How have you been? It's been a long time....

He called.




Actually, he texted.






I'm happy. &=)

Knowing isn't always best

I just want to know why he won't call me back.

He asked for my number, he called once, I've left him two messages, but he just won't call.


I just want to talk to him.

I don't know if I should, though.




Because I still love him.

And, that's not going to change. It's one of those things over which you wield no control. None. I'm afraid that he'll want to be friends, and I can't do that.

Does that make me a bad person?


I'm so nervous and sick about this whole ordeal. We left things on such a horrible note - I was so angry and bitter back then. Now, things are so much different. I feel so much more free......


....than I felt back then. I don't feel that weight on my chest and shoulders like I used to. Don't get me wrong - things creep up and jump me unexpectedly sometimes, but I'm doing so much better at managing.

And, I don't even think of the other. Sure, I miss that life, but I no longer miss that person. I'm so happy now, but I'm so lonely. When I heard that he'd been around and asking, everything suddenly felt so different.



I just want to hear from him.

Do you ever think of me?

I just want to know..................

Snow in May

Ok, there has been snowfall, and a moderate to large-sized snow drift has formed overnight in my path.


What this means is that I've encountered something that I know I will eventually get through, but I'm not sure when and how long it's going to take.


The things that I fear most are the decisions I have the potential to make. I only want to make the correct decisions from here on out, but how do I KNOW what's correct and incorrect? I know everyone can't make the right decisions all the time, and that's fine. I just don't want to make those decisions I always make that have disastrous consequences.

I'm less stupid these days - ok, maybe only according to some. I still feel like a kid inside, but I have a lot of reasons for that, reasons that would require a whole new post. But I'm still the same kind of retarded grown-up I'll always be - the kind that reenacts dramatic stories, wishes the Harry Potter adventures were real, and cries when someone close to me hurts my feelings.

But in the long-run, I've definitely become more responsible, and I have NO idea when that happened. I'm still looking for the right place to live (I doubt I'll ever find it), the right person to love (and one who loves me back), and the right path to take, regarding the rest of my life. I'm still hell-bent on going into the Peace Corps or doing some sort of long-termed humanitarian work. Those are honestly my only desires at this point in my life.

*sigh*

I'm terrified at what's going to be on the other side of that drift.

You look for me:














Will it be good, or will it just hurt me again? I don't know that I can be that person I'm supposed to be, but I'm damn-well trying.



Just don't expect me to not love you anymore, because I still do.

1st Corinthians 13

Mem Day updates

Hi, Hola, Merhaba, Selam, Bonjour, Guten Tag, Salve, Здравствуйте, and happy Memorial Day to everyone! And, thank you to all our servicemen and the servicemen of other countries who have protected us over the years, and to those who are still overseas serving in this ridiculous war. I like to remain quiet on my political stances, so I'll just stop at "thank you."

I'm out with my family this wonderful Memorial Day weekend, but since it's Moonday, I'll be having to leave soon. (I have the "Moondays" pretty much Mon-Fri)

Oh yeah! I actually made it out here - IN MY CAR! I had to fill it up with water, then drive 55 all the way here, but that was ok. At least I'm here, eh? &=) I just dread getting back into the rat race when I return.

I've already told them that once Dr Gould (one of my biggest fans, er, uh, docs) has his surgery (this Thursday - don't think I haven't been counting down the days), I'm getting the hell out of Dodge...or Birmingham. I don't care what you call it, but I'm taking a vacation. And, it's going to be an out-of-state vacay. I don't care if I have to drive RIGHT OVER the Alabama line IN ANY DIRECTION!!! I'm getting out of here for a while. I also am not of the caring if I have to go by myself. I'm big, and I can totally take care of myself AND my panties!

I want to go to the beach, but I don't really see myself getting out in the day. I'm more of a vampiric night-crawler. Actually, you know what? I saw this huge adorable floppy sunhat at Wal-Consumerhell that I want to get. I could totally work that, an umbrella and the sunscreen on the bitches of Florida (or St Simon's, Heather????). You should SEEEEEEE how pasty white I am! It's not even that nice gothic white - it's just, well, the color of old, white, sun-abused skin. Ick.

Ahhhh...I'm picturing myself on the beach. Brb.


Ok, I'm back.

It was a short vacay, and I gained 15lbs, but I'm here. Blech.


Oh yeah, my grandmother is doing wonderfully (I cried), Erica's graduation went really well (I cried, again), and I DID get to attend my cousin Kate's baby, Micah's second birthday yesterday (I did NOT cry), so that was fun. Pics of events will be coming soon.

All I need now is a baby, and I'll be straight.

Well, and a hub, and that will make things good. But, I'm having a feeling that will never happen. I've had several real busts, and I'm just sorta sick of the shit, to be blunt. So, I think a baby will be just fine. And me and my wee babe will travel the globe, and I'll teach him/her/them how to be REAL humanitarians and environmentalists.

And, as a sidenote, I just want everyone to know that I don't believe that anything I do makes me better than anyone else. Just because I'm a veg, recycle, volunteer, walk to work, drink soy and keep the lights turned off in my apartment, it's just the way I want to be. And, I want to raise my future gens to be that way as well. I just know that a LOT of others view those kinds of people as having "holier than thou" attitudes. YES, I know there are people out there like that, and all I can do is apologize for their snobbish behavior. I know what it's like to have a snoot in your presence and to know what he/she/they think about you. NO NAMES WILL BE MENTIONED HERE, JUST SO EVERYONE KNOWS I'M NOT BEING RUDE, BUT JUST SO YOU KNOW, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU THINK!!!!! *huff*

Ack! What was I saying? Geez, I got off on that tangent and completely forgot. Well, poot.

