Wish Me Luck

I was going to leave this post the screen shot of my calendar, but then something happened this morning that changed my mind.

First of all I woke up and got Livvie, changed her, then went to make coffee. About a third of the way through making the coffee I thought, "Oh Fuck. Today is the first." Uh huh. Slyly I opened the door to look at the window sill on our deck, the one where we keep the smokes. Gone. One full pack and 2 partial packs were gone. My heart hit my chest like a ball doing ninety and I wanted to cry. I almost did.

My heart is still racing with panic.

I know they're not gone permanently. I know he just hid them. This is what makes it harder you see. Now that I KNOW that they're somewhere in the house it will make if far easier to think, "Oh just one. What's one gonna hurt?" etc...

So yeah, wish me luck. I'm already shaking and pacing, and that's just from the very IDEA of the whole thing.

My Ink

This is my second post of the day. You'll have to deal with that unfortunately...

Ok, save for the pic of my ass, these will be the only photos of myself that you will ever see. I'm a fairly private person, which is odd when you consider my blog is public.

I got this tattoo for my 20th birthday. I wanted something to mark the occasion of leaving my teens, and I searched for 9 months before I figured out the design I wanted to use. I drew it myself. It's a rendition of my late father doing the Native American Sundance and being pulled up to heaven by the Great Spirit. I figured after I got it that the best thing to do would be to tell my mother right away. This was a bad idea, as she wigged out to the point where she actually called Monsignor about it. His response: "Is she doing drugs? Is she stealing? Then give her a break, Barbara."

Here it is: 

I'm sorry it's sort of blurry.  

My second tattoo I got when I was 27 years old, to mark the fact that I was a Perfect Cube (seriously, do the math). It took me 3 months to design that one, and I also drew that one myself. I'll let you know that the blob on the 9 o'clock position is a turtle, and the blob on the 12 o'clock position is a rendition of the Goddess symbol. I placed the Goddess at the top for my own purposes, but the tattoo itself means many paths, one truth. This is why the Ohm is in the center, as its sound is supposedly the sound of the ultimate truth being realized.

I never told my mother about this one, and she found out about it when I was stupid enough one day to parade in front of her in a bathing suit. This time, however, she merely called me a brat and asked me why I had gotten a second one. She disagreed with my reasoning, but she accepted the fact that I had a second one. NO calls to the Monsignor this time.

Tattoos aren't for everyone, obviously, and Rich doesn't want me to get anymore, although he accepts the ones I have now because I came that way. He isn't fond of them at all, and doesn't understand why people get them in the first place. I want to get a third one to mark the occasion of my 40th birthday, so I guess I'll be saving up to pay for it on my own. I won't ask him to contribute to the cause.

The one for my 40th birthday? That will be olive branches with olives on them, as my daughter's full name is Olivia, and both her name and the branches mean Peace. And if tattoos can perform some sort of magic, then maybe I'll find peace myself.

No Heat/Fluff

Well, I forgot to take my Seroquel for the first time the night before last after ALLLLLL of that drama. Oops. I'm not used to taking meds at night anymore and it completely skipped my mind.

I took one at 212pm yesterday because my brain was doing its thing. The thing where it starts drying out inside my skull and rattling around. Honestly, it's really like I can actually feel it moving inside my head, and it feels dessicated. So, into my maw went the Seroquel, and within an hour I was so sleepy that I could barely keep my head up. However, the buzzing in my head and the dryness stopped within an hour. I consider that a victory. 

I also had way too much caffeine yesterday. I drank 3 cups of coffee and 5 Coke Zeros, and that was contributing to the buzzing as well. Not good. Why on earth I feel the need to do that is beyond me. It's retarded. I made excuses that the coffee was because I was cold, but I'm pretty sure that was bullshit. Just one more way of altering my brain chemistry.

Here's something: my headologist FINALLY called me yesterday, and she was apologetic for not calling sooner. Rich said he should have answered the phone so he could say, "I'm sorry, she's not here. She jumped off a bridge 2 days ago." During our conversation I let her know exactly what's going on; that I'm smoking and drinking too much, and basically writing too much. The writing hurts no one, but I actually got so drunk the other night that I barfed before I went to bed. Lovely image isn't it? I've become ridiculous, and it really needs to stop. 

It hurts me that all of this is so obvious, and was to everyone else long before it was to me. I thought I knew myself better than that. It's completely insidious to the person experiencing it, which is why one needs to have supportive people around.

On a lighter note, well, I don't know if there even IS a lighter note. I'm pretty sure all of you are tired of the shit going on in my head, but I think I'll have to write about it until the meds seriously start working. Oh, I know what I can mention. Rich had decided that he wanted to quit smoking with me, but his date was March 1st since he said he can't quit on a work day and tomorrow will be easier for him. So I'll quit with him tomorrow because I can't NOT smoke if he's smoking. I plan to go buy a pack of Marlboro Reds today, since I've been smoking Ultra Lights for years, and I'm pretty sure an afternoon of smoking hard core will make me want to quit for sure. They're pretty harsh, and I might even have the good fortune of waking up with a sore throat tomorrow morning. Why is that good? Well, the only times I have been able to quit for any length of time prior to this was because I got sick and couldn't smoke. Hell, maybe I'll even wake up with bronchitis tomorrow and really not even WANT to smoke. Or hell maybe I'll chew on the Bloomin' Ashtray and make myself gag. Yes I know, I'm pitiful.

Have a great Friday everyone. I'll try to be cheerier tomorrow. 

Whiskey in the Jar

I have gotten drunk the past 7 days in a row at least. It's true. Each and every day I'm having at least 3 beers and 4-5 bourbon and Cokes. I have the big jug. The one with the handle. I start when Livvie goes to bed and don't stop until it's time for me to go to bed. Oh wait, the other day I had 2 beers and 2 bourbon and Cokes with a water chaser. I did not get drunk that night, so I guess I lied. Thank the gods Rich is staying sober.

Am I an alcoholic? I don't think I am. I do know that I have a drinking problem (with everything: water, Cokes, coffee, booze), and that it's a way of self medicating. Alcohol is a depressant, and right now I need that more than you can even imagine. I imagine that all of this will go away when my new meds really start working, because physically I don't NEED the alcohol. I want it though. If it makes any sense, my brain chemistry is not that of an alcoholic, it's that of a BiPolar person, and the mania needs taming. The booze stops my brain from buzzing. I can safely say that Seroquel has now stopped my brain from buzzing though, so maybe this will be easier than one would think.

I could easily see myself turning into a Britney if I were inclined to go without underwear and even wear miniskirts in the first place (see Size 10 post). I could see it if I didn't have a completely awesome support system, and if I had a ton of sycophants that would get me anything and everything I wanted. This sort of scares me, even though it won't happen. And what can I do so that it won't?

Stop drinking. Not totally, as I have never had a problem with drinking too much beer. Why that is I don't know. I enjoy beer, but drink it in moderation only. Now, once in awhile I HAVE been known to put away a six pack all by myself, but those times have been few and far between. My real problem is with whiskey. Yes. OH yes.

"Now some men take delight in the drinking and the roving,

But others take delight in the gambling and the smoking.

