Six Year Old Me

Heya. If you're still lurking around this old ruin, I suppose I should let you know I've moved. I've had too much negativity for quite some time now, and every time I tried to "come back" to blogging, I'd get right back into bitching. So I decided this blog had too many old bitchings associated with it for me to break loose and start up newer, happier posts.

I've created a new blog, based on the idea of slowing down and thinking about things with a healthier perspective. Six Year Old Me is my guide for that process, because when I was six life was good. so come on over and check it out. I haven't posted much yet, but I'm still getting used to the idea of thinking about things differently. Bear with me. I think it will be a pretty cool experiment.

A fresh start

So it's been quite some time since my last, worthwhile, post. Oh, sure — I've bitched and ranted and been derisively sarcastic and moody a few times since then, but I've deleted those posts as pointless in the end.

Yeah, life's a bitch sometimes. Hell, it's a bitch rather more frequently than is really necessary, I think. And yeah, all my disgusts and angers are usually justified as easily avoidable annoyances or legitimate dangers to my direct physical well-being.

So?

I'm done with reacting to such things in a way that lingers. Sure, spur-of-the-moment cuss words will fly, especially when someone almost kills me on the freeway because either a) they're drunk, b) they're too impatient to wait literally two more seconds for me to fly by and thus make their turning across the freeway a safe venture, or c) both. You bet your ass I'll cuss then. But.

But, that will be the end of it. As my heart slows, so long as I don't need to change my pants, it's over. Yes, that person is a moron. No, they probably don't realize it (because they're a moron), and probably aren't even thinking of the near-destruction they just caused (because their brain is too small to account for more than a two-second memory span, which may account for their error in judgement). So, if they aren't giving me and my racing heart and possibly soiled panties any thought, why should I waste any more thought or emotion on them? They're clueless; they most likely won't live much longer and thus will negatively affect the world less.

I, on the other hand, plan to live long, and damnit, I plan to live well. This means being actively in control of my happiness and my physical and emotional well-being.

For those of you who may being thinking, "Oh crap, it's another one of those new-agey, mumbo-jumbo, happy-go-lucky and let's all be friends weirdos," you are obviously new to my blog. This is understandable; I haven't actively written in a few years, and didn't exactly have a huge, religious following before. However, should you care to take a glance at even a few of my older posts, you will note a most definitely non-happy-go-lucky vibe.

The long and short of it is, I'm tired of bitching, no matter how justified it may be. I already have intensely negative thoughts in my head — why give them more oomph, more power, more reality and impact, by concentrating on them further by writing them out? That only fuels my anger because believe it or not, I'm one of those sick and twisted people who kind of likes being angry. It makes me feel a little bit powerful, but only in my own head, where of course everything I would say is always perfect and right, and no one dares to talk back. In actual confrontation, it's a bitch and confusing and humiliating and not at all the way it goes in my head — it's just generally shitty, leaving me to feel even worse than I would if I'd kept my anger to myself.

So, I'm done with it. I'll think the thoughts that are bound to come roaring to the front when bullshit arises, and then I'll let them go and move on.

Now, some of you may say that anger is in fact a good thing, and healthy. To an extent, I agree. It means you know what you will and won't put up with, you know what you consider right and wrong, and you are strong in those convictions. Sure. However, it can also be blinding, and worse, it can be addicting, detracting from the rest of everyday life and thus shadowing other, just as healthy and empowering emotions that are just as necessary to one's development and direction in life.

I don't like fantasizing about angry situations and all the things I could say and do in my anger that would prove me indisputably right and in control. I don't like thinking of all the bad things that could happen, or could have happened and what my angry reactions could be or could have been. I don't like liking the thoughts these fantasies bring.

And that's where I've been for about a year or so now. Angry, liking it, fantasizing about it, not liking that, getting angry about that, fantasizing more. I have been, in my head, a vengeful albeit-justice oriented vigilante, delivering razor-sharp, witty, cunning, hurtful truths about any number of things. I've been smooth, fierce, even a martial-arts expert.

I've been living in my head a dream that in reality would crush me. I don't actually want to hurt anyone's feelings, and this becomes painfully obvious in confrontations. I don't actually want to be some smooth-talking, suave but heartless heroine, and this becomes painfully obvious in my attempts to make clear my messages so that I don't hurt anyone's feelings. OK, I might actually want to get physically violent with some people, but only really with the true monsters — the Hitler types, the Phillip Garrido types, the "let's torture kittens just to feel powerful" types. Them, I could do awful things to. The idiot who damn-near T-bones me at an intersection where they should be lawfully (and just in keeping with common sense) stopped and waiting? Not so much. Sure, I'd probably hit something in frustration, but it would more likely be my own steering wheel or dashboard than their face. And the physical pain that would bring would just make me feel ridiculous and small and dumb and in pain, which I'm not fond of.

Essentially, I've not been me in my own head, and that's a whole new level of disturbing. I want me back.

I want to dream real, night-time dreams: of flying, of sneaking through haunted houses, of walking through fairy-haunted woods and swimming leviathan-haunted, alien-haunted lakes. I want to day-dream of my wedding, of taking up new hobbies, of all the awesome things I could be drawing. I want to convince myself to take a painting class (because I'm way better at drawing than at painting, always have been). I want to write poetry again. I actually have the beginnings of some sort of fun-promising poem in my head:

"Dark down deep below the Gr'Lambrollwhelks,
Whose foaming eyes seek shelter in the mud,
There lives a ..."

A what? I don't know. What's a Gr'Lambrollwhelk? I don't know, but I think it's kind of fish-like, without actually being a fish, and it's ancient, and magical, and perhaps — yes! — shrouded in mystery and whispered legends. Oh. And, despite (or perhaps due to) living in salt water, it has foaming eyes. I'm thinking white foam, maybe slightly phosphorescent. Kind of gross, I know, but I can't get the imagery out of my head. How do you pronounce Gr'Lambrollwhelk? "Gruh•Lamm•Brole•Welk." Where did I come up with it? Beats the hell of me. Perhaps it's my muse's wacky way of luring me back into words.

It's working.

On top of just being plain old sick and tired of being sick and tired of hearing myself bitch, my anger and anxiety has begun to affect my health in ways I can no longer ignore. Heart problems run in my family, and lately I've had issues with a tight chest and too-rapid heartbeat when stress is consistently high. And oh wow, has it been high lately (very ill family and many ER trips will do that to a person).There's no panic involved and I can breathe just fine, so I'm hesitant to chalk it up to a panic attack, which has been suggested by others ... though I've never had one, so I suppose that could be it. But, I mean, don't you have to feel panicky for a panic attack? This is just a weird heart thing.

OK and for the record yes, I know I should see my doctor about it if I really do think it's a heart thing. The thing is, heart or panic or whatever, it's most definitely stress-related, and I think if I can actively work to lower my stress it will resolve itself. After all, it's new, and seems to follow my stress, only having occurred a handful of times and only at my most stressed out, anxious moments.

So, I've been enjoying a much healthier diet (I'll blog about juicing soon), and am working on reducing my anger reactions and reaction times. It's already helped me with a clearer head and more positive (slight, but persistent) outlook, and energy — which makes me feel good no matter how crappy a day may be.