OMFG WHAT THE CRAP???!?!?
Ok, I just effed something up, trying to dump Amy's 700 pix off her card, so Imma gonna have to do some recon or something to get it back.

*pulls hair*

*pulls hair more*

Computers make me crazy when they don't do what I TELL THEM TO DO HELLO TO YOU COMPUTERFACE??!?! In Mother Russia, files delete YOU!!!!



Awww...I hear Hunter and Erica faux-fussing about something in the kitchen. That's so cute! I remember when I was like that!

Wait.........my life is STILL like high school!!!!!!! ARRRRGGGGGGG!!!!!!! *bangs head on monitor in hopes of another concussion*



Prayers go out to Anna-bug. Anna, everything is going to be ok. God is leading you - we just never know where, but sometimes we just have to grab His hand and trust to be led through the dark! I love you, and you know I'm here if you need me!!!

Hope all is well with everyone, and please everyone send updates, comments, whatev, ok????? I love you guys tons and tons!!!! I love reading about everyone, getting pics, the whole nine yards!!!!! I send well wishes, prayers and thoughts to everyone and your fams! *hugs*

Congratulations, Erica

I know I talk a lot about my family, but I don't really mention a whole lot of specifics about them, because I don't know if they want to be on the internets.

This time, though, I'm going to break that rule.
Erica, my aunt's oldest daughter, is graduating tomorrow. She's been accepted to BSC, a 3rd Division soccer team.

I can't tell you how proud I am of her. I mean, I know it's just high school, but this is also the first of their family to graduate.

I'm also incredibly sad that my mother isn't here to see this. She had always been Erica's biggest fan. Mom and Erica had a really special bond - unbreakable. They understood each other. It was like they were best friends. My mother would have been the loudest to cheer for Erica, and do that loud, high-pierced whistling thing Erica hated so much, as she walked across the stage. Mom would be videoing (and crying and shaking and cheering and messing the video up), while I took pictures. And, she'd be squalling, just like she did when I graduated.

Yeah, this is part where I start reminiscing, so go make a sammich...

I remember when Erica was really little, Mom would say, "Erica, would you go get me two Rolaids?," and Erica would get a stool, go in the medicine closet, find the Rolaids, open it up and get two out, and bring them to her. I know most people would freak out if they read this - "oh my God, you let a CHILD get you medicine????"

It's not like that. She LOVED it. It made her feel big. And she loved her Aunt Debby and would have done anything to "take care" of her!

She was a marvelous, peculiar (as in the incredible way) child. I remember sitting right outside the airport (back before they pulled you over and took you to jail in handcuffs for circling the airport more than once), waiting to pick up either Bob or Greg, who had flown in. She was about three at the time. I had a pack of cards, and she wanted me to teach her how to play a game. So, I taught her how to play Crazy Eights & War. Like some baby brilliance, she picked it up right away. It always tripped me out that she was three and could grasp the concept of both games. It still does.

She's always been brilliant. ALWAYS. Her whole life. She got lazy/boy crazy in high school, but who doesn't? I remember my best friend actually handing me her Algebra 2 test when I was a Junior, so I could copy it, because I just hated math and was too lazy to try anymore - psh, I was a JUNIOR.

Oh, and um, by the way, it's bad to cheat.

*cough*

So, don't do drugs.

*grimace*

Ok, so, back to Erica. These are just a FEW things I can pull out of my head right now. She was a good, sweet, beautiful baby. She was allergic to toothpaste, ranch dressing and red 40. She loved Cheerios and lemon-lime Gatorade. She has a sock monkey that she's had, almost since she could stand, whom she named "Mownkey." She was fun and wild, when she was let loose. She was a mother hen to her baby sister, Shelby, when she was born. She was a performer, an entertainer. She was loving (still is, just in that teenager-ish way).

She won several beauty pageants, and I remember after one, where they only gave her a trophy, she told my mom, "Aunt Debby, they forda-got my crown!"


Erica's a really special and blessed child. She came from a complete tragedy that we thought we'd never get past. Amy was about seven or eight months pregnant when her husband, Eric (after whom she's named, obviously), Erica's biological daddy, passed away, but we'll cover that another time.

I hate that she never got to meet him. He was an incredible man. He was exceedingly hardworking - working at the plant, working at home, helping his parents on their farm. He looked like Phil Collins - only better looking. He had a band called Freedom Jam, and he was a wonderful, soulful musician. He was a DEVOUT Christian, as was the rest of his family. He was hilarious. &=) Just thinking about him makes me smile. &=) He loved games of any kind - video games, board games... He just loved being around family. He was that kind of person who literally could drastically change the lives of people he knew or met, even briefly. This man had no enemies.

He was just a good guy, but that's such a substandard, mediocre description to use. It was a terrible blow to his family, and ours, to lose him. We all grieved about it for a long, long time. Even now, it's hard to think back....

Erica's expressed several times how she regrets that she never got to meet him. I never met my dad, and I think Kate never met hers either. It's part of our "family curse" that we always talk about, but that's another blog.

Ok, on to BSC!!!! The last time I talked to Amy about this, she said that Erica said she wanted to be a school teacher like her mom. She'll be wonderful! &=) At one time, she thought about being a sports therapist, something at which I think she would also have been good, having MUCH experience on and off the field.