But I take delight in the juice of the barley,

And courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early...

musha ring dumma do damma da 

whack for the daddy 'ol

whack for the daddy 'ol

there's whiskey in the jar"

I am a BAD Witch

And no, I don't mean a house is going to fall on me and my shoes will be stolen by punks.

I started practicing in 1995. I observed each and every Sabbat, and even some of the Esbats (Sabbats are major holidays, Halloween etc. Esbats are smaller holidays that fall throughout the year). My ex-husband was fine with this, which was good because he would occasionally come into the house to find me at an end table with a circle of string around me, candles, a glass of beer or wine, and almond moon shaped cookies. I liked the cookies a lot.

I had everything a proper witch could want. Tons of reference books, an herb garden complete with worm wood, an athame (see photo above, although mine is not nearly as fancy), a wand, a cauldron, etc. I was so very happy with my path, although I didn't broadcast it. No fancy jewelry, no flowing clothes a la Stevie Nicks, and no visible Magickal tattoos. I was very quiet about it in fact, and no one besides my closest friends even knew.

So time went on, and my life changed. I got divorced and moved into an adjoined apartment, and had barely any furniture at all. I ended up practicing small rituals on my coffee table until I ended up with a desk top computer back in 2004 and needed a place to put it. I still had all of my acoutrements, but they started to gather dust on their shelf. My candles had dog hair stuck to their wicks. I occasionally read my books at night before bed, but really did nothing with them. My herb garden became a rather small pot out on the front porch, and most of the herbs died due to lack of space. It was becoming fairly sad.

I then met my husband to be, and didn't even mention that I practiced magic. I moved in and sort of hoped that all of my books lined up on the shelf would give him a clue, but nothing was said. Apparently he did notice the books, but he never mentioned them as he thought they were simply for reading purposes. The thing is, I stopped reading them, and they became dusty as well. I hadn't touched a ritual candle since 2004, and even then it was for simple candle spell. I even started to forget to observe the Sabbats in any way at all, other than to give them a brief thought and go about my day.

I did practice exactly one time in the past year. I did a healing ritual with two other witches via the internet and set up my altar on the dishwasher of all things. I no longer had any incense, and I used a kitchen knife as an athame. All of my things had been packed away when I moved in with Rich, and I had to make due with what was in the kitchen. I managed to dig up a white emergency candle and some oils to make it "magical," but I could only find a teething biscuit to make an offering. I also used water instead of beer because there was none in the house. It was a pitiful little ritual, but I hoped that the intent would be good enough. Unfotunately a black beetle walked through my circle while I was in the middle of it, and the group ritual failed. I haven't practiced since.

All I have managed to do has been to find a perfect wand branch for Livvie and cut it down to size for when she's older. I managed to order yet another book from the internet, which will probably never be read. I bought some incense and some ritual candles in case of emergency, and for Christmas of 2006 Rich bought me a Celtic ring to represent Livvie, which is the very first piece of magical jewelry I have ever owned, unless you count my wedding ring. I started a circle shaped herb garden in the back yard but let it get overgrown and nasty, as we're in the middle of a drought and I have no time to tend it. I've made small efforts, and I know they're not good enough.

The holiday of the Spring Equinox is coming up soon, and I really would like to observe it, but I probably won't. I'll more than likely simply think, "Huh. It's spring finally," and go about my day.

So I am a Bad Witch. I'd like to be a better one, but it seems as if I'm incapable these days. That's pretty sad to me.

What a Size 10 Looks Like

Yes, this is my very own ass. I was inspired to write this post after reading this post from Citizen of the Month.

That post horrified me, and I'll tell you why. Prior to becoming pregnant with Livvie I was 129 pounds and wore a size 4-6. As I gained weight I didn't care, because hey, I was pregnant and that's what you do. However, I need to admit that I was thrilled with the fact that I only gained 36 pounds. The doctor had wanted 35, and I felt very smug.

Five weeks after Livvie was born I was back in a size 4-6, and once again weighed 129 pounds. I was ecstatic. I couldn't believe my good fortune, and I jumped back into my pre-pregnancy clothes with abandon. I was awesome. I felt terrible for everyone who couldn't get their weight back though, and in retrospect I was an ass. I mean, so fucking what right? They were trying.

So I went on meds last April, and it never occurred to me that on these particular ones I would gain weight, but gain I did. Without even noticing very much the weight was creeping on, until one day I couldn't get the 6s over my hips and ass. I was devastated, and the only pair of jeans that fit were a pair that I hadn't washed and dried yet. I ended up not washing them for weeks, because I couldn't afford to go buy new. Finally my mom gifted me with enough money to go shopping, and I made plans to go to K-Mart. I also finally got on the scale, and I weighed 152 pounds. I was stunned. What the hell had happened? Ok, sure, I had become addicted to ice cream, but I had eaten like a fiend all of my life without gaining an ounce. When had this changed?

Oh, right. Meds. It occurred to me that this had all happened after I started the meds. So I dragged my widening ass to K-Mart and tried on some 8s. No go. With reluctance I tried on the 10s and they fit, albeit a bit big around the waist. Unfortunately they were the only ones I could get over the booty. I sadly took my 10s home and made the decision to lose the weight, or some of it anyway. I wanted to lose 12 pounds and get to 140, and into 8s. 8s weren't so bad, but for some reason 10s seemed like the end of the world. I was terrified that Rich would think I was fat and not be attracted to me anymore. So onto the elliptical machine I went (for 3 days, as I'm sure I mentioned). I started snacking on carrots and cauliflower, avoiding ice cream most nights of the week, and drinking tons of water. 

And then something happened. I went to lunch with my best friend and she called me skinny. Huh? How could I be skinny when I weighed 23 pounds more than I did when I WAS skinny? I got home and took a look at myself in the mirror, and realized she was right. I might have gained the weight, but I now looked like an average woman instead of a swizzle stick. I finally had boobs and a J Lo butt, and I was voluptuous. Rock on. I got on the scale 2 weeks later and I was down to 143. I had a moment of feeling victory, and then realized I really didn't care. STress had lost the weight at that time, and that's the wrong way to go about it.

So I went on the ice cream diet and gained back 7 pounds. The 10s don't bag on my ass anymore. Rich still loves me. And what's more important is that I love me.

So this is what a 10 looks like. And I couldn't be happier.

Meds Update

Well, the doc never called me back. So I called the on call doctor and left a message. He called me back within 20 minutes and I have a scrip for Seroquel waiting for me at the pharmacy to be picked up tomorrow.

Thank the gods.

Driving Me Crazy, Easier Than One Would Think

Ok, I called my headologist to finally make an appointment yesterday. I can't get in until April 1st. I was stunned. I once made an appointment with her a week out, so it's absolutely crazy to me that she's gotten this busy. Maybe she's actually good. I don't know. But what I DO know is that she pissed me off.

I left a message on her voice mail yesterday to tell her it would be awhile until I could see her, and asked her to call me back so that we could adjust my meds in the meantime. I let her know I was hypomanic, and that it was something of an emergency. I asked for a refill on my Lamictal, because I have no refills left, and I also due to Jennyquarx's recommendation asked for a prescription for Seroquel. Apparently it has fewer side effects than the Invega does, and according to her it's the best antimanic out there. And since as I said I really don't want to take Lithium, I thought I'd ask the doc to give it a try.