If you're worried and thinking of giving me a little lecture about the heart thing, don't worry. Despite my fantasies I'm actually a very level-headed person and I try to be smart. I'll give a better diet, exercise and lowering my stress a couple of weeks, and (unless external family-illness circumstances get worse) if the tightness and rapid heartbeat don't stop, or get worse, I promise I'll go see my doctor. I may not be a genius, but I'm not dumb. Generally. I just don't want to waste money and time on something I may be able to positively affect and resolve on my own, but I'm open to the possibility that I may not be able to. So, heart stuff stops and I'm all good. Heart stuff continues, I'll dish out the cash and run the gamut of heart-tests.

Here's to hoping that I can actively lower my stress and my anger reactions, and allow myself to be a hopeless, head-in-the-clouds-in-a-good-way dreamer again. I think I hear a pad of paper and a pencil calling ...

Fetch boy, fetch!

Am I really so much of a geek that upon seeing this fish training kit on thinkgeek.com, my heart fluttered and I excitedly looked over at my betta fish, Zaphod, here at work, thinking, "This will give him something to do all day!"? Am I really so much of a geek that I actually want to buy this silly little kit and teach Zaphod to play soccer?

Yes. Yes I am.

If this momentary geekasm actually turns into me getting the kit and wasting valuable company time in fish training, I promise I'll record the results and post them on YouTube.

Cubicle Warfare

It is considerably noisier in my new cubicle at work.

I'm actually in a cubicle now, by the way. I'd always just had a desk, or two desks together, before, in a much quieter, more peaceful area of the building. Now I get to listen to three different police scanners - one right next to me - reporters and editors talking on the phone, ad reps on the phone, and editors discussing stories and photos with reporters and photographers, and the photo editor is right next to me, too. And I get to listen to all the way too loud talkers I had always loved being far away from before.

This is the biggest change that has taken place at work lately. So many people from all departments have been let go that there was a lot of empty space, unused desks, in the editorial department, right in the very open middle of the building. Even having shut down the office of one of our sister newspapers and having moved all those reporters, photographers, and ad reps into our building, there was a lot of space, and a lot of unused equipment to deal with. The place looks like hell, with desks, chairs, filing cabinets, light boards and innumerable baskets and trays for organization scattered and piled everywhere.

In order to store all of said junk and to make the daily going-on more efficient (see: my boss and I are now babysitting the editors, who refuse to do their jobs unless we do), the production and graphics department was just moved out of the room that the production department had been in for nearly twenty years, and which the graphics department was just moved to. We were moved out into the half-full editorial department, which, even at only half full, was not big enough for all of us to cram into along with all of our various tables and boards and printers and such.

We're all in cubicle-quads now, and scrambling to find space to organize or even just to set papers down without getting different piles mixed up and important things lost. Our Editor, the head honcho below the Publisher, is showing his usual dumbass qualities in bitching about the fact that there is now a filing cabinet where he used to stand and lean on the cubicle partition to talk to the photo editor. That cabinet has to go, he says, because leaning on that partition is "you know, part of the whole thing, we have to be able to do it."

Never mind the fact that the cabinet is being used by the graphics person who now has her desk there, and so needs it, and there's no where else to put it. Never mind the fact that the dumbass could just stand up straight and talk to the photo editor, just one small foot back from where he's used to standing. Never mind the fact that in his walled-in little "office" in the corner of the editorial area, his space has not been affected at all by this move.

Yesterday when he was bitching about the cabinet, I not-so-diplomatically but nonetheless calmly told him, "Ya know, Mike, everyone else has had to make adjustments with this move. You need to do that, too."

He mumbled something along the lines of "well ... yeah," looked down and fidgeted a bit, then walked away.

Right after I finished warning my boss this morning of that little bitch-fest, Mike walked by, slowed down and fidgeted as he looked at the cabinet, paused as if he were going to say something, then continued on to his desk when he saw my boss and I calmly watching him, waiting.

I doubt he'll mention it again, but if he does, I'm ready to list off all the huge changes and sacrifices we had to make to get here, what we can no longer do - things which aren't luxuries like leaning but actual necessities we'll have to now live without - and calmly tell him it's easily half his own damned fault for not doing his job and causing us to be late all the time and to put out a crappy excuse for a decent newspaper. If he'd pulled his head out years ago, efficiency wouldn't have been one of the issues leading to this move. Storage space could have been found somewhere other than our old department, and he could lean on partitions to his heart's content.

And I will pull no punches. I'm tired of this place and easily half of the people left, and he's the Big Bad Number One on my shit list. He has been for years, and I'm tired of being a nice, sweet little worker who doesn't make waves. Because this place needs to be shaken up. The shaking-up is happening, but we're not seeing much effect yet other than bitching by people who haven't had to move or sacrifice but who suddenly are unable to lean.

I'm too tired to be angry. I'm just disgusted. And the increased noise doesn't help, especially from those individuals who like to bitch and fret at the top of their lungs all day long (and who, not surprisingly, are some of the dumbest ones here). I've set up and decorated my little area as nicely and warmly as I can, to make it as comfortable as possible. I've even got twinkling christmas lights up.

If I can't have general peace and quiet, and I can't have some of the space I used to have and still really need, at least I'll have a nice looking and nice feeling cubicle to slave away in.

My area looks just as nice and sweet and inviting as it ever did in the old room. I still smile and try my best to get things done properly and on time. But the shiny smile, like the twinkling lights, is a lie. If anyone oversteps their bounds under the tired and never correct excuse of "this is the way it's always been," they will see the abrupt, no-nonsense side of me that doesn't put up with bullshit. I have a feeling there will be quite a few shocked people wondering what happened to the old me in the next few weeks, but the truth of it is, this practical side is nothing new. I just didn't need to show it before because we had our own space. We had enough space.

Now we're in the pit, and I'm ready - eager, even - for blood.

I think, once I have a few bucks to spend, I will finally order some of the cubicle warfare toys from thinkgeek.com. Maybe I'll try to catapult mini marshmallows into the Editor's cubicle office. I'm in the exact opposite corner from him - it would be a worthy feat, I think.

"Grown-up-ism"

I know it sounds kinda funny - it does to me, anyway - but sometimes I wonder when I'll finally be a "grown-up."

I'm 27. And a half. But I see other 26, 27, 28 and even 29-year-olds around me everyday, and they don't seem grown up to me, but more like relentless, overgrown teens playing dress up. Maybe it's the maturity level of the individuals themselves, their decisions and reactions and apparent morals (or lack of them). Maybe if I knew more people, I'd realize not all late-20's people are still dumb as rocks.

Maybe not. Those I've always considered "grown-ups" have been older than me by at least five years. Always. At 22, I thought I'd be one of the "grown" ones by now, but I still feel awkward and stumbly and sometimes teenage-ish, with a twist of real life experience to make me shut up and think before speaking and acting (definately not a normal teenage quality, so maybe that says something).

Maybe my idea of grown-up is needs an "l" at the end of it. I think of grown-ups as being in control even in the worst of situations, cool and calm and able to handle anything. And if something so awful comes up that they can't fix it, they roll with the punches with dignity, without freaking out. Grown-ups have always been, I guess, stereotypical heroes to me, and I wonder when and if I'll ever become one, or if what I'm thinking now and realizing as each year passes is that this is what being "grown-up" is. Worrying. Wondering. Planning. Hoping. Worrying some more. Freaking out, and not where no one will notice.