She's been in the dorm room before, from going to the BSC soccer clinics, and she said the dorms are SMALL. I remember all about that. Bluh. &=P It sucked. AND, I hated my roommate. I hope she's a lot more fortunate that I was. And, I hope she keeps her tail out of trouble! &=D

She called me last week, to get my address for her graduation invitation (and beautiful senior photo!), and we were chatting about the upcoming event. I told her, "I hope you're not as nervous as I was, walking across that stage. I was standing in the field thinking, 'Oh, God. They're kicking me out. I'm an adult....How did this happen?? I....can't do this!!! I don't know what to do!!!!!!!!'"

She said, "I know. That's exactly what I keep thinking. 'I can't leave. I can't do this on my own.'"

I told her not to worry, because I would be right down the road, and I could be there or help her with anything in the universe.

She said, "You'd better be expecting a LOT of phonecalls, because you're the closest! I don't know how I'm going to do this, because I'm still just a baby!"

I said, "You're not a baby. You're a beautiful and intelligent young lady, and you're going to do fine. We're all going to be with you, every step of the way. I remember going through the same thing 13 YEARS AGO! And all of you were always there for me when I needed you. You still are! There's no way we'd let you flounder!"Birmingham-Southern has a pretty good rep, so I'm glad of that. The campus is safe, they have constant 24-hour security, a gated entrance, an emergency response team, campus escorts, in case you're out doing late studying, lots of good things. Here's part of an article published Feb 26 of this year:

Birmingham-Southern is the only institution of higher education in Alabama to receive an “A” for safety preparedness, and is ranked No. 9 in the nation in terms of safety readiness, making it the highest ranked national liberal arts college in America.

For here, in the middle of Birmingham, safety is my primary concern - for myself and for her (for everyone else, obviously). I don't want to worry about her walking at night (we've all done it), someone breaking into her dorm, some freak getting a hold of her. God, that's something that would set me on a killing spree.

They don't list anything about their athletics program, but this was her official notification of acceptance on their website!:

Women’s Soccer adds four more commitments for 2008 4.2.2008 | WSOC BIRMINGHAM, Ala. – The Birmingham-Southern women’s soccer program has received commitments from four more players, head coach Benji Walton announced today. Lauren Cage, Erica Ogle, Alicia Plotky, and Jillian Thiebert have completed their intent to enroll and play for BSC in the 2008 season.

Um, WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! &=D

And, YES, I'm going to try to go to as many games as I possibly can. Still working on the car business...

Here are their statistics for last year's games:

Overall: 10-10-0 Conf: 1-0-0 Home: 5-1-0 Away: 4-8-0 Neut: 1-1-0

So, she's got a lot of good things ahead of her. I envy her, in every possible way. She's very lucky, and I know that she's off to do great things. She's so beautiful, entertaining, intelligent and talented in just about every way possible!!

YOU DID IT! Congratulations and good luck, Erica, sweet girl, Queenie, Aunt Debby's "Peek!" You're going to be terrific. I'm so lucky to be a part of your life, and I will be here in any way possible, for any and EVERYthing, if you ever need me. I love you more than my heart can hold!

I Can Explain...

I'm sorry I haven't been "around." Things have been up and down over here, mentally, physically, psychologically, spiritually,...any other "ally" you can think of.

I found out some time ago that my ex is engaged. So, that kind of threw me for a loop. I'm ok now. It just took a few days to sink in. Maybe this will help me finally close that chapter. I mean, Jesus, I'm 30 years old, divorced like 4 or 5 years ago, and I can't make this better.

My brain/soul/whatever holds on to things. Even things that I don't want to hold on to. Things, pieces of paper, scraps, memories, words, dreams, feelings, knowing, pain, unachieved happiness, time...it's all there.

Then, Grammy had her heart surgery, which, thankfully, went really well.

And just for the record, if anyone you know and love is going into the hospital, for surgery or anything, please always have a notebook and pen on your person. There are so many medical errors, and it's so unfair for the healthcare system to hide things like that. Make lists of questions to ask the doctor, tell your loved one to request copies of their records, xrays, reports, any and everything. The average person doesn't know diddly-squat about what happens to someone in the hospital and can't understand when docs and nurses talk in all that medical jargon - so PLEASE, for yourself and obviously your loved one, do this!:

• ASK QUESTIONS
• WRITE THINGS DOWN
• TAKE PICTURES
• ASK FOR COPIES

Ok, enough of my medical banter. I just hate to know that there are people out there who suffer because families either don't know what's going on and just put their full trust in the doctor (please don't do that), or they're too afraid to ask questions, challenge the doctor, or ask for second opinions.
Please do everything in your power to be involved with yours or your loved one's medical care.

Ok, seriously, I'll stop now.

So, my grandmother went in to Brookwood on April 30th. She had a heart cath done, and they only found 30% blockage in the LAD artery, which is excellent, I think, considering her age. They said the don't put in a stent unless it's 70% or higher.

He knew that if he didn't find anything in the cath, that the problem (heart palps, weakness, blacking out, fainting) could be solved with the pacemaker. So, after the cath, she went straight in to have her pacemaker put in.

Thanks, by the way, to Alison & Steve Smith. Heather remembered that Steve worked in the cath lab there, so she called Alison, who called Steve, who kept coming up to update me on how she was doing. It was all I could do to restrain myself from hugging him to death. He was on the ball, and every time she'd come out of something, he'd rush up to tell me, then tell me to act surprised when the doc came in! &=)

Thank you, Steve & Alison!!!!! I hope I can return the favor one day!