She never called back. She's supposed to do her call backs after 4pm. At 738 pm I gave up waiting and finally stopped carrying the phone around. I even ate dinner with the phone next to my plate. I'm pretty pissed. She should know that it's NOT good to keep a crazy person waiting, and that Bad Things could happen at any moment. And I am certifiably crazy. One time when I was severely manic I slammed my head into the refrigerator door so hard I dented it. If you can't believe that let me tell you that I also once slammed a can of sweet potatoes against my forehead so hard I also dented that. The head slamming thing? Probably a way of trying to make the buzzing in my brain stop.

Now, both of those incidents occurred when I wasn't on meds. And both of those incidents followed with the other people in the room threatening to have me committed. It probably would have been a good idea at the time because I would have been diagnosed sooner and put on the proper meds. What scares me now is that if anything of that nature happens again...well...I have a child now, and who would take care of her if I was locked away?

I'm hoping the meds I am on are enough to keep me from tipping all the way into the crazies, but I really think adjustments need to be made. The doctor needs to call back. Today. Or I'll keep leaving messages until I drive her nuts.

click clack click clack

We live on a main road. We hear everything going past. Cars, trucks, emergency vehicles. It's pretty bad, as our bedroom window faces the street and overnight sometimes the traffic is so bad that it can wake us up. There's one specific truck, a black pickup, that has oversized wheels and we know each and every time that truck goes past, even in the dark.

A year ago Rich planted a line of trees out front to baffle the noise. They're Emerald Green arborvitae trees, and they're beautiful. Or they were, until 6 of them died. Yep, brown as dirt. Rich and I, as proper rednecks, have discussed spray painting them green again so that we don't have to go buy more. Hey, it's a thought right?

The traffic is bothering Rich more than me. Until this house I have lived within hearing distance of railroad tracks my entire life. When I was growing up we had the line that went from Philly to Atlantic City. My high school boyfriend lived south of me, and we would be on the phone so long at times that I would hear the train at my house and then 20 minutes later hear it on his side of the phone.

There's something about a train whistle in the middle of the night to really give you pause. You have to wonder what it's carrying, where it's going, and if you'd like to be on the ride. The trains that went through my town mostly carried coal, and they'd lose slag, which is a glass-like substance that's mined with coal. We would go down to the tracks on sunny days and pick up the slag and take it home with us like it was a prize. We also used to put pennies on the tracks to get squished, even though the adults told us that if the train hit the penny it would derail. Derailment never happened. We watched.

My friends and I also used to "jump" the trains. This involved waiting for the train to go past, and then leaping between the cars as they went by. Usually we made it. One time my friend Johnny didn't, and ended up clinging to the side of one of the cars until he was brave enough to let go and hit the gravel. It was absolutely hilarious. Johnny was a bit of a knucklehead anyway, and we weren't sorry to see it happen.

So the traffic doesn't bother me even when it wakes me up in the mornings. Although I couldn't give a rat's ass where these folks are going on their commutes, at least I know folks ARE going somewhere, doing something, possibly important. Maybe. And the wonder of that is what makes me love the click clack click. Because honestly, who wouldn't want to hitch a ride sometime?

Emma Sucks

You'd never know it from this photo, but this dog is on my very last nerve. First of all, you all know she shits in the kitchen. I've mentioned that several times. Well, last night after Livvie went to bed Rich and I went out to smoke. I had left the baby gate open and for some reason I looked through the kitchen window. Just in time to see Emma hustling through the house into the hallway. I shoved my cigarette at Rich and ran into the house after her, where I picked her up and carried her back into the kitchen. Thank goodness she only weighs 37 pounds. Anyway, I locked her in the kitchen, went to finish my cigarette, and then put a leash on her and took her outside where, you guessed it, she shit. Awesome.

So Rich and I just went out for a cigarette and I forgot to close the baby gate again. I opened the door to go close it and saw Emma running out of the living room into the kitchen. I ran in and closed the gate and went out to finish smoking. Went back inside and looked in the living room and found a stain on the carpet. I can't tell whether or not it's new or old. I used Spot Shot on it and while I was cleaning it up Emma was slinking around under the kitchen table, so she's feeling bad about something.

She's a sneak, plain and simple. I found her dumped on the side of the road 5 years ago and now I'm pretty sure that she was dumped for house soiling. She's pretty old too, so I wonder how many households she went through before I found her. None of this matters to me though, because overnight she's perfectly capable of going 12 hours without peeing in the kitchen. There's absolutely NO reason for her to pee in the house after only 4 hours, and it pisses me off that she will.

So yeah, I love animals. I even love Emma. But right now she's on my shit list and she's not getting off of it anytime soon.

Manic Much??

I'm officially hypomanic. How else can you explain blogging 7 times in the space of two days? It's fun, being this way, but it's not a good thing. It can easily tip into full blown mania, sometimes with no warning whatsoever. Oh wait, the hypomania IS the warning. 

Let me tell you what has been going through my mind.

Does buying coffee creamer and dishwasher detergent count as a spending spree? What if I add some pretzels? Will that count? Gee I'd really like to buy an end table to go with the sofa. Would Livvie hit her head on it? How many bourbons can I have before I'm considered a drunk? Is 4 too many? How about 6? Does it have to be on a regular basis or can it just be occasionally? Who am I kidding... Do I feel like going to the convenience store if I run out of Coke? Would I have to get dressed to do that or can I go in my sweats? I wonder what last night's dream meant, since I seemed to share it with Jennifer and it was about starving rats. WTF does Rich think about all of this writing? He just came in and said "Tap tap tap tap tap..." teasing me. Oh well. That's fine. Oh good Rich is buying beer. I really wanted a couple of those tonight. I wonder if I have enough money to buy beer tomorrow. Would THAT count as a spending spree? Beer is not necessary. Oh maybe it is.

Etc.

Think that's considered racing thoughts? I do. I'm also talking too fast and eating too much. I'm also drinking wayyyyy too much. Oh, and smoking way too much. Basically I'm doing everything way too much or too fast, and while it's fun for now I'm dreading the fall of the other shoe. Put it this way, as I type this I am carrying on 2 IM conversations, checking Freecycle email, emailing a friend of mine, and drinking a beer. 

Apparently my Abilify isn't working. I do NOT want to take Lithium. I don't. My hair will fall out, I'll get even heavier probably, my hands and my head will palsy, and I'll have to have continual blood work in order to make sure my liver is functioning correctly. I do NOT want to take it. There's a drug now called Invega that is supposed to be antimanic but my insurance won't cover it unless the Abilify is absolutely not working. I'm certain the copay would be ridiculous for it as well. I just wish I wasn't at the max dose for Abilify.

One would think these are ridiculous complaints given how wonderful things are for me right now, and they're pretty frigging good. I feel great. I have energy. I cleaned the chair rails the other day for God's sake. I think that if I could stay this way forever I'd be ecstatic, but I can't. At some point the pendulum will continue to swing, and I'm not entirely certain which way it'll go. 