And rolling with the punches not because it's suave and dignified and a symbol of strength, but because there is nothing else to do. Because life rolls, and tumbles, and falls apart and rebuilds into harrowing dark ruins of unfamiliar and unpredictable twists and turns and pitfalls and closing doors.

Maybe, at 27 and a helluva lot wiser - if not exactly smarter - than I was at 22, I am a grown-up. Maybe the ideal I held hand in hand with the title is just a dream, or maybe not and I can still attain it, or some semblance of it.

I tell myself that once I graduate, once I get my bachelor's and then my master's degree, I'll feel like a grown-up. That my golden ticket to that elite hall of cool-headed gods is a piece of paper that will grant me financial stability.

I tell myself money will make me feel better.

Honestly- it will help tremendously with decreasing my stress level, as money (or rather, the lack of enough of it) has been the bane of my existence for the past few years. Not having to worry so much about making it through another month will certainly grant me a level of cool-headed calm.

But it won't make me an adult. It won't grant me maturity and the wisdom to make the right decisions, be they easy or difficult.

In those fields, somedays I feel wizened, ancient. Other days I'm just another bumbling 14-year-old, bewildered at why I can't have my way because it seems so simple, really ... and angry that I have to act my age.

I doubt that money will change that, so I try to ignore that fact that had I stuck with the two-class-per-term schedule, and never taken any breaks, I'd have received my bachelor's degree at the beginning of November, and would be working on my master's degree right now. I try to ignore the sting of putting off my wedding to an now-unknown year because I don't know anymore when I will finally be done with school, bachelor's and master's degrees in hand. I try to think of something other than the fact that the bachelor's degree will no longer be my birthday present to myself this year.

I focus on bills which make me cringe and sometimes cry when no one's looking. I focus on dishes that pile up again before two full loads are clean. I focus on picking cat hair off of clothes and sheets, because it works as much as a distraction as a helpful bit of cleaning. I worry about possible leaks in the bathroom and on how high our heating bill will be in light of the very badly insulated living room, which was an add-on to the house's original structure. I focus on trying to form cohesive, meaningful sentences to string together into posts here - again as much of a distraction as an interaction - and then grumble when nothing comes together well enough to be released, and seen.

And I think sometimes that I really hope this isn't what being grown-up is like. I hope that I'm in a sort-of half stage of trying very hard - and making progress - but still missing some all-important something that will make all the difference when I finally figure it out.

In fourth grade, I met my favorite teacher, the one who most influenced my life in school - the one who stood out from the rest and earned a place forever in my heart. Her name was Miss Jackson, and she insisted we call her Miss J. She told stories of her youth and her dreams and her projects at home and her vacations. She sang songs to us and with us, made games out of math (we loved "Fourth Grade Feud") and took us on field trips too numerous to count, to places that really mattered and made us sit up and take notice.

She made us laugh, and at the end of the year on the last day of school, when she cried because we'd be moving on without her, we cried, too.

Miss J turned 27 that year.

She was mortified.

As she bemoaned becoming "so old" and still not even being married or with any kids of her own, we sat there puzzled and bemused.

Old? At 27? Was she crazy?

27 wasn't old. 90 was old. 100 was old. 27 was grown-up, but still very young. We knew she still had many long happy years ahead of her, and couldn't understand what the fuss was all about. She wasn't old.

We told her as much, and she laughed and thanked us but I don't think she believed us.

Now, 20 years later, I think I understand her.

She wasn't feeling age itself, I think, but rather the passage of time in relation to milestone achievements in life - love, marriage, her own home, raising a family. She didn't even have a boyfriend (something we never could understand, because she was one helluva catch, we knew, and any man lucky enough to turn her head would have been blessed the rest of his life). She knew, I think, that it wasn't age but the lack of seeming age-related accomplishments and titles and behaviors that began to weigh on her that year.

My best friend is working on her master's thesis.

The girl who used to be my other best friend, the third of our trio, has been married, has a child, and will be married again soon. Another close friend from my first run through college is married, with a kid.

Hell. My boss - who is a few years younger than me - is already married and owns his own house. He was married and a homeowner before I even met Matt.

Another close friend - like a big brother to me - despite having not graduated high school or college, has enough job experience and social connections that he will never want for a job (or three) or a place to live any where he goes.

Even my ex-con younger half-sister moved out of the house, got a job, and got her license years before I did. Never mind the fact that she's been in and out of prison ever since.

I guess I feel like I should be a grown-up by now, by the standards I held in my ideals of "grown-up-ism" all my life. I should have had my bachelor's degree years ago, and should be almost done with or even have my master's degree now. I should at least be renting a full, reasonably-sized house, if not owning one by now. I should have a job that means something to me, that is actually turning into a career, rather than loathing and fearing for the one I have. I should have the option to go out and get married next weekend if the fancy strikes me, rather than being forced to wait indefinately until I'm done with school because being married will kill my chances of any financial aid, which I need. Not that I'm looking to have kids anytime soon (if ever), but I should have the financial stability to be able to take on that responsibility if I chose to, or if (god forbid and knock on wood and all that) the pills I've been on for years fail me and we get a "joyous surprise."

I should have the stability and control that I always thought would come with being a grown-up, if I am a grown-up, right? I shouldn't have to wonder and worry and dread checking the mail and cringe over buying shampoo and conditioner. I shouldn't have to let the "check engine" light stay on in the Jeep indefinately after it's having been on for easily four months now, because we can't afford to even have the problem thoroughly diagnosed, much less fixed.

I should be able to show the world the same bright, cheerful and ever happy face that Miss J did, rather than hiding fear and stress with a small, shy smile while I look to the side, not daring to meet another's eyes for fear of giving my darkness away.

If I am grown-up, I should feel like it, right? Or is this really what it feels like no matter how old or experienced one gets?

Maybe the calm cool-headedness I always saw in others was just a well-honed mask like my eyeless smile. Maybe being grown-up is all about smiling through the dark, beause at least you have that much left that's yours, that you can control. Maybe rolling with the punches serves as much as a distraction as a reasonable reaction.

I begin 2009 unsure of where I stand and where I'll stand six months from now, but certain strangely and inexplicably that it will be more stable than where I've been the last few years. I don't know if I'm a grown-up yet, or if I ever will be, but I'll try to meet the eyes I smile at, calm in the tumult and graceful in the rolling. I'll try not to think about time and timelines and milestones. I'll try to think as much about today as tomorrow. I'll try to learn from my inner bumbling 14-year-old as much as from my inner 6-year-old and that haunting, ancient soul I sometimes feel peeking through, wise and tired and peaceful.

I'll try to enact the everyday life lessons that Miss J taught me 20 years ago, when she was my age and a symbol of a happy and successful journey through life.

I'll try, and maybe I'll figure it out.

Good fortune to you all in this new year. And good learning to me.

All's well

I don't have breast cancer.

Just a cyst, which was gone by the time I had my follow-up appointment with my doctor. Needless to say, I was relieved.

And I zipped over to the nearest coffee shop I could find after leaving the doc's office and quickly quelled the week-long angsty headache that had gripped me, screaming for caffeine. The good thing is, I don't need as much of the damn stuff to wake up now, nor to stay awake, but really I'd have rather just avoided that whole "let's see what happens when we make the caffeine fiend go decaf for a week" experiment.

Between that scare, the lack of caffeine, and the increasingly stressful and uncertain situation at work, I decided I need some time off from school to get my head straight and relax. I was doing pretty good in this class, but leaving everything until the last minute, and I wasn't retaining what I was learning. So I'll be retaking this class when I go back in February. Till then, I'm not even gonna think about it. I'm just gonna relax and see how the work stuff pans out.