So, she had the pacemaker in, came back to the room and started fussing right away! I was so relieved, though. I was thinking, "you can fuss ALL you want to, because I'm just glad you're ok!!!!"

They got her transferred back to her bed, and Amy, Shelby & I swooped in to take care of her. Who needs nurses????

Oh yeah, for the meds. That's right. Sorry, Laura & Anna!!! &=D

She wasn't supposed to raise her left arm above her head, because of the surgery. The leads need time for scar tissue to form, to keep them in place. So, while we were talking to her, she pulled both her hands up and tried to FIX HER PONYTAIL! We were yelling, "Grammy, put your arm down! You can't raise your arm above your head!!," as she said, "Well, I have to fix my ponytail. My hair's all messed up." I actually had her left arm and was wrestling with her to put it down. Amy was yelling at her to put her arm down, and reached over to help me make her put it down.


We were arm-wrestling my grandmother, in her hospital bed, directly after surgery. &=\

How many times have you heard that?


Anyway, I hugged her and held her hand, and she was freezing! I went & got blankets, and covered her up like a mummy. She was real groggy from the sedatives they had given her, so she slept a bit. When she woke up, she actually let Amy feed her a quarter of a turkey sandwich. Her recovery was excellent, except that she couldn't get comfortable in that bed. It's hard after you've had surgery, and you can't roll onto the side on which you normally sleep. That happened to me after my knee surgery. But I went to the store and the gift shop, and got her watermelon and tea, both which she said she wished she had. She was so excited when I brought her those - she tore that watermelon up! &=D

I spent the night with her and slept like the dead. Amy left the Xterra with me, so that I could take Grammy home that afternoon (May 1). I went to work the next morning and worked until she called me to say they were starting her discharge. I left work, went to the hospital, of course waited another hour, packed her up and headed to Pell City.

We jabbered all the way home, and she was SOOOO glad to finally get there. She got this cool phone kit that she'd use to send in her pacemaker information - Gordon was pretty stoked about that.

I got her all settled, gave Gordon all the info on what happened, what's going to happen, and her post-operative do's and don'ts. By the time I was finally leaving Pell City, it was 2p, so by the time I got back to work, it would be 3p (traffic was gross), so I called my boss and told him I wouldn't make it - he was cool with it, which I appreciate. He was really accommodating with this stuff with Grammy - taking off a day, then only working half of the next day. He knows I love my family, never get to see them and want to take care of them.

Thank you, Chris. I really do appreciate it.


Ok, Heather's coming over to help me with this stupid work poster that's due tomorrow, so I have to get ready. I will update further...when I return. &=P

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to everyone who has kids!

And just FYI, I hate Mother's Day, for obvious reasons. I try to treat it like any other day now, but it always catches up with me somehow. I do wish the best for everyone who has kids. But, it does actually depress me when I think about all the kids and moms getting together to celebrate. I'm pretty sure I've said this before, but I know if my mom were alive, not only would my life be dramatically different, but we'd be best friends.

As a side note, the girls have been climbing all over me today. I think they can tell...


My cousin Kate sent me a really nice email last night:

Just wanted to send a note saying I love you. I know Mother's Day is probably a hard day for you, and I wanted you to know that I love you and was thinking about you. I miss my Aunt Debbie too. She was always my biggest fan (besides you!) when I was dancing. She was the glue in our family and I especially miss that. I pray that God cradles you in His loving hands tomorrow and that you would feel His fatherly love for you, His little girl. Let's please start doing stuff together again! You're the only person in the world that can finish my sentences! I LUB YOO!

Katy


She's right. My mom was a big part of the glue holding this family together. I can't help but notice that since she's been gone, we've all drifted farther apart, which scares me. We don't get together as much as we used to. But we all still love each other and want nothing more than for us all to be happy.

I just miss them so much...

This November, it's going to be 9 years, since she's been gone. There are days that I can't figure out how it's been that long, and there are days that feel like she's been gone an eternity.

One of the main things that bothers me is that I'm starting to forget. I don't have the most spectacular memory, so that makes it even harder. I can't remember her voice, I can't remember her hugs and kisses...sometimes I can't even remember her face until I see a picture.


I wish it would have been me. I know she could have been so much better off than I am.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

I wish time and time again that I could see you just one more time. Just get one more hug, one more kiss, one more "I love you." The last time I saw you was when you were on that ventilator. I don't want to see that. I didn't want that to be the last time, when they intubated you, I came in and told you everything was going to be fine, and you looked me straight in the eye and softly shook your head. I can't get that out of my head. And you'd squeeze my hand whenever I talked to you. Why is that the only thing I can remember now?


Happy Mother's Day, Mama.


There aren't words to express my loss & pain from you being gone.

My Grammy

I just needed to post this really quickly, although I do have a lot to cover.

I just had one of the worst days at work. I mean, I was STILL bitching as I walked out the door of the hospital, got into my car, sped three blocks home, got out, checked the mail, unlocked my apartment and came upstairs, went to use the restroom, and got everything together to sit down and chill out - I crabbed THE ENTIRE time.

But right now, I don't want to talk about that.

I just got off the phone with my grandmother, and I came to realize in that brief moment of talking to her, that I love the sound of her voice. I'm incredibly choked up as I write this, but I'm trying desperately not to cry. Her voice is so reminiscent of when things were good in my life, when life wasn't so hard. And, I like to talk to her without any distractions - being on the computer, watching tv, anything like that, because I don't like ANYTHING to deter my attention from her. I think in the short time that I get to talk to her, she deserves to have 100% of my consideration.