Philadelphia Freedom

I miss Philly. And the Cheesboiger commercials from Hardees don't cut it.

When I was 15 years old I went to modeling school (do NOT laugh) and I took the Speedline into Philly each day of class by myself. Can you imagine in this day and age being allowed to go into a city that huge all by yourself at 15? I can't. Anyway, I wore my sneakers with my dresses and carried my heels in a bag the way all of the career women did, and I read the paper on the train. When I got into the city I would hit one of the street carts for a pretzel or maybe even an egg roll, and I would eat it on the way to class. On my way home I would sit on the train and feel very smug that I could handle the city so well.

When I was 18 years old I discovered South Street. Oh man. South Street. Clubs, restaurants, funky shops, everything you could want was on South Street. There was a place called Tuly's, which was a Mediterranean restaurant, and that's where I tried my first falafel and hummus. It's also where I tried my first stuffed grape leaves, on a dare from my then boyfriend, Mike. Actually it wasn't even a dare. I had expressed disinterest, and he called me pedestrian, and I sucked it up and ate one. I've been eating them ever since.

When I was 21 I used to hit an Italian restaurant over there, forgive me but I can't remember its name. I would order too much food and on the way home swing past this certain homeless guy and offer him my leftovers. He always took them. I went to see Neil Young twice when I was 21, and k.d. Lang once. I saw Tracy Chapman. I saw the Stray Cats. And I saw lots and lots of smaller bands, where I would get hammered and dance with the crowd. I always smelled of cigarettes and sweat when I left those bars, but it's a smell that I sometimes miss.

Philly smells like old shoes and cheese steaks and onions. It smells like carbon monoxide and dirty snow and pigeon shit. The people are actually nice, which I'm sure would surprise people who believe city dwellers are completely rude. Everyone was helpful to anyone who looked lost. And then of course there's the Phillies. The crack of the bat. The smell of the dirt. And the roar of the crowd. I have to mention that Philadelphia sports fans ARE the rudest on the planet, and the most hateful if their teams aren't doing well, but they do maintain a deep love just the same.

I miss Philly. And maybe when Livvie gets older I can go back.

Explanation

If you'd like an explanation of why my computer was linking to a dating site go Here.

It's utterly crazy. Sorry, I forgot to give you all the low down. Suffice it to say things are once again harmonious at Chez Julie.

And, um...

This has to stop.



Seriously, how gross is that? that's been since Friday.

Meds, The Ultimate Reminder

Thank God that I take daily meds. I'll tell you why. I would NEVER miss a day of my meds. Ok, I did once months ago, and that led me to taking them in the mornings, and that made things Much Better. What rocks about taking daily meds is that it reminds me to also take my birth control pill. And that is important.

I had a pregnancy scare last month, and when I say scare I don't mean that it was accepted that I might be preggo. It was absolutely terrifying. I wasn't on the pill at the time, and that led to the potential of being pregnant. Not good. It was excruciating to wait for AF, and I ended up using 5 tests just so I could see the blessed "negative" come up. Negative. For me one of the best things in the world.

Because you see, I have a kid, and I really don't want more. In this day of 3 being the new 2, the thought of having more than one is almost abominable to me. First of all, this one is a handful. She's been a handful since the day she was born, and I really don't see that changing as she grows up. Second of all, I really DID NOT like pregnancy. I know of women who absolutely loved being pregnant and enjoyed every minute of it, even the morning sickness, because they were carrying new life inside them. Well, I appreciated the fact that I was carrying new life, but not enough to enjoy the barfing, the joint pain, the constant contractions from week 36 until week 41. It was just awful for me, and the only part I enjoyed was the epidural. 

Everyone says that if I were to have another one everything could be different. The pregnancy itself, the temperament of the child, all of that. I am not willing to take that chance. I'm happy with my one, I don't honestly feel guilty that she'll never enjoy a sibling, and I also can't imagine growing my heart 2 sizes to include more than one. I'm a selfish person from the get go.

So thank heavens for daily meds reminding me to take my Pill. Even though I don't trust it. Maybe I should stock up on more tests after all. Gotta love "negative."

It's about Time

I talked about Clancy.

On January 3rd or thereabouts of 1991 I went into the shelter and was helping a friend adopt a cat we had brought in as a stray. A man brought in a huge blue carrier full of cats and kittens, and when I commented on it the staff member told me that he did this often, he was a habitual surrenderer, and that all of his cats were outside in dirt pens. I saw a tiny orange butt pressed against the back grate of the carrier, and I asked if there was an orange kitten inside. The staff member got him out, and Clancy walked into my life.

I adopted Clancy that day, and he was my companion, my soul mate through my entire adult life (I was 19 when I took him home). He was indoors only (although when he became ill and didn't move fast he sat with me on the gated deck when it was pleasant out…) He talked my head off, was demanding, was in charge of the entire menagerie in the house, and had the best strut in the world. In 2003 he was diagnosed diabetic, and was on insulin off and on for awhile. He was mostly regulated by diet. In 2005 he was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease, and in June they said he had months, not years, left to live.

On February 2nd of 2006 he died in my arms. The vet helped him cross the bridge, and it was one of the most special moments of my life. He was an amazing cat, and it was an honor to be with him when he left this world.

He was that ONE special cat for me, although I love all of them, he was the boy that tore my heart in two when he went, and the hole he left will never be filled.

So on February 2nd I had a Very Bad Day. I've also been having Very Bad Days since, remembering him, missing him, certain I can see him out of the corner of my eye. Every February will be difficult for me, and I know that.

I miss him desperately.

Into The West

Lay down, 

your sweet and weary head.

Night is falling. 

You have come to journey’s end.

Sleep now,and dream 

of the ones who came before.

They are calling, 

from across a distant shore.

Why do you weep? 

What are these tears upon your face?

Soon you will see.

All of your fears will pass away.

Safe in my arms, 

you’re only sleeping.

What can you see,

on the horizon?

Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea,

a pale moon rises.

The ships have come,

to carry you home.

And all will turn, 

to silver glass.

A light on the water.

All souls pass.

Hope fades,

Into the world of night.

Through shadows falling,

Out of memory and time.

Don’t say, 

We have come now to the end.

White shores are calling.

You and I will meet again.

And you’ll be here in my arms,

Just sleeping.

What can you see,

on the horizon?

Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea,

a pale moon rises.

The ships have come,

to carry you home.

And all will turn, 

to silver glass.

A light on the water.

Grey ships pass

Into the West.

Haiku

Bourbon and Coke, Yay.

You are the best thing ever.

Please refill my glass.

It's a Post about Nothing

Do you know what drives me absolutely bugshit? Hearing my dog chewing on her feet. Ginny chews on her own toenails, and I don't even have to trim them because she rips off the long ends and I find them on the floor. I'm sensing that with the new low shag rug I'm going to be stepping on their hard little points before I even see them.