And make Snickerdoodles. Lots of 'em.

Happy holidays, all.

Fondled (by a machine!)

I have been officially inducted into the world of mammograms and all the fun worry that accompanies them. Oh, joy.

I had my yearly physical last Friday, and my doctor found a lump in my left breast. She quickly assuredme it was probably nothing - most likely, in fact, just a result of all of the caffiene I've had lately - but said I'd need a mammogram and ultrasound to check it out.

Oh yeah, and no caffiene for a week until I go back to see her again this Friday for test results and follow up exam to see if the lump is still there.

The mammogram wasn't so bad, aside from having another woman fondling me in places I don't particularly want just anyone to fondle. The squishing wasn't horrible, just weird.

And from what I gathered from the tech who took the pictures, there might not have been anything found with the mammogram (I have yet to get official results, so that could be wrong, but she seemed to be srtuggling and squinting to find anything at the time).

The ultrasound, however, found one black blob that I know about for sure, because by that time I'd gotten bored staring at the ceiling and so craned my neck aroudn to watch the screen. This dark spot (a lump, I'm guessing) was located, however, in a different place than where my doctor had found the original lump, which is ... disconcerting ... I belive this was the second dark lump/spot found with the ultrasound, however, because while I was still staring at the ceiling before that, the ultrasound tech had paused and clicked and tapped on the keyboard in much the same manner near where the original lump had been found.

So I might have two lumps. Maybe more? I tried not to pay attention until I got bored and had to see what was going on on the screen. I mean, it's not like I was thrilled to be there, ya know?

Sigh.

I have told myself repeatedly, "I'm not going to freak out. It's probably going to be just fine. This kind of thing runs in the family. Lumps (cysts) are apparently common for my age anyway. I'm NOT going to freak out."

And so far I haven't. But I have been pretty put-out and a bit depressed, and no matter how much I rationalize and read soothing things about breakthroughs, I've been worried, too. Not full-on, wringin my hands worried, but just that general unease taht tickles the back of yoru brain constantly, just beyond reach but there enough to taunt you and make you shiver a bit and turn away.

I don't feel particularly peppy right now. I'm not scared at this point - at this point there's nothing to actually be scared of - but I'm leery and dark and sluggish and unable to really concentrate on anything. Which is bad because I had an internal deadline for my group project today, which I will be missing to turn in my part tomorrow. It's not a bad thing, per se; the group can easily wait one day to review and comment on my presentation, which is the actual "group" part of the project, with plenty of time to spare even if I turned it in Friday instead of tomorrow, but I still feel bad about missing the deadline. They want to finish this damn project early and I don't blame them - I do, too.

And that just makes me feel a bit cruddier. I haven't been very into this class this term, focusing too much on work instead. I'm lucky this has been so far a fairly easy class, or at least a subject that comes naturally to me. I've gotten all A's except for one B+ (which would have been an A but I turned the assignment in one day late and so suffered a 5% mark down), and my intructor leaves comments as to how exceptional my work is. Makes me feel good, but I keep feeling like I don't deserve the grades, because I'm putting everything off till the last minute.

I need some good news on Friday. Or at least promising news, even if I have to get cut up for further inspection. I can handle being cut up. I can handle a not-so-great diagnosis, even, because it's not the end of the world these days like it used to be.

It's the waiting that's wearing on me. It's the not knowing, one way or another, what's going to happen next.

Sigh.

Kitteh-Zombeh Cheeks (no exploding spiders this time)

Remember my long-ago post (in fact I think it was just about a year ago) about Matt's blocked salivary gland, complete with warning to would-be spider smashers to always use a smashing device larger than the body of the spider to be smashed?

Well, now Goblin's the one with a swollen cheek that looks like it's about to burst and wriggle out tentacles or some such.

His swelling is not a blocked salivary gland, however. It's swollen glands along the edges of the corners of his upper lips, swollen so horribly as an overreaction to something. To what? Beats me. Like blocked salivary glands in humans, it's apparently fairly common, and not too terribly worrisome, mostly.

This happened to him once before, in late August, and when I took him to the vet for it then he got a steroid shot that cleared it up completely within about two days. This was good. What is bad is that cats generally can only handle four of said steroids shots in one year before those same steroids start messing with their systems, giving them diabetes and other nasty conditions. Since his shot for the first time this happened was only a short two months ago, I was a wee bit worried about having him need another so soon. What if this kept coming back, and he reached the four-shot limit for the year and then it came back again? What then?

When I took him back to the vet today, she expressed this same concern even before I could (she's good). So instead of a shot, Goblin's on similar steroid pills (lower dosage, but still kinda up there). One pill twice a day for the first five days, then one a day for the next five, then one every other day and at that point I need to try to cut the dosage - by halving the pills, and possibly even skipping two days between, until either he doesn't need them anymore or we find the lowest dosage needed to keep his lips normal cat size and shape. The hope of course is that he will not need to stay on them forever, but the vet said that if for whatever reason he does, the pills are not likely to do damage the way the shots would have. Apparently these same pills are given to cats with asthma, who need to take them daily, and there are (usually) few ill side effects, if any at all.

So, I feel better about the pills. Even if he starts lifting weights and meowing in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice (heh, heh, funny mental image), I'm ok with it so long as the poor lil' guy can rub his poor lil face against things without suddenly stopping and squeezing his eyes shut because it hurts.

And, giving him the pills is not a horrible, dangerous feat (how many of you have seen that viral e-mail "How to Pill a Cat" that keeps popping up and no matter how many times you see it, still makes you laugh so hard you're afraid you're going to pee yourself?), thanks to the fact that he loves to eat, period, and the pills can be easily hidden in a glob of wet cat food. He just scarfs the glob right down, either unaware that there's a nasty yucky little pill in it, or not caring because dude, it's food! So I won't be blogging anytime soon about my harrowing experiences with bullet-fast spit out pills and claw marks that will forever scar me, and I'm pretty sure I'm cool with that.

Right now he's curled up on the couch beside me, sleeping kitteh-zombeh sleeps and occasionally twitching. After his two pills today, his cheek is noticeably less swollen already, and about two hours ago he actually rubbed his face (the less-swollen side, anyway) against my hand without stopping from pain. Sweet lil' bugger, he is, at least when he's not living up to his name.

So my heart is happier knowing I won't have to worry about shots for him that can do harm, and knowing that, just like the shot, these pills are clearing up his adverse reaction to whatever is is really fast.

In other news, Matt is out of town working on music and various odd jobs with a friend up in Northern-Northern California, and I miss him. He's been gone since last Thursday, and won't be back till sometime next week. This is, by far, the longest we've been away from each other since we met. No, really, It's weird. He's become such a part of my life that while I have enjoyed the silence to catch up on some reading, I find myself more often than not restless, pacing the house because I'm bored and have no one to talk to or at least be bored with. Goblin has been doing his part to make me feel better, sleeping either between my knees or on the pillow above my head most nights.

And I finally got my last grade for the class I just finished. All A's, baby! And next week it's on to the next one ...