I think she'll be 85 this year. She's not long for this earth. And, she's had it rough. Her health is deteriorating rapidly. I thank God that she was never a victim of Alzheimer's. She's completely blind in her left eye, and she has a percentage of site left in her right. She's had two total knee replacements on her left knee, numerous scopes done on both knees, several various eye surgeries, a failed corneal transplant, and now, she's in the smack-dab middle of having a gamut of heart tests run, because she's been having heart palpitations so severe, they've caused her numerous times to pass out.

My family has drifted apart. I've never been happy about this. But in my heart, they're still my family. I think that while emotional closeness within a family is incredibly important, so is physical closeness - the closer, the better. The fact that right now, I can't be with my family when they need me, and when I choose to be with them, tears my heart open almost on a daily basis. There are days I NEED my aunt, her kids, my Grammy, my uncle - SOMEBODY who is me - to be there.

Phone calls just don't do it for me. They don't do justice to way my family makes me feel when we're together.

I always feel like I'm shoving my family in peoples' faces, but I love them. Even though we have our share of problems, I can't help but be completely head-over-heels in love with them. They're the few people who have ALWAYS been there for me. They weren't always able to help, but at least they chose to listen.

My grandmother is the same way. Before we hang up, she always says, "Jennifer, I wish I could be there to help you more," and I sigh and say, "I know. I wish I could do more to help you, too." And, I tell her that I love her every, single time I get off the phone. It's only been in the last two or three years, that I've started telling my family that I love them, whenever I get off the phone or in parting. I believe that's important. You should never "assume" that someone knows you love them, although I do understand that it may be difficult for some. I think it should be said often and with feeling.

I want my grandmother to live forever. I don't ever want to let her go. I frequently wish I would have never left town, so I could be there - for her. But being in that town was so oppressive for me - the memories, the same haunts, the places I'd been with my mom and my ex-husband, the love of my life. It's just too hard. I moved for selfish reasons, but I don't want to get into that.

I just always want to remember what Grammy's voice sounds like. It's the kindest, slightly northern accent you could ever hear. And, it's got the most wonderful soul alive to go along with it. She's one of the people I will forever admire, and I never want her to go. I fear that every day. I don't care if she tells me the same stories over and over again. I love her so much, that I feel like my heart will just explode.



I'm sorry. I know my blog has giant gaps in it, with lots of missing information, and that my posts have been kind of unrefined and choppy, and for that, I apologize. I always tell myself to be more diligent in my writing, and I'm trying. This is my therapy, and I should do it regularly. I'm blogging for several people, so my psychiatric bill should be outstanding. Like I need that.



I love you, Grammy. We're so lucky to have you as the matriarch of our family, and I'm so thankful that you're mine. I'm so glad that I've had the opportunity to know you for the entirety of my life. I've always been able to rely on you all these many years, no matter what the situation. I could never do you the justice that you deserve, but please know I want to. I want nothing more than to make the rest of your life a cakewalk, because you've earned it. I'll love you for the rest of my life and beyond. Thank you for being a part of my life.

Stream of Consciousness much?

Right now, tears stream down my face, as I sit here listening to the sound of chainsaws devour an age-old tree outside my apartment. I have my headphones on, and I can still hear them.

I mourn for the loss and disrespect of nature...I always will. That's a part of me that I actually like, that I'll never change.


i told him about my thoughts revolving around the drinking and the cutting again, and he flat-out told me no

He said to divert my attention from the cutting and the drinking.

I'm trying, just so you know. I really am trying.

my body feels so hollow, my arms, my torso - like it's full of air

CJ: like a feather in the wind , only... now serene as most might think.
but helpless

me: yeah

like i'm floating through existence

aside from the tree, my mind is blank - i feel emotionless and neutral

swedish, if you will

he doesn't always respond, until he needs to - i normally just talk for 45 min

i was scared today, that i was so empty, i wouldn't have anything to say

but i did it - i filled the entire, whatever, 50 min with words - solid words, even if it felt like nothing to me

and he always seems to genuinely enjoy listening to me - he writes and writes, like me, which makes me happy

he remembers things, he can refer to things i've told him - he made a whole diagram of my family (including heather's) and the people who are closest to me

he said i'm still mourning for the life i lost

because my happiness was so incredible

i reveled in my life

it had it's crappy moments

but overall, i loved it

i didn't hate myself AS MUCH

but i didn't like myself a lot

now, i can't stand myself

i hate waking up and knowing i'm me
i can't figure out why i hate myself so much

why i always have

i disliked myself before aaron ever came along
but after i fucked my life up, i began the complete and utter, all-consuming hatred

i know it's in me

i do

but it's how to make it surface is my biggest battle

there are times that i fall to my knees and cry out to God to ask why He makes things so hard

but i know He's not "doing" anything to me

it's just the way of the world

it always will be

and all i can try to do is better myself

like you said, you always want to be moving in a forward direction - i'm the same way

but mine is more emotional betterment

or....

well, i don't know how to say that

i want to better the world

one piece of garbage at the time

Tomorrow, I'd like to go to the gym.

We'll see, though.



I just started reading Fahrenheit 451. What an incredible story. How profoundly prophetic. I even used it today in therapy:

"Cram them full of noncombustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information...Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with...bring on...more of everything to do with automatic reflex."

Right now, I feel like that's me - "...full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." I feel like I'm completely on autopilot. I don't like it. I don't feel like a dandelion seed, drifting through the wind, with a purpose.

*somber*

What a beautiful word.

People don't use words often enough.

Circle, Circle - Dot, Dot - Have you had your cooties shot?