I just told her to knock it off 4 times in the past 2 minutes. She's on a roll, obsessively chewing, chewing, chewing. It's going right through my ear drums and into my brain, which is not in good shape after the drunken blog debauchery of last night. Yes, I got drunk. I put Livvie to bed and hit the big jug of Jim Beam and started pouring the Coke Zeros. I hit the point of tipsy after drink number 3, and hit the point of blotto by drink number 6. I ended up IMing with a friend of mine, who was also rather lit, so that means we weren't drinking alone, right? Actually 2 of my friends were IMing while lit, and that means I had a party at my desk. Rich was drinking beer. Lightweight. :)

Ginny is now licking the baby gate. Awesome.

I love dogs but they're totally disgusting. Thankfully I don't have dogs that roll in nasty stuff in the yard, and that's good because I once found 2 dead turtles in the yard that Rich had accidentally hit with the lawnmower. Ginny was absolutely interested in them, but I had her on a leash and managed to keep her from eating them. And I'm absolutely sure she would have tried. Witness hot wing incident of 2007.

That's all for today. Have a great weekend everyone. And stay away from the bourbon and cokes.

Rug Update 2/22/08

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

It's nice under bare feet.

It's doing a perfectly wonderful job of pulling the room together. The new sofa goes with it rather well. Speaking of the new sofa, delivery went well. They did NOT in fact arrive while Livvie was napping, and the delivery men were super nice. They had THE COOLEST electronic signature device that actually LOOKED like my signature after I signed instead of some scrabble that a chimp would have done.

(By the way, have you determined that this is a rather ridiculous post to even have typed? You did? Then why are you still reading.? Go cook something. Or eat something. Triscuits with Easy Cheese is my recommendation. Not kidding. Try it.)

I'm ecstatic about the living room. It has a nice homey feel now that it really never had before. I feel like I'm surrounded by warmth just from the addition of a sofa and a rug. How is that even possible? It's cozy and comfortable here now, where before it seemed transitory, like we weren't ever planning on staying here. We're probably NOT planning on staying here, in fact, Hell No, but that doesn't mean we have to look like we live in a college dormitory.

Not to say that I'm unafraid to sit on the sofa. NO, I am VERY afraid. It's comfy, sure, but it's also Brand New and God forbid that anything happen to it. My thoughts, not Rich's. After all, it's Scotch Guarded. What could happen right? I'll tell you. Coke Zero stains. I know they say that liquids will roll right off, but do you know where they would go? Yeah. The rug.

Wondering when I would get back to the rug?

I love the rug. AHHHHHHHHHHH.

Sit Coms Ain't Funny

So I have a conundrum. Some of you might have seen a post I made last night that I unceremoniously deleted because I don't need folks in Dubai all up in my bidness. Well the post was rather angry, and I've calmed down since then, so I'm going to give you the basic gist of what went down at Chez Julie yesterday.

I had come in from having a cigarette and Rich asked me why I was enrolled in an online dating service. Yeah. Me. I told him I was not and he said that our computer logs said that I had been logging into one several times a day for several days. I reiterated that I did not belong to one. We both got very confused for awhile, because he had proof in black and white that I had been logging on, and I knew that I hadn't been.

So thanks to a brilliant idea from Nina, I showed him my cache history for the entire day ON my computer. No visits to online dating service. He felt better, I felt better, and things are in general getting better. However...

I need to know what the fuck is going on. It's virtually impossible for someone to sponge off of our wireless router because we have an incredibly secure block on it. The only thing we can think of is that I visited a page with an ad for said dating service on it and the ad was faulty and it's logging me in now. Because that's the thing, I AM logging in. My computer is, without my assistance, logging into this service with a username and password. Kinda weird huh?

Very weird. And spooky. And it also makes for a very violated feeling Julie. I remember ages ago someone had snagged my debit card info from online and used it to subscribe to an internet porn website. My ex got our bank statement and called the odd company listed and found out what it was. Asked me if for some reason I was looking at internet porn. I was stunned. The company in question was kind enough to refund the money that had been spent, and everything was A-Ok. Again, feelings of violation.

I'm sure that there has to be a simple explanation for all of this, but what it is escapes both myself and Rich. If you have any idea of how this could have happened, please shoot me a comment, because I am never going to feel alright about this until I know.

Have a Happy Friday everyone.

Interpretation

This is an interpretation my friend Michele did of the Devil's Thrift Store Dream. Enjoy.


You were in a place of opportunity and had people ready to help you. The ghoulish or ghostly appearance suggests to me that these people may simply be people from the past or spiritually connected people. The things you bought signify what you are looking for help with or what you need help with. The red satin corset – you carry a lot of anger around you, but your perception of it is not always in touch with reality or you are overly optimistic that you have a handle on it but really don’t. The ratty doll is your neglected relationships that you need to re-evaluate. The water-damaged children’s book carries a lot of messages… possibly that there’s knowledge that’s been presented to you but you haven’t absorbed it. Though the book didn’t offer this, my experience has been that pictures of the dead usually represent messages from our Ancestors. Knowledge from your Ancestors has been given to you but you didn’t absorb it, perhaps because your perception is warped by anger or fear.

The feeling of some “Thing” that is coming to prevent you from leaving may seem negative, but actually I think it represents that call to face your Truth, that call that seems to always come along to someone who says they want to be authentic; and the Goddess comes and hits you on the head with a two by four, and says “Wake up! Deal with that shit now or it’s just going to get worse!” Johnny Depp represents someone really important in your life, not just the general “helpful people” or Ancestors that have been trying to help you. But someone who really stands out in your life. This person is also trying to help you figure stuff out.

But, in the dream you run away from the helpful people, the stuff you need help with, the opportunities and you run back to the place you think is home. But it’s not the home you recognize. It lacks walls and ceiling… no boundaries or limits. It lacks windows but has curtains… your perception is dulled there, you are in denial. It’s messy like a bomb went off… and you are in mental or emotional confusion while there. In other words, you’ve run away to your innerscape (your mind?), trying to medicate with coffee. You find the book which is the message that what you ran from is still there to help you but now that you ran away, YOU have to be the one to seek out the help since you left it behind. The “thing” is coming and you know deep inside that no amount of running can keep you from facing the issues that you’ve been carrying around (acceptance of the Thing coming) yet you are afraid because you realize that this Thing represents a shake up that is coming, and no one likes to face issues and have their life shaken up, even if in the long run its a positive thing.

So the dream is offering you an opportunity to accept the aid that was in the store/market, otherwise you’ll have to deal with the issues you need to work on in a state of lowered mental function and alone… not the ideal situation!

Ouch Part 2

Yesterday we put a rug down that Rich bought. It's an absolutely lovely rug, and he has very good taste. Good job Rich. Anyway, in order to do so we had to move the recliner to the other side of the room, and that required moving it twice. To do that I had to squat and lift with my legs. Do you see where this is going? If not, let me tell you that my thighs hurt so badly today I might as well have bicycled 10 miles. So ow. I'm going to have to stretch today.

Not much happening here except my mania is subsiding. This is a good thing, although I'm worried that I'm going to swing too hard the other way. I simply don't trust my meds yet. My anxiety seems to have lessened though, as I went to the grocery store yesterday with only the slightest tinge of a feeling that something awful would happen on the short ride. Yeah, I figured out that's what's going on. I've been absolutely terrified that while driving some asshat would run a stoplight or somesuch and completely destroy our lives forever. If I leave Livvie home with Rich to run errands I have no anxiety at all. When I put her in the Jeep, however, well I'm just a nervous wreck. And that's ridiculous.