Grumble-worthy news: Sacred 2: Fallen Angel was released Tuesday, and supposedly shipped out to stores that day. Due to the holiday, however (and btw thank you vets and currently-active soldiers! You rock!), there was no mail service that day, so while I was originally supposed to pick the game up today, I have to wait ... one ... more ... day ... *gasp, shudder*

Oh, the agony. I'm sure I'll live, but it won't be a happy living. It will be a loooong 24 (maybe even 48 - oh, the horror!) hours till I get my grimy lil' paws on it and promptly spend most of the weekend glued to the computer ...

A tiny burst of creativity.

Yes. We can.

Aaaaahhhh! And Yes! We! Did!

Whooo!

Meme for whomever wishes to waste some time.

Are you talle​r than your mom?
I think we're about the same height.

Have you ever been on a blind​ date?​
Nope. Never trusted my friends' judgement on who my Mr. Right might be lol

Have you ever peed while​ on the phone​ ?
No. Well, ok, yes, sorta. I mean it was a really important call I was waiting for so I took my cell into the bathroom, and of course the call arrived right at the worst moment. I "held it" and ended the call as quickly as possible, but was getting a bit desperate toward the end. It's kinda hard to do the pee-pee dance while actually sitting on the pot.

What do you have pierc​ed on you?
Earlobes, once, and right nostril. Considerably more conservative than a few years ago.

What do you have tatto​oed on you?
A koi on my right arm, a horned viper on my left, "So" on my left wrist and "Ha" on my right ("So, Ha" is a meditation), Eyes of the Buddha on my right inner forearm, dragon on my chest, two dragons on my back, a dragon on my left leg (inner calf), and the bust of a unicorn on my right hip. I did the last two myself with a disposable insulin syringe and india ink in my first run through college years ago. And they did not get infected.

When is the last time you saw firew​orks?​
4th of July, at the El Dorado County Fairgrounds.

Do you remem​ber your first​ favor​ite song?​
Ah gods, yes. And no, you're not allowed to laugh. "I Swear" by All 4 One.

Favor​ite fruit​?​
Blackberries.

Veget​able?​
Corn! On the cob! Raw!

What was your first​ scree​n name?​
Shimmer, way back when AOL was cool n' stuff, and I snuck into "Teen Chat" even though I was only actually 12.

What are you plann​ing on doing​ after​ filli​ng this out?
Well, I should get started on the assignment that was due tonight but that I didn't do because I was glued to the TV watching the election updates (omgYAY!1OBAMA!!1!), but after a very long past week and a half at work combined withthe victory shot of Gentleman Jack I'm sipping now (omgYAY!1OBAMA!!1!), it is entirely likely I'll just go to bed instead and whip out a kick ass paper tomorrow.

Do you sleep​ on your stoma​ch?​
Only when I've just had more work done on the tattoo on my back, which means rarely. And then, not so well.

Are you datin​g the last perso​n you kisse​d?​
I'm engaged to him! :D

Have you ever broke​n someo​ne'​s heart​?
My ex said I did (even though he broke up with me), but after much wise thought I've come to the conclusion that he never really new his heart in the first place, so I couldn't break something that was never really given in the first place. And, well, he broke up with me. Out of the blue. Because the two times per year we saw each other took up too much ofhis time which could be much better spent getting shitfaced and fighting in bars. *eye roll*

What are you liste​ning to?
Keyboard taps and our upstairs neighbors taking a shower.

Next time you will kiss someo​ne?​
Probably as soon as I finish this survey.

Have you ever injec​ted a drug?​
Myself? No. But the anesthetic that the dentist injected into me when I got my wisdom teeth removed about 8 or 9 years ago was fucking awesome. I (literally - no, really I swear) became one with the chair as I melted down into it in a very slow, Nirvana-like blink.

When was the last time you felt like your heart​ was actua​lly break​ing?​
'Member that ex I just bitched about? Yeah. I was young and naive and it was my "First Love" and I had not yet gotten to the "wise thought" stage yet.

Do you get along​ bette​r with the same sex or oppos​ite?​
Generally, the opposite, likely from long, fun childhood years of being a tomboy. Who wants to play dress up when you can climb trees and scare the shit out of each other with dares to walk - slowly - through basements you just know are haunted?

Have you ever kisse​d someo​ne whose​ name start​ed with a Z?
No, though I did have ahuge crush on a Z-named person in Jr. High and so would have kissed him, given the chance.

What is somet​hing you disli​ked about​ your day?
Ya know, despite work and school and finances and stuff, today fucking rocked.(omgYAY!1OBAMA!!1!)

Have you ever liked​ someb​ody and never​ told them?​
Pfft. Duh. I am only human, after all.

Do you have a best frien​d that knows​ you insid​e and out?
Three of 'em, actually.

Do you curre​ntly hate someo​ne?​
Yeah, but let's focus on the positive right now (omgYAY!1OBAMA!!1!).

Would​ you ever dye your hair blond​e?​
Sure, but it would have to be professionally done. Bleach and I have a bad relationship.


Have you ever gotte​n a sunbu​rn so bad it hurt to move?​
Yep.

What is bothe​ring you right​ now?
Thanks to Gentleman Jack (and only one shot, jeez!), naddadamnthing.

Have you ever read an entir​e book in one day?
Yes. Oh, yes. Oh, glory days, that I miss so much ...

If you could​ move to Afric​a would​ you?
Sure, if it would be a smart move for future plans.

Prete​nd you'​ve had 10 beers​,​ descr​ibe what you'​d be doing​ right​ now?
Drooling and snoring and not moving much from whatever position I happened to collapse into.

Whats​ your favor​ite day in the month​ of march​?​
Saint Paddy's Day! Yay for leprechauns!

Does anyon​e have a crush​ on you?
Not that I'm aware of. Unless you do and you're not telling.

Do you like Batma​n?​
I want to be Batman.

Is your birth​day on a holid​ay?​
No.

Where​ did you get the shirt​ you'​re weari​ng?​
TJ Max.

Do you use an alarm​ clock​?​
No. I use an alarm ringtone.

Do you ever snort​ when you laugh​?​
Yep. And squeak. And pee a little.

Did you kiss or hug anyon​e today​?​
Yep!

What was your first​ thoug​ht this morni​ng?​
Something profane, most likely. I'm not a morning person.

Would​ you rathe​r talk on the phone​ or chat in IM?
Depends on who I'm talking to.

Did you have a dream​ last night​?​
Probably - I usually do - but I can't remember it if I did.

Do you have a faceb​ook?​
No.

Are you curre​ntly frust​rated​ with someone?​
About half the people at my work. But it's all good. Things are a'changin', they are ...

Fark.

I would give just about anything for a long, deep claw-foot tub right about now, and on-demand hot water. And super-duper-bubbly bubble bath.

I have the entire bottle of champagne, unopened, to drink myself into oblivion with when I happen to chance across said claw-foot tub. I have novels waiting, unread, making long faces and puppy-dog eyes at me from their dusty perches on the bookshelf, to read (see: escape) when I find that tub.

Hell, I even have all manner of super-soothing, beautiful music to blare at ridiculous levels while I pretend I don't have neighbors or that said neighbors are deaf already so who cares how loud the music is anyway? when I discover that wonderful tub ...


Sigh.

The work situation is scary right now. Like, really really scary. People are being laid off left and right (although I've been assured several times that my job is totally secure) and one of my co-workers in the production department just got the axe today. That leaves me and my boss as the only two people in our department now, and while we are both damn fucking good at what we do, we're not that good. Even with energy drinks ... Even with energy drink IVs.