Ok, so here's what's going on so far. No, car's not fixed, so don't ask.

I've somehow picked up the pink eye(s). I went Saturday to spend the day with Heather and her family and had a fantastic time. They invited me for Sunday service at church for Easter. I was completely willing to go...until I woke up at 6a the next morning with goo covering both my eyes. I wrote it off as allergies (because I had been rubbing my eyes a lot at her house the previous day, as we sat outside in the pollen-saturated air), but declined to go to service, because, well...I couldn't see and my eyeballs were leaking.

On to that night.

I'm sitting on the bed, facing the box fan, when out of nowhere, I slam my hands onto my face, because something had flown into my eye...or had it? I dug and dug and dug (I'm not very reasonable when things are in my eyes) and dug and dug and pinched and pulled and nearly pulled all my eyelashes out, when I finally went downstairs to stick my head under the faucet, pull my eyelid up past my forehead, and wash the damn thing out.

No good.

As long as my eye was closed, and it wasn't exerting any kind of energy (eg. looking in any direction, following my unaffected eye), AND I had my hand over it, it was fine. So, I made it back upstairs...in the dark...with one eye, and lay down in bed again. I reasoned that since the eye itself is pretty much self-healing, I'd just lay down and listen to some Futurama while my eyeball did it's magic. Sure enough, I woke up following two episodes, and I was cured! There was no irritation...but holy God, was is gooey.

I went back down the stairs (using two eyes this time), got a warm washcloth, lay down with it and wiped both my eyes clean and fell asleep.

I'll be damned if I woke up this morning with my left eye (the boo boo one) sealed completely shut with GLUE! That my eyeball MADE!

What the hell??!?

I opened both my eyes, only to find that overnight, I had suddenly become a pirate - with no patch, pegleg or parrot. The parrot, I could do without. But the patch and pegleg? Come on!

Anyway, I managed to pry my eyelid open, after much warm water and coaxing (ie. ripping of eye glue, eyelashes, and lots of cursing). I had to pick the rest of the goo out of my eyelashes, which has now resulted in my having three eyelashes to my name...or face.

I went to work, thinking I maybe had a corneal abrasion, that resulted in a ton of "under the cover of night, covert op healing, involving much eye glue" some kind of secret eye thing that I didn't understand. Because I won't lie - I don't know the first thing about the human eye, except that it's icky, and I don't like them very much. Except for the seeing part - that's ok.

All day long, my eye has itched, burned, swelled, turned red, weeped...and what did I do? I rubbed it, dug at it, touched everything and everyone within a 50 mile radius of me.

So, I'm guessing they'll be shutting down the hospital tomorrow, since everyone will be dead, because of me and this damn weirdo eye thing. I mean, who gets pink eye from a fan????

To top it off, I'd been rubbing my eyes so much, that I've transferred it to my other eye. WONDERFUL. One eye would never be enough for me! I wish it was my birthday, and that would make it ALL complete!

Soooooo, I had to coax my still-sick car to the Walgreen's, WAY down Green Springs, and we had to stop several times (I'm seeing all blurs at this point). When I finally made it there, at Terri Lynn's request (thank you, Terri), I found some homeopathic Similasan pink eye drops (Belladonna, Euphrasia, Hepar sulphuris, in case you were wondering). I also bought two Beanie Babies and some old-ass Easter candy, because I'm sick.

When you're sick, you get presents. I got two Beanie Babies, because I have two sick eyes.

Anyway, when I got home, I had to feed the cats, and when I reached down to move the fire extinguisher from off the bag of food, I promptly sprayed myself full-on in the face with it. I fell in the floor, the cats ran away, and I almost killed us all, because I totally had to open the windows to get air, once I regained consciousness.

After being infested with God-only-knows what kind of cooties and being sprayed with a fire extinguisher, I decided I might be safe in the shower.

Guess what?

I was.

So, I'm out and bathed, and I'm about to curl up and lay down with my Similasan. I don't know if they'll let me go to work tomorrow, but I'm still hoping I can find ONE SOLITARY PERSON who can direct me to some damn polymycin.

Otherwise, I'm going total biological warfare on your asses.

I'm going to walk right into the hospital and rub my face on everyone I can possibly get to, patients and all. I'll even stick my face in the lunch, so beware what you eat tomorrow.

You may be eating cooties.

One of our reps, Jerome, gave me the cooties shot today in surgery - circle, circle, dot, dot - now you've had the cooties shot.




How was I supposed to know my cooties were resistant???? &=(

Messing with my Bellsouth Voodoo dolls

Hi. Just wanted to let you know that everything is ok. My internet has been totally spastic at the house, so I haven't been able to do anything.

So, Dwane, get your tail over here and help me fix this P.O.S.

I'm updating from work, but I really shouldn't be on here.



Otherwise, I'm here, with a backlog of posts to surprise even the US government.

Talk to you all soon...

This is all I've ever wanted

From Postsecret - thanks to whoever posted this.








I'm starting to think it's not possible, though, for someone to accept me as I am.

Stop being so damn closed-minded

I think the internet is an invaluable resource for absolute crap. The more I see, the more it fills me with dread. But, I also find some of that crap that makes my heart swell.
















For instance, this guy made a prosthetic leg for a parrot named George, who could be heard yelling out "bloody hell!," in his frustration of not being able to stand up on one leg. Two days later, they followed up on the story, to see how George was taking to his new prosthesis. Deemed by the aptly titled "Parrot Eats False Leg," turns out, he ate it.




