I can't stand feeling this way. And I don't just mean the anxiety. I hate having to be on meds for the rest of my life, and I REALLY hate knowing that if I don't take them I could ruin everything I have. Rich and I had some very bad times before I saw the doctor last April. Yes, it's been almost a year since I took my ass to the headologist to fix everything. Not everything was fixed, obviously, as the chemistry experiment (as Nina calls it) had to be tweaked constantly until we found what worked. During the tweaking I was swinging this way and that, and often exploding with rage for absolutely stupid reasons. I'm still experiencing rage when for instance my dog Emma won't pee when I take her out. Rich shakes his head at that, and he thinks I'm silly for getting so mad, and frankly I am. How useless is it to get angry over such a little thing? SO angry that if I weren't on meds I'd be tempted to tear the dog's head off. Rich can tell when my meds aren't working to their full potential, and he watches me like a hawk. I actually appreciate this about him, because he's honest enough to tell me when shit ain't working and I need to get a grip.

So I'm going to trust him right now to watch me and tell me if I'm starting to get depressed. And if my posts start to get too maudlin I'm going to trust all of you too, because I know you're honest as well. I hope that doesn't happen. I hope the chemistry experiment is finished.

Ouch

Today's absolutely pointless post:

I am sore today. Yesterday since Rich was home from work we decided to get the living room ready for the arrival of the sofa on Thursday. This required removing the current futon and moving it into the office and also moving the rug into the office. Suffice it to say that when you have to fold a futon out into bed position and heft it through the hallway, turning it ever so slightly, oh no, that's too much turning, back up back up! Ok try again, yeah, there we go, sorry about your hand... well, it isn't much fun.

The knucklehead thing we did was we forgot to put the rug down first. So off we went into the office with the rug only to realize that we now had to lift the futon while applying the rug to the floor. Yeah, we're brilliant.

The room does look nice now. It's clean and crisp and has the look of an office instead of a garbage can, and the futon really adds something. I told Rich that he can now lie down while he works from home and he rolled his eyes at me. It seemed like a fine idea to me. His new chair really pulls the room together. The fabric, although a different color, is the same as the futon cover and it actually looks like something of a set. Maybe we're starting to grow up and have decent furniture. Of course, until the sofa arrives I am the one using the kitchen chair at my computer, which is hard on the ass and the back. Which I don't need after the futon moving incident.

Yes, I had a weird dream last night. In it I was at the doctor's office and my old doctor was there, having not retired. While he was talking to me we noticed out the window that a giant blue skeleton man was tromping on downtown, picking up people and animals and eating them on the way. Cars were rushing everywhere to get away, and we both ran out into the parking lot like stupid idiots. We looked up and the creepy fuck was getting closer. So we both got into the doctor's car and attempted escape. I woke up shortly after this, so I'm not sure if someone like the SWAT team was able to bring him down, but I imagine not as he looked pretty impermeable. He almost looked mechanical.

I love the impending full moon. My dreams are just so fucked up.

The Devil's Thrift Store

That's where I basically was in my dream last night. Although it was more like a flea market set up. There was lots of stuff outside, hanging from trees, while ghoulish people wove in and out of the displays waiting to see if I needed help. During this little shopping excursion I purchased a red satin corset for $12.99, a ratty looking doll for $4, and a children's book that was warped from dampness and had pictures of the dead in it for .79. I was absurdly happy with my score, and I remember not being able to wait to get home. Home was not to be soon though, as while I was there some "thing" decided to make sure none of us left. Oddly, or not so oddly, Johnny Depp showed up, and while he was attempting to figure out was was going on I left my purchases behind and scurried over a wall to escape. Leaving the purchases seemed the prudent thing to do.

When I got to my home (an apartment without kid and husband) there were no walls. The entire thing was open to the sky and it looked as if someone had set off a bomb. This did not seem odd to me, and even though the curtains were blowing in the breeze (how there were curtains with no windows is beyond me), I settled in to find myself a cup of coffee and found the book I thought I had left behind. I turned toward the open walls and knew the "thing" was coming to get it. Johnny Depp was nowhere to be seen. I had 5. 4. 3. 2. 1 seconds... and then I woke up.

So I can see some things in here that make sense. Manic but thrifty. Searching for bargains. Johnny Depp. It was very Tim Burton in appearance. I'm not certain, however, what the "thing" was. Rage? The Crazies? Buyers remorse? Not any part of me at all? Whatever it was I was filled with terror as well as acceptance that it was on its way, and that to me is disturbing. I always thought I would fight a threat.

Yippee Ki Yay

and you know the rest...




Tomorrow Rich and I are taking even more of the tax money and attempting to find a rug and a chair. The rug is for the living room. To pull the whole room together. The chair is for the office, because he's currently sitting on a kitchen chair in there and it's killing his back.

Money. Spending money. Ah man, it's a good thing he's doing the spending right now because being somewhat manic right now I could seriously outspend him in a heartbeat.

I want a new Macbook Air. Yes I do. If I had had my druthers the entire federal refund would have been spent on one. I shit you not, I saw that thing in the commercial come sliding out of the interoffice envelope and I just about wet my pants. Rich calls it Julie Porn. He's probably right. I could go into an Apple store and drop literally $5k without even blinking an eye.

I got my "allowance" on Friday and it's sitting in my bank account. What will it be used for you ask? Well...

Dog food
Cat food
Heartworm Preventative
Frontline Flea & Tick Preventative (I saw a seed tick today. In February. Whatever.)
Car Insurance
Smokes

I might end up having to bump the car insurance back 2 weeks, as I'm not sure how much the Frontline will cost. Exciting times, huh folks? None of this spending is enough to satisfy my mania. I'm three heartbeats away from going on eBay and buying Season One of Buffy. Yes, yes I am. Why is Season One worth it? Well because of exposition. You need Season One to enjoy the rest, even though the makeup and clothes are pretty bad. Trust me on this. Oh, and if you've never seen Buffy, do so post haste. I guarantee you'll be hooked.

Richard Belzer...

...was in my dream last night. NO, it was most assuredly not one of THOSE dreams. In my dream we were in Canada on a tour attempting to figure out how to stay without getting caught and booted back home. This is what you get for watching CNN right before bed. The strangest part of the dream was that we were riding in motorized buckets with hand brakes. They were about the same size as oil drums.

Now that we got that out of the way, and you know that I'm absolutely batshit, why doesn't everyone introduce themselves? You can leave comments after this post to let me know who you are, how you found my blog, what you think of it etc (and you don't even have to be nice...). Even if you have no Blogger account you can leave a comment under Anonymous or under your name or alias. My spider senses (and sitemeter) tell me that there are tons of you out there reading me every day. If you're too shy to pop in though I totally understand. I'm rather shy myself (shut up Xris).

And I also need to include a message to Ted, owner of Galileo's Mathbook... I noticed that you de-favorited me from your blog. How rude of you. After I spent the best years of my life slaving under your management, made you extra stuffing every holiday, and dragged my ass out with you when you wanted to go shopping, you go and do that. My heart is broken. It truly is.