Sigh again.

To make up for the now re-goddamn-diculous understaffing issue in our department as well as the graphics department, the two departments are being merged. This will help, definately, but with the graphics department hurting just as much as we are, we still won't be able to keep up the pace we have been. Tasks will need to be reassigned, and that is always like pulling teeth around here. Or more like squeezing blood from a rock. Because we've been so damned fantastic and amazing and machine-like for so many years in the past, we are apparently thought to actually be machines, or minor gods, or just plain perfect in every way except for an annoying habit of demanding that other people do their jobs on time so we can do ours (imagine! The nerve!).

We're not perfect. We are only human, and we have human limits. Even with energy drinks (even through IVs!) we cannot cram 18 hours worth of work into 8 hours, even skipping lunches and breaks, much less do it every day and not get a wee tiny bit snippy about it. It's just not possible.

But we're expected to do it. And to smile about it, no matter how obviously fake and hate-laced the smiles are.

I'm perfecting my "happy-sneer." I've learned how to bare my incisors and make people think I'm still a darling little angel.

Oh, where oh where is that beautiful, claw-footed, double-bubbly oblivion? The thought that the master's degree I will earn someday after getting my bachelor's (which may now take me even longer to get, as I may have to change my schedule to maintain only one class per term all the way through, instead of taking two each for the last three terms) will allow me to have that claw-foot tub is the only thing some days that keeps me happy-sneering like a sweet thing, when what I really want to do is


just


walk


out.

Meme from Mum.

What is your favorite thing to wear? I have this pair of really great pajama pants that are bright blue with cartoon ducks all over them. The kicker? They're angel ducks and devil ducks. With those, an overly big T-shirt and no socks or shoes is just heaven.

Last meal you had at a restaurant: Old-fashioned spaghetti with meat sauce at The Spaghetti Factory in Citrus Heights, hearty portioned and split with Matt, with a scoop of Spumoni ice cream for dessert.

Name one thing that scares you: Spiders (see said "I hate Spiders" post a few down from this one).

Who was the last person in your bed? Matt, this morning, because he always gets to sleep in ...

What were you doing at 7:00 a.m.? Sleeping.

Last person you hugged? Matt.

Does anyone you know want to date you? Besides Matt? Not that I'm aware of.

When was your last encounter with the police? My Mom's answer: "About four years ago a young neighbor from up the street failed to make the turn at the end of our cul-de-sac and zooped headlong in his Toyota pickup down our short, very steep driveway. Apparently he forgot where his brake pedal was. He reached the bottom of the driveway at roughly 30 mph, where he crashed through the chain link fence dividing our property from our next-door neighbor’s. After taking out her second fence and heading into the forest, his Toyota finally stopped when it got stuck between two pine trees. The poor guy was, as you might have guessed, very drunk. Miraculously, he wasn't hurt, but he was dazed and disoriented. I helped him into our kitchen, gave him a cup of coffee and called the sheriff while he sat there alternately apologizing and complimenting the decor. The officer who showed up arrested him for driving under the influence. I felt bad – the guy was young and obviously messed up – but what do you do? There'd been damage done to our neighbor's property, and it was just sheer luck that I’d happened to park my own car up on the street the night before. Normally, it would have been right at the bottom of the drive, and he’d have crashed right into the back of it. At the time of morning this happened, my daughter and I could well have been getting into the car to go to work. We just happened to be running a little late, so we weren't walking up the driveway when he flew down it. So ... yeah. It was an interesting encounter. It was made even more memorable when the officer, who was sorta cute, flirted with me."

Yeah. That was creepy. While Mom got the glory of being flirted at by the cute cop, I got the anti-glory of being flirted at by the drunk, fence-crashing neighbor himself. I was not impressed.

Have you ever driven without a license? Nope.

What time of the day is it?12:36 p.m.

Who/What made you angry today? Not so much angry, as just disgusted at the ever increasing stupidity of drivers in general: Being cut off by some dick on Broadway this morning. He was stopped a a stop sign, and I was going straight on Broadway. He was not supposed to go ahead and pull onto BRoadway until it was safe to do so ... i.e., not when someone is only ten feet away from him and closing, on Broadway, without a stop sign (yeah, that'd be me). Dumbass pulled out right in front of me, slowly, and didn't even seem to notice that had I not slammed on the brakes and come to a complete stop (again, no stop sign for me) I'd have t-boned him.

Oh, sigh.

Do you want anyone? I want The Vampire Lestat. Badly.

Do you like birds? Yep. I still fondly remember waking up to the soft, sort of alien sounding coos of morning doves in the trees outside my window at the apartment where we lived in Bremerhaven, Germany, as a kid. I'd love to have a pair at home.

Do you download music? Occasionally, through iTunes. You should hop on iTunes and find my fiancee's new album: The Injured AERM Army, by Noisepsalm.

Do you care if your socks are dirty? Only when I don’t have any clean ones handy. In which case I’ll put the dirty ones on, wrinkling my nose, but I soon forget all about it. <-- Ditto, Mom.

Opinion of Chinese symbol tattoos? Unless you're Chinese or have some other meaningful connection to the Chinese culture, why not have words in your own language tattooed? At least then you'd be sure to get "Sweet Hunny Bunny Princess Grrrrl" inked on your butt, instead of "Prostitute."

What are you doing tonight? Working on and hopefully finishing my group project for school.

Do you like to cuddle? Yup.

Do you love anyone? Yup!

Whose bed did you sleep in last night? Mine.

Have you ever bungee jumped? Nope, and I don't care to, though I would like to try skydiving and base jumping.

Have you ever gone whitewater rafting? Nope, and I really don't care to, as I've never really relished the idea of bashing my brains in on a huge boulder after being dumped unceremoniously off of a silly little floating device that some crazy ass thought would be fun to ride down raging torrents of very fast, very strong water, just for the adrenaline rush and the hope of getting laid by a probably unimpressed girlfriend. I'll stick to swimming in calm waters, thanks.

Has anyone ten years older than you ever hit on you? Yes. Kinda creepy.

How many pets do you have? One Chinese Water Dragon named Heironymous, two kittens (Goblin and Sister), and a bunch of fish: one German Blue Ram - nameless, one (grape? grapevine?) Knife Fish named Tiger, one Parrot Fish named Peaches, one Gold Gaurami- nameless, one Betta named Asher, 27 tetras (13 blacklight, 13 neon, and one white cloud) - all nameless, at home. At work, I have a much smaller tank with four goldfish and one tiger barb.

Have you met a real redneck? I am a redneck myself.

What's the weather like there?$@#$%?!$%#!! hot. In #$%@$%?!$% October. $%?!$$%?!$?!!! damnit.

What are you listening to right now? Office whitenoise, fish tank filter, and coworker talking.

What was the last movie you watched? The Happening last night. M. Night needs to work on his casting. The story itself was fantastic, but much of the acting sucked very, very badly, which unfortunately killed it for me. C'mon, M. Night, you can find much better actors than Mark Walberg, and, well, most of the cast actually - only the guy who played Raul or Julien of whatever his name was did a good job. Even Zooey flopped in this one. Go back and watch Sixth Sense and see what you did exactly right with that one, then try to mimic that great casting in your next movie, cos seriously, you've got the gift for story telling, but you need to choose better people to portray them. Seriously.

Do you wear contacts? Nope. At least, not yet.