Good boy, George. &=)

As a sidenote to this, some ass was making comments as to why they didn't just let the bird die, because there are no prosthetic legs in the jungle - I pose to you this. The United States spends billions of dollars a year on the most useless things, while people are dying and starving, WITHIN OUR OWN COUNTRY. I think this is a great deal cooler than that.

As Gandhi said, "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated."

Ok, not that that means a whole lot for the United States, who continues to somehow allow children to get gunned down within the sanctity of their own schools. Gun control, my ass. It's called "WARNING SIGNS," people! Anyway, I think the treatment of animals pretty much boils down to the true being of an individual. If you don't like animals, then I don't like you. And, if you don't like me, then what are you doing here?

But, I'm wandering.

Ok, so there was this other story, of which I'm sure you'll be receiving the cutesy emails with these pictures attached in T-minus 5...4...3...2...

Here's the only story I've been able to discover thus far. Whether or not it's true, I'm not entirely sure:

































Dachshund mom is fostering this guy for another mom who couldn't take care of him. He had his eyes closed, but now they are open. He is just a little bigger than her other pups. She loves this little guy more than the other puppies and she is nursing him back to health. He is the cleanest "puppy" ever because she licks him all the time.





I know everyone's also heard the wonderful story about Dennis & Nubs:


I hate to abbreviate, but to sum it up, while on duty in the Anbar Province, a Marine found this dog, who's ears had been cut off, possibly to enhance the dog's aggression. Nubs would come visit with them while they were on border patrol, and they'd repay him for his companionship by feeding him. He'd also chase their Hummers as they'd pack up to leave. Later on, after Nubs had barely survived a harsh, freezing winter, they discovered he'd been stabbed with a screwdriver, so Dennis nursed him back to health, and has managed to raise the $3500 necessary to have him sent to San Francisco. So, now Nubs is going home to live in the lap of luxury and wait until his new daddy gets home.


Whether or not it's fake, I could care less. I just think it's an exemplary story of how all humans should STRIVE TO BE, in any and all scenarios - compassionate without hope of reward.


Here's a pic of a lady who lets turtles hibernate in her fridge. There, of course, people made comments about the food being in with the possibly salmonella-laden turtles. I think the food was probably placed there for aesthetic value. And, if you get salmonella from a turtle touching your pepper, then oh well. I held a baby bat and didn't get rabies, when he bit me thirty-eleven times. And if I did, then oh well. I just have that opinion of stuff. At least I'm not racing damn race cars or wrestling alligators.


Again, it boils down to my "GOD, keep your nose out of every mother-fucker's business already!!!!" philosophy. You can give someone the info, but you're sure as shit not going to change them, so stop trying!




Or as xkcd so satirically puts it:





















If animals can love beyond skin, color, imperfections, and boundaries...
















...then why can't we?

Dog Sees God

Briefly, let me just say that we went to see Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead by Bert V. Royal last night at the Playhouse, and it was incredible. I'm trying to find the script online right now, in order to quote some things, but insofar, I've been unsuccessful.




















Snoopy, for some reason, has always retained this mystical, etherial, all-knowing quality to me. Even when I was a young child, it always seemed to me that Snoopy knew so much more than he ever let on.


























Heather, you have GOT to stay on my ass about these auditions, ok? Like I said, I've completely missed my calling.

Idears?

Ugh, I need to redo this page.

I need to find another damn background.

I need a vacation, yo. And, a car. And, for everyone to leave me alone about some stuff, eh?

The dreams that kill

I've been having the same dream for weeks. It won't stop.

He's completely paralyzed, from the neck down. I know he's done it to himself.

He's the reason they're dead.
She had her reasons for writing the letters.

But I keep going to visit him in the hospital. I keep showing up, strictly to take care of him - to delicately bathe him, to feed him, to make sure he's getting the care he needs, but doesn't deserve. I try to make myself stay away, but I can't. I can hear his voice resonating in my ears. His smile keeps me going. He's so glad every time I show up. And, I always feel relief...once I get there.

When I leave, the resentment sets in all over again. Although, I can't help but miss him.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Then, I flash back into that black house.

I see the stairs going up and down, in and out of the portico.

It's dark.
There are no lights.

I can only barely make out the details of things by the light of the moon that washes over the mostly roofless house, bathing everything in a sick, muted light. I can feel evil in the house, and there's absolutely no escape.

It's back before he got hurt.

We perilously try to make our way through the house, to find some way out, but it's almost impossible. The only way we can keep from going insane is to huddle together, to find joy in the presence of the other. I can feel "things" flying overhead, but I don't dare look up. We pray they don't notice we're there.

There's a darkened basement.
There's an accident.
He falls.
But he's not dead.

I try to defend him, but everyone knows what's happened. They blame him. I say, "he's not like that. He would never do something like that. You don't even try to understand him."

But somehow, I'm wrong.

I don't even know I'm wrong, until it's too late. Until everyone else knows. I feel so stupid and betrayed. Why am I always the last to know?

But I keep visiting.
I keep taking care of him.
Because I always will.
Because I know what happened in real life.
And, I know he deserves so much more than this.

Yet, he'll never be ok.
Not after what's happened.

He's not the one who's paralyzed.

It's me.

Quick! Post something!

For some reason, my blooger is working again at work.

I've actually had several posts that I haven't posted, be it that they're broken and unfinished. Obviously, I hate putting things out there that are undone (um, hello, life?), sooooo....I don't know if I should just rewrite the posts, post them as is, or date them as to their true dates.