The Twelve Days of Smoking

On the first day of smoking my true love gave to me... mild COPD...



Ok, maybe not, but you gotta admit that it's not good for you. Hell, it might be one of THE worst things for you ever. I have 12 days left in which to smoke, before I hopefully quit for good. This might not go well, as the only time in the past I was able to quit was when I was 22 years old and had bronchitis so bad it bordered on pneumonia. Problem is... I'm not ready to quit yet. I've tried many things, books, gum, the patch, but nothing makes me WANT to quit. I'm sure you've heard smokers refer to cigarettes as their "friends." Well, in some ways it's true.

I had quit for 6 years back then, and each and every day I wanted another cigarette. I told my mother at one point that if I was ever diagnosed with a terminal disease the first thing I would do would be to go out and buy a carton. Once a smoker, always a smoker? Hell yes. I remember going out to bars and sitting beside smokers so I could secondhand off of them like crazy. I'd stand downwind from smokers outside at work. And every once in awhile I would bum a drag off of someone. Just one, which was like the tease of getting a dozen clams instead of oh say, 50.

I started smoking again as a way to self medicate against the increasing symptoms of BiPolar Disorder. I was 28. One would think that at 28 years old a person would be smart enough not to restart a deadly habit. Not so. Things were Very Bad at that time in my life, and I needed the help of an old friend. The first pack almost killed me, but I pushed through it, buying a second pack, and then a third, until I was once again a practicing smoker.

I even smoked while I was pregnant. Yep, I did. I smoked 3-5 cigarettes a day, never in the car, never at work, only at home. You'd think that I'd be able to quit smoking to protect a child growing inside me, wouldn't you? I had always thought so too. But then, I also couldn't give up one cup of coffee each morning either. Oh, and I also ate lunch meat. But these are tales for reasons I should go to mommy hell, and not about the topic at hand. So...

I have to quit. It's no longer about me. I might not have protected her from carbon monoxide in the womb, but it's my duty to make sure she has a mother. Smoking killed my father at the age of 47. I was 11 years old. I'm sure you're wondering how I could have even picked up a cigarette in the first place after experiencing that. I wonder too. 25 years ago this past January he died, and my life was never as it should have been.

Reasons to quit:

Livvie
Cost
Health

So, I bought a carton yesterday, and will probably when this one runs out as well. I plan to enjoy each and every cigarette until the 29th. Smoking mindfully if you will. I'll treasure each nicotine receptor in my head opening up to let that lovely chemical in, and I'll relish the filling of my lungs with smoke. I'll make sure each smoke is a ritual, the snap of the lighter, the inhale, the tapping of the ash. And then on the 29th I'll say goodbye to a friend who has helped me for years, even though it was a backstabbing sonofabitch. And hopefully I can say goodbye for good.

Sorry to be a Bummer

But...Too many of my friends are having shit lives. Hell, I'm having something of a shit life, but comparatively speaking I can't complain.

I know TWO people on the verge of bankruptcy right now. Two. How does this happen to people who work hard and pay their bills and try to make a living? I can understand people who run up a ton of debt with no compunctions at all. What I can't understand is how people get to the point of having to live on credit just to survive. It's unfair that something called The Working Poor even exists. Obviously.

I know 3 people who hate their jobs so badly that they're contemplating throwing away their current lives and starting over. Perhaps even by moving away from their current homes. One is considering France. Another is considering Bumfuck USA. I'm not certain where the third wants to go, because I haven't asked. I do know that if these people moved so far away I would be heartbroken as it would mean I would probably never see them again, but that's my problem, not theirs.

Three of these people are having the worst luck that you can possibly imagine. Constant outflow of cash with none coming in, deaths, you name it, they're dealing with it. And I don't understand how all of this is happening in the space of a few months. Some of it has been going on for years. I had thought 2008 would be better, but for many of my friends it is not.

For a lot of these things problems could be solved if I could simply manage to win a $350 million dollar lottery. Everyone I know would be set for life. A lot of these problems can't be managed with money, and those are the ones that make me feel helpless.

So if I start complaining about my meds, or lack thereof, If I start wanking about something stupid like my husband buying furniture in the middle of the night, or the fact that my child only took a 50 min nap, feel free to slap me senseless. Because in the grand scheme, that ain't nothing.

Well...

Here goes part of our tax refund. Instead of paying a few bills off Rich bought this online last night:



How does one buy a sofa online without determining whether or not it is comfortable you ask? Well apparently you just ask your wife if she likes it, she says yes, and then after she goes to bed you whip out your debit card and place the order. It's going to be here on Thursday. He says it can come in through the kitchen. I doubt that highly. So at some point on Thursday I have to hope and pray that the delivery men don't show up during Livvie's nap and wake her up banging around the kitchen doorway.

His argument as to the level of comfort? He says that it has to be more comfortable than our current futon. He's probably correct. I still wish we had been able to test it out though.

In other news, my meds certainly didn't help yesterday as Livvie only slept for 30 minutes in the morning and then not at all in the afternoon. To avoid potentially screaming at her I left her in her crib for TWO hours while I ignored the crying and squealing. Two hours. In that time I did nothing except lie down with a pillow over my ears, give up on that, talk to my friend Jennifer on IM, and go outside and smoke. I was at the end of my rope. I ended up putting her down at 6pm and going to bed myself at 730 because I just wanted the day to fucking end.

Oh, also, I haven't gotten on the scale in a week or two. Did you know that substituting cigarettes for food can cause you to lose 9 pounds without really meaning to try? I just found that out. Hey, maybe I can end up svelte again. Oh wait, there's the whole quitting and all...

PS...

What I should be doing today:



What I AM doing today:



And drinking beer and smoking. Nothing like blowing off a whole day.

Oops

Ok, so being off meds for 2 days did in fact do something. This morning when I was changing Livvie's diaper she wouldn't stop moving her legs. Annoying, right? Not to me. In the front of my head, just above my right eyebrow, I felt a tingle of rage. The kind of rage where if she hadn't been half naked with the potential to pee on the sofa I would have walked away to get away from it. Otherwise, well, you know... I had to do what I always have to do: pretend someone else is in the situation and I'm just standing by watching.

In retrospect the mania must have been building for quite awhile. I'm assuming the skipped dosages just bumped me over. There can be no other rational reason for smoking a pack to a pack and a half of cigarettes a day when prior I had been smoking 10-15. There can also be no other reason for the copious writing output of the past several days, and yes, Xris, that means I am in fact cheating. Unfair advantage and all that. I also applied full makeup yesterday and polished my nails compulsively. There was no logical reason for this as I wasn't going anywhere at all. I can handle those things. The smoking isn't great, but it only hurts me. The impending rages however, well, that's another story isn't it?

There is a drug called Zyprexa. It's an anti-psychotic primarily used for emergency situations. I'm not sure I've reached the klaxon levels of Code Red yet, so I'll hold off on calling my doctor. I also can't afford it, as once again the copay is $40 and I have no money until tomorrow.