Where was the last place you went besides your house? The bank. It was more than a little depressing.

What are you wearing? Jeans, a pretty, flowery/artsy-type blouse, and my black slip-ons wit the little white, silver, and pink hearts all over them.

What’s one thing you’ve learned this year?

Yeah.

What do you usually order from Starbucks? Chai Latte with soy milk.

Ever had someone sing to you? Heh. Yes. Matt sings lots of questionably-humorous songs completely at random (often while showering), usually about turkeys, Jesus, Santa, and/or various parts of the human anatomy. They're not usually sung for or to me, but on occasion he'll come up with one for me and have me rolling.

Have you ever fired a gun? Yes, once, at targets at my friend's house long ago. Her family lives literally on the side of a mountain, and enjoys collecting and training in all manner of weaponry. While I'm not so great with guns or throwing axes, you might be nervous if I have a throwing knife on me and I'm mad at you, and if I'm mad at you and I've got a compound bow, well .. you're seriously fucked then. I have moidah-lized many, may soda cans and numerous buckets full of water on the first shot.

Are you missing someone? My Grampa and a few close friends (one of them the above-mentioned who who introduced me to the compound bow).

Favorite TV show? If I must, then pretty much anything on Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel.

What do you have an obsession with? Reading good books, which I have not been able to indulge in for quite some time now (damn school).

Has anyone ever said you looked like a celeb? The singer of the Cranberries, in junior high. If I actually did look like her then, I certainly don't now.

Who would you like to see right now? My Mom, my friends.

Ever had a near death experience? Zooming backwards off of a 15-foot cliff on an ATV is not fun, especially when, after landing on your back you look up to see said now-upside-down ATV just about to land right on top of you. To this day, the fact that the ATV landed some 10 feet away from my friend and I, right-side-up, still give mes chills and makes it impossible for me to not believe in paranormal stuff.

It should have landed on us. It didn't. I am awed.

Are you afraid of falling in love? Not anymore.

Have you ever been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to? Yeah, but it was never anything that I had considered bad, or that was done with the intention of being bad. The roof of the bowling alley in Germany was just far too intriguing for an 8-year-old to not explore when some bowling alley staff left the door to the roof, at the very top of the very long stairs, behind a door that customers weren't really supposed to go through, unlocked. I was just pretending I was lost in a jungle full of booby traps somewhere and being hunted my scary, flesh-eating, jungle-natives, that's all.

Has anyone you were really close to passed away recently? My Grampa died in 2005, and my aunt and uncle died, several months apart, in 2007. Usually I'm ok with it all, but occasionally it will sneak up on me, like when I'm at my Grandma's house and I suddenly realize it's too quiet because my Grampa isn't whistling or singing softly to fill the silence.

What’s something that really bugs you? Hypocrisy. Arrogance. Stupidity. Pointless cruelty. Take your pick.

Taco Bell or Burger King? If I must, Taco Bell.

Next time you will kiss someone? Whenever I get home from work today.

Favorite baseball team? You assume I like baseball. I don't.

Ever call a 1-900 phone number? Nope. I read Laurell K. Hamilton for that. ;)

Nipple or Nose rings? My nose is pierced, and Matt's nipples are (which he apparently flashed for shock effect at a family get-together last weekend ...)

What’s the longest time you’ve gone without sleep? Everyone has these great stories about having stayed awake for x amount of days and hallucinating from sleep deprivation and stuff. I'm not nearly so thrilling and adventurous. I can't remember ever having stayed awake for even a full 24 hours. I think a friend and I tried to once, just to see how many cartoons we could watch in that time, but of course we fell asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning while Bugs Bunny forgot to turn left at Albuquerque.

Last time you went bowling? Just a couple years ago, actually. Strangely, I bowl better when I'm drunk-ish.

Where is the weirdest place you have slept? Again, I'm far too dull to have a good story here. Weird for me is anything other than a bed, couch, or floor, so I guess camping would be my "weird" sleeping place, and even that's not really strange at all, actually.

Who did you last speak with on the phone? A teacher at a local high school wondering about the finer details of using a new program to out their high school newspaper together to send it to us (my work) for printing. I've never used said new program, and my boss - who has - is on vacation, so no progress was made.

What does your last received text message say? “Call when u can" from Matt.

What’s the closest orange object to you? A can of goldfish flakes.

Fun kitten video + Noisepsalm music

Ha! I figured out how to use iMovie! This movie is made from various early videos of Goblin and Sister doing what they do best, with the song The Villain Theme by Noisepsalm in the background, plus a few sound effects. I think it's pretty spiffy, m'self :D

I hate spiders.

Have I ever mentioned that here - that I hate spiders? I do.

Well, ok, Daddy Longlegs' are ok, and I actually think that jumping spiders are pretty damn cool, but those are the only two exceptions to the rule. Now, if a spider is small, I'm usually ok with it until and unless it crawls on me.

If I know it's poisonous, or if I don't know whether its poisonous or harmless but it's really fucking big, I revert to a little sissy girl and shiver and shake and squirm and wring my hands and wish I could just die or that I had a really big fucking gun or something to properly threaten it with.

When it's a really fucking big spider, and I don't know whether it's poisonous or not because I didn't get a good look at it because it was 1:30 in the goodamned morning and I was sleeping ok? until the damn thing decided to skitter across my elbow under the edge of my pillow and after freaking out and turning on the light and looking and not seeing it and then feeling it at my elbow again just on the inside of my shirt sleeve and squealing I'm sure and GRABBING IT and throwing it at the bookshelf right next to my bed only to freak out further because oh my fucking god the thing was big enough to GRAB HOLD OF AND THROW, well ... I have a tendency to stand in the middle of the kitchen, damn near naked because the fuckers can hide in clothes, arms folded tightly and fingers digging into my arms hard enough to hurt, terrified to even sit on the couch because if a spider can crawl on me while I'm sleeping peacefully in my bed why the heck can't one crawl on my while I'm sitting on the couch at 1:30 in the morning trying not to cry because I'm so freaked out?

Yeah. The wee early hours of this morning sucked big time.

I eventually ended up sleeping on the couch (the logic that bed or couch made no difference really in terms of easy spidery access tossed aside defiantly ok not so defiantly but because I really had not other choice) wrapped as tightly and coccoon-like in the covers as possible so as to leave absolutley no possible bit of space where a spider could crawl in, and of course I laid there for a good two hours staring at every corner and at every bump on the walls or ceiling that I could have sworn wasn't there mere minutes ago, rigid and trying to ignore those horrid little tickles you get on various limbs and such that feel like little insectle legs but aren't and you know this because you just not long ago HELD IN YOUR HAND something with real insectile legs so you know the difference between real spiders and the heebie jeebies but damn if you don't twitch and swipe and wimper at the heebie jeebie-tickles anyway.

I am now facing the prospect of trying to sleep tonight, and the thought makes me want to go stand in the middle of the kitchen again with all the lights on. Sigh. Good thing I don't have work tomorrow. I doubt I'll be getting much sleep.

No time. No point?

Total and complete edit: Yeah, never mind.

I just got moody, as I sometimes do. I'm over it ;) New posts soon.

Obligatory kitten photo blog

Kittey Kassells and PlayStations.

This is Phoenix’s last week with us. We take him back home on Friday. I’m kinda bummed.