Ugh, I don't know. All I can think right now is that I smell barbeque, and I'm about to vomit on this keyboard. My tummy is really bad, and it's only going to get worse, due to some of the things that are about to, eh, "go down" in my life. Bleeding ulcer, meet rectal fissure.

Those stupid Fergie lyrics keep coming up in my head: "You don't want no drama, no no no no drama!" No shit, Fergie-Ferg. There are very few people I know who can completely sustain from drama - I'm not one of them. BEING DRAMATIC and pure drama are two different things.

I will admit, though, that I'm some serious high-maintenance. I know this, and I refuse to ever deny it. Well, and of course, I guess it depends on what you're looking for and to what ends you're willing to consent. All I want is to be kept in books, video games, and technology.

Clothes? Meh.
Jewelry? Absolutely not.
Attention? Oh, hellz yeah.

Somehow, I got into the discussion about this with someone this weekend. And, it's one of those "this is who I am, and I srsly doubt it's going to change any time soon" things.

Oooo, also, I'm starting to apply for some travel xray positions. It pays almost 5% more than what I make now, and considering the next raise we're ever going to get will be about the time Scrushy gets out of prison, I'm really needing to consider other options. Car's still dead, not getting another one anytime soon, don't have time to put up with any of that bullshit anyway. But they totally take care of you, and although I'm scared shitless to leave town by myself, eh, I gotta do something.

Anyway, I'm sorry I haven't been incredibly dilligent. I'm working REALLY, REALLY hard at healing other aspects of my life, my extensively fucked-up mind, and striving to find all the pieces of my broken heart, so my life has been unintentionally chaotic and shit-filled as of late.

Forgive me. At least there is progress being made.

Swan dive, into the asphalt

So, we're starting from the beginning. I saw my psych on Friday, explained to him the feelings I've been having, and he just looked at me thoughfully, rubbed his face and said, somewhat exasperatedly, "Well, everything you've just described to me sounds exactly like depression...which means the medicine (cymbalta) isn't working." I started crying and said, "Why does this keep happening to me? Is this normal, that every medicine I take, I eventually develop an immunity to it?" He said it happens to some people, so we went over the list of meds that I've already been on, to see if there was any hope in the marketable, cheap meds.

I mentioned that Celexa was what got me going after Mom died. He said that he wanted to try that one once more. At first, he suggested Lexapro, but then changed to Celexa, because you can buy it at Wal-mart for $4.

And, then we had a little incident on Friday from which Heather and Lee had to rescue me from. Let's just say, it's been a rough weekend. I slept almost the whole time, yet here I sit at work, and I feel like I haven't slept a wink (usually a good measure of the severity of my depression).

The only good news I have to offer is that when I went to see Stannard last week, there was more bone growing in my fracture site. The screw is still well-intact (I have to say, though...that thing is a BITCH and hurts terribly when I bump it), and my pain has decreased significantly. So, I asked, with a somewhat pleading note in my voice, if I could go back to the gym. He said yes, and I grabbed him around the neck, and he said, "BUT...you've got to be careful and use your common sense." In specific, I'm forbidden to do any straight-leg raises. Which is fine with me. I hated those anyway.

Also, what else happened? Crap, I can't remember. Another indicator for how I'm feeling.

I actually got called in to Chris' office on Friday to talk about the times I've called in. I made a note on my write-up that all of this is resultant of the depression I'm dealing with. Chris read it, and I told him that I know it probably sounds like a cop-out, but that I'd made an appointment with our EAP (employee assistance program) for sometime this week, and that I really am trying to fix this. He said, as seriously as he could, "You know, we want you to get better, and we'll do anything we can to help you. Because you're a good tech, and I don't want to lose you." I jumped up, ran to the door, and wrenched it open. I said, "Don't make me talk about it, or I'm going to cry (I already was)! I want to get better, too!," and ran out like I was on fire.

I absolutely can't talk about this with anyone, especially at work, because it's just too hard. It's too hard for me to explain, and it's too hard for them to understand. You know, because depression is a booboo - but it's not a booboo you can see. I'll be damned, though, if it's the only thing you can feel. And, I slept SO WELL last night. But right now, my heart is fluttering and flipping, my eyes are heavy, my whole body is heavy, like it's made of lead, and I just feel like any minute, I'm going to drop to the floor in a "Sleeping Beauty" kind of coma.

I have very brief lights of "me" things. Like I can get a little excited about something, but it's really short-lived. Other than that, all the rest of the time, I look like I've lost my best friend (no offense, Heather). Someone once told me that although I look happy at times, I always look like there's a touch of unconsolable sadness in my face and behind my eyes.


God, I can't believe it's not even 830a yet. I just want to go home and go to sleep - forever. I can't, though. I'm going to try to get the car and make it to the vet with the girls. They really need their checkups and shots, and Jammy needs to get her stitches/staples out of her tummy. Plus, I've got to ask them about their fatty underbellies. I love kitties, no matter what they look like, but making kitties overweight is just cruel.

Oh yeah, UB started dayshift today. She was already here when I got here. Now if only a crazy person would come through the department and kill me, life would be good. Or death. At this point, whatever.


Sooooo, back on the Celexa. Again.

Here's to new beginnings - again.

I'll let you know when life feels liveable. Right now, I'd rather be anything but alive. I'd even pay money to have one of those good, long, hard cries, to feel like I'm releasing some of this...whatever it is. Cry out my grey cloud. Cry out my pain and senseless suffering - there's nothing over which to suffer. You're just a spoiled child with a fucked up brain. You mean nothing to anyone, so you have to meaning.

Starting over - - - - - again.