exhausting whirlwind of good and bad and ugly.

Our show at Speakeasy was fantastic- we sold a whole lot of stuff and did a whole lot of networking. Some new things have opened up for us as a consequence and I'm looking forward to moving ahead with our artistic careers. Plus we drank a lot, laughed a lot, and got lots of hugs from people we love very much.

It turns out Reed had walking pnemonia, but now he's on the mend. He's been sleeping through the night with no nasty coughing fits, which is good for everyone involoved.

Kane and Jude are back from spring break and ready to get this last month of school over with.

We are about to embark, I think, on a very long and painful journey with lawyers and courts and finger-pointing and I'm really not looking forward to it. Part of me hesitates to say much about it, but the larger part wants to rant and rave and scream and spill it all out for you. And for me. And for my knotted stomach and swimming head.

Kane and Jude's mom has decided that the kids should live with her
to go to school and stay with us for all the weekends, holidays, and in the summer- pretty much the exact opposite of the way things are now. She says that this is her decision to make and the fact that we don't agree to it doesn't matter.

Luckily a few people who are very close to us are very invested in this situation and are helping us figure out what path we're going to take. That's all I'm going to say for now, except to say that I hope you can all bear with me through what is bound to be a difficult time for all of us. I appreciate everyone who reads this and I'll try to keep things balanced and rational.

But I make no promises.

You gotta know when to hold 'em.

Ah, life. Such a tricky little bitch, eh?

We've managed to push through the moment when we thought we would never get everything done for our show; now it appears that we'll have around 50 photos, 65 pieces of jewelry, and 3 paintings for sale, as well as a good-lookin' portfolio to peruse. Now there's room to be excited about it again, since the fear and dread have worn off.

Kane and Jude are at their mom's house for spring break and our house has been quiet, in both a relaxing and unnerving kind of way. The peace and calm that sets in when we have one child instead of three is nice in that we can regroup, rekindle, and revive. But I have to say, I get so accustomed to our life with Kane and Jude that I find myself sort of spinning my wheels at times.

Their mother called today to let Jason know that he should come early to pick them up on Sunday because she has something to talk to him about and something for him to "take a look at". She apparently refused to divulge anything about the nature of the issue; she would only repeat that Jason can come early to "talk" and "look". This, too, is unsettling since our experiences with her, both ours as a married couple and Jason's on his own, have been tumultuous and unpredictable. More on this on Sunday when there is more to tell.

Reed has inherited my tendency towards constant illness of some kind. We're hoping it's just allergies, but he has a really nasty cough that keeps him up at night, and it makes it hard for all of us to act like normal humans during the daylight hours. Last night he came to bed with us around three a.m., and this morning there were literally loogies all over the bed where Reed had been sleeping. It's really lovely, the blobs of phlegm all over our sheets. Then when he came home from school today, he had a pretty bad tantrum after I had to physically wrench the gum out of his mouth that he kept nearly sucking down his throat with every hacking cough, and then passed out at 6:45, about three hours earlier than he normally goes to sleep. Right now he's still in bed, and I'm sort of pacing about the house waiting for him to wake up and stay up all night long.

But maybe he'll stay asleep! Who knows? It's like roulette except I NEVER win money. Here, the house NEVER wins, and neither do I. How's that for odds?