He’s a cute kid, and while he has his moments at times that leave me a bit grumbly or eye-rolly, I’ve had fun with him. He keeps trying to get me to play Soul Calibur # with him on the PlayStation, which he’s been glued to since we got it two weeks ago. I promised I’d do battle with him again before he goes, which with him means setting aside several hours, because a few little versus rounds simply are not enough. He wants to unlock new stuff – weapons, armor, playable characters – as well as build and modify new custom characters, and of course he has to excitedly explain all the cool stuff he’s learned and show me cool new moves and awesome, skull-crushing new swords which are as long as the characters are tall and about as wide, with wicked looking spiked and eyes and stuff on them. Which is all well and good with me, it just means I’ll be locked into it and unable to escape for awhile, so I need to wrap up school stuff and errands a little earlier this week.
I’ll miss having him around.

Matt and I took him to the Rockstar Mayhem Music Festival on Monday, as a sort of early birthday thing; he’d never been to a rock concert of any kind before that. Despite it being amazingly hot, he had a blast – we all did. We gathered stickers and autographs, and Phoenix was thrilled to have the Metal Mullisha (daredevil motorcyclists screaming up one ramp to spin, flip or give the devil horns in mid air before screaming down another ramp) sign his shirt. We had to get their autographs well after their show, as their normal signing was right as one of our favorite bands was playing, and when they walked over with a sharpie in hand, the wide-eyed, sheepish-grinned look of admiration on Phoenix’s face made the day.

Despite having fun with him, I will enjoy getting my usual peace and quiet back. Being almost 10, he’s chock full of energy all the time and if he’s not glued to the PlayStation, he’s creating things with boxes and such for the kittens. Which is cool and all and who am I to curb creativity, but the little bits and pieces left laying all over the place are a bit overwhelming, and the constant, “hey Cary, come look at this!” interruptions to show me new windows and drawbridges in the “Kittey Kassell” is only charming the first dozen times or so in one evening.’

And, ok, it will be great to once again not have to bother with getting dressed before going to the bathroom at night. It’s too hot for clothes, but he sleeps on the couch so if I need to pee (and I do, like ten times every night) I need to shove on clothes and sweat and grumble before I can do so. Which wakes me up more than I’d like to be. And makes me hot, which makes me grumpy.

Still, I’ll be looking forward to his next visit. He makes me remember my own childhood days (something I love to do), and I can’t help but smile even when he’s showing me the updated new wing of the Kittey Kassell and how it attaches to the main part and how the kittens get into it and how it’s so cool and where he’s going t o make a new window for it and how he’s going to create new string-toys to attach to it, all while I’m trying to read for a school assignment due that evening.

He’s a good kid.

Lurv.

I lurv this photo.

Bleargh. Braaiiiiiins (and shoulders).

It's 3 in the morning and I am wide awake. And grumpy.

I can't sleep because of being so ridiculously wide awake, which I think is making up for the night before. Last night I slept like the dead. Literally.

I slept much more soundly than I usually do, and during the few times that I woke, I was so very sleepy and muzzy and out of it I felt almost drugged, zombie-like. I was slow and extremely clumsy in my movements, to the point that my balance was so badly off I had to be very careful walking to and from the bathroom, and kept running into and banging into things. Blinking was not a quick matter - my eyes kept wanting to stay closed, even as I was up and walking. Despite such good, deep sleep, I slept in until almost noon yesterday, and that's despite having gotten to bed at a very reasonable hour. When I finally got up around noonish (because I really felt absurd sleeping that long, not because I couldn't sleep anymore) I was still fuzzy and zombie-like, scraping my chin across the edge of the bookshelf next to my bed and my back and shoulder against the bathroom door handle when I bent down to gather clothes off the floor to wash them. My balance was still badly off, and I remained in this alarmingly sluggish state until I dragged myself down to the gas station at the bottom of our road and got an energy drink. All was well then, but I'm still sort of weirded out by the whole thing.

This has happened before, several times, all within the last few months, and I hate it every time, feeling clumsy and weak and out of it. This was the worst experience of it, and I really really don't like it. It scares me that I can be that out of it. It truly felt like I was drugged - like when you start to wake up from anesthesia.

Tonight's (and into this morning's) total and complete inabaility to sleep must be making up for it. I'm tired. I want to sleep. I just can't.

On top of being so awake I'm also dealing with another thing that has me weirded out and I think on Monday I'm finally going to call my doctor about it.

All my life, I've been a side-sleeper. Doesn't matter which side (although my right side seems to be even more comfortable), but I can only easily sleep on my side. Sleeping on my back has always been very hard to do (I just can't get comfortable), and remains so to this day. Forget about sleeping on my stomach. Way too uncomfortable.

For the last three or four months, I've been having strange shoulder pains, and it feels like they are slightly dislocated. What really grosses me out is that if I shift a bit while on my side, whatever shoulder I'm sleeping on will actually pull partially out of socket with a pop and a slide. I can alwasy just shift back and pop it back in, but it freaks me out, and over the months it has begun to cause pain in whatever shoulder I slept on during the day. Now it hurts after just a few minutes of lying on my side.

I have tried (and tried, and tried) to train myself to sleep on my back because of this, putting a pillow under my knees for proper back alignment.

I can't sleep on my back. I just end up twitching, shifting my arms and legs this way and that and back again, turning my head from one side to the other and back, trying to fool my body into thinking it's on it's side my turning just my hips to the side a little, and all to no avail. It is not comfortable, and I cannot sleep.

Now I can't sleep on my side either, because it hurts my shoulders too much.

What other sleeping positions are there to try? I guess I could prop myself up in a sitting position on the couch, but I bet that's all kinds of bad for the back, neck, and shoulders, too.

So, I can't sleep because I don't like pain. Even sitting here, a good fifteen minutes after having given up on sleeping, my shoulders hurt, and make sickening popping and grinding sounds when I move them, as if they are still just ever so slightly out of socket.

I'm beyond frustrated. It seems the only good (and pain free) sleep I can get now is the totally random zombie-sleep that freaks me out and leaves me in a bad mood because it's so damned freaky and I don't know what causes it. The rest of the time, I'm tossing and turning, trying to force myself to sleep on my back and giving up and just trying to ignore the shoulder pain so I can just sleep.

I have pored over everything I can find on the internet about sleeping positions and shoulder pain and all I can find is dozens of conflicting bits of advice about how to sleep to prevent back pain (and my back is perfectly fine), or the obvious advice to not sleep on an injured shoulder. But unless simply sleeping on them for 27 years can injure your shoulders, mine aren't injured. No matter my search terms, no matter what medical websites I try, there is absolutely nothing connecting sleeping position with shoulder pain and slight dislocation.

So I get to go back to the doctor I don't trust or respect (or like, the ignorant bitch) because I have so far been unable to find another doctor taking new patients, and see what she has to say about both the zombie-sleep and the shoulder pain. And I hope to god she actually listens to what I'm saying instead of hurrying me along, asking about my GERD (which I've never had, bitch, it's Gastritis) and what birth control I'm on now (the same one I've been on for several years now, look at the chart you're holding in your hands, dumbass) and generally just not doing anything at all to give me any faith in her as a doctor. If I'm lucky at least one of the two issues might be resolved, at least partially.

I think if I can figure out what's going on with my shoulders and fix that, the better sleep may well prevent the random zombie-sleep and the frazzled, muzzy, drugged feeling I get afterwards.

Cross your fingers for me, k?

And give me your braaaaaiiiiins ...