So I'm at a loss for how to get through the rest of the day. I took my meds. Good deal. I guess I'll continue to self-medicate with nicotine until the drugs finally start doing their job again. I also have Lithium on stand-by in my cabinet, which I had stopped taking because I couldn't handle the tremors anymore. Maybe it's time to really take a step back and determine what's more important. Avoiding shaking hands or avoiding harming my child for some stupid small reason. In fact, maybe I'll take one.

I'd really like to avoid the point of breaking things again.

I am sad

It's Valentine's Day and I am sad. Not because I don't have a Valentine, after all, I would assume Rich is a de facto Valentine being the Official Man Unit and all. And I'm not sad because we agreed on No Gifts this year (my idea, and if he shows up with a gift and a card I will be uber pissed). I am sad because back in the day my Valentine's Days were spent getting rowdy with a bunch of gals in a bar, drinking, smoking, and listening to Patsy Cline on the juke box. This tradition began in 1992, when I was 21 and legal, and ended in 1995 when I moved down here to NC.

This started of course when none of us had boyfriends, and it continued even with boyfriends. They were not invited of course. It was wonderful to sit in a smoky bar with pitchers of draft beer and hot wings or pizza, pumping dollar bills into the box to hear "Crazy" or "Walking after Midnight," which of course guaranteed that no man would approach us. Sometimes we threw k.d. Lang into the mix, which was a SUREFIRE way to avoid the male animal. We drank and laughed and had such fun that we needed to walk home. Luckily the bar (The Manor Bar, to be exact) didn't seem to mind cars being left in the parking lot overnight. And it was absolutely lovely to have a bar within walking distance of home.

I'm not reminiscing because I'm married and have a kid. I have missed these days since Valentine's Day of 1996 when I was down here with the Ex and he bought me a garlic press as a gift. Granted, I had mentioned I wanted one, and it WAS red, but something lacked that year. Is it called Sisterhood these days?

I miss girlfriends. I have one in my area these days, but our lives are utterly different now and she is busy and of course so am I. There's something about a pack of women descending upon a pile of fun that just can't be substituted by any Instant messaging, any chat room, and any message board. I know many women these days that I would give ANYTHING to get rowdy with, but they're many miles away. If I won the lottery I'd fly each and every one of them to Oaklyn, NJ, and we'd hit The Manor Bar for lousy pizza and good beer. We'd take up the entire booth in front of the projection TV, and we'd have a stack of dollar bills to shove into that juke box. We'd leer at men and then snub them if they even attempted to make contact. And we'd have a ball.

Maybe my mom could even drive us home. Or maybe we could talk her into joining the pack.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

$113

That's how much it will cost me today to refill all of my meds. I've been off my meds for 2 days because we were dirt broke. Nothing terrible has happened though, which is good. I'm assuming there's a half life there that helps out for a few days.

Of course, I did realize yesterday that I was self medicating with an entire bottle of wine plus a beer. Wine is funny for me. It gets me drunk. Why is that funny? Because I can drink 4-5 bourbon and cokes PLUS 3 beers and not feel a thing. By my second glass of wine I'm ready to dance on a table while people throw french fries at me.

Our state refund was deposited last night which is the only reason I can even afford my meds. Otherwise I was going to have to wait until Friday, by which time something terrible could have absolutely happened. And by terrible I mean things like spending money in my account that I don't have and going overdraft, which would then earn me penalties of $35 per transaction. My mother once deposited $300 in my account and when she got the deposit slip back it said that I had $46 in my account. She was PISSED. And yes, twice a month I receive an allowance from my mother. She does this so that I can have my "inheritance" while she's alive to see it making a difference. Whatever her reasons, it's the only way we could survive some months.

I need to see my shrink sometime in the next month because I completely skipped my December appointment with her. She was kind enough to speak to me on the phone at no charge, and what struck me about that is that the call lasted approximately 4 minutes. I usually have a 15 minute "medication management" appointment with her every 3 months, and those cost me $68. I had expected to be charged for the phone call, but she took pity on me and made sure I had refills called in and also took my word for it that things were going ok. I think she usually relies on the way I behave in her office to see if I need my meds uppped or downed. I don't want to go to the next appointment since my management apparently requires less than a 5 minute conversation, but I guess I must. I'm not certain that my Lamictal is working to its full extent as I have had panic attacks surrounding leaving the house on a regular basis. I'd like a scrip for Xanax, but generally shrinks won't prescribe it often as it's about as addictive as heroin. Or cigarettes. Which leads me to discuss...

I smoked 26 cigarettes one day last week. Yes, 26. I also think this is related to anxiety and panic, but it needs to stop. So please if you can wish me stop smoking vibes. I've picked February 29th to quit, and this time I'm going cold turkey since the patch seems to not help at all.

That's it for today. I'll catch you all tomorrow.

One more thing...

Today my shopping list for the grocery store is thus:

Chick'N Nuggets
Monistat
Low Dose Asprin

What's the oddest shopping list you ever had?

Can you point your fingers and do the twist?

Can you stand on one foot and shake your hands?

So I've decided that since I'm woefully out of shape I would start exercising. I hate exercising. I LOVE working hard in the garden or in the house, getting a workout in that way, but using a piece of equipment? Bah. During Rich's vacation last month the weather was beautiful and I decided to start. All of our exercise equipment is out on the deck under a gazebo we refer to as "the Gym." So on the first day I got through 2 songs on the elliptical machine. The second day 4. Then the last day (yes, last day) I got through 3. I have shin splints. Goddamn they hurt. My friend Nina says to push through them and they'll get better. I think she's insane. If they made epidurals for exercising maybe...

So that brings me to the Twist. The Wiggles. Yes, this is actually another post about The Wiggles. You see, their music is specifically designed to help children with their gross motor skills. This means that most of their songs have dances that go with them. Very um, wiggly dances. One of the Wiggles is named Anthony, and he's a colossal spaz. For each dance he moves like he's being stuck with a cattle prod. Which brings me to my new exercise regimen. Livvie and I watch the Wiggles. A song comes on with a dance (Can you point your fingers and do the twist?), and I make every attempt I can to move like Anthony. So I do point my fingers and twist. I stand on one foot and shake my hands. I boot scoot. I do the Wiggle Groove. I Rockabye my Bear. And I have a blast. Livvie finds it hilarious, especially if I'm singing along, and I'm hoping one day she'll be moving along with me. Because damn, Anthony. We're talking some serious cardio.

Dog Shit and Favorite Mugs

Yes. Dog shit. This morning Rich and I woke up at the same time. One would think that was a good thing because it meant Rich wouldn't be THAT late for work. And in a normal household, that would be correct. But you see, as I'm sure I have mentioned before, I NEED to get up first so that I can check the kitchen for dog shit. And this morning, as Rich was putting on his robe, I FLEW out of the room and into the kitchen to find... dog shit. Thanks Emma. So while Rich was getting Livvie out of bed I sped over to the stash of plastic grocery bags and grabbed up the dog shit and threw it in the garbage in approximately 3.5 seconds. This prevented Rich from discovering the transgression and killing the culprit involved. However, I have not been speaking to said culprit all day. Hey, why should I?

As for the second transgression this morning... well, Rich used one of my two favorite mugs. I have a kitty cat mug and a Maryland crab mug. The kitty cat mug was in the dishwasher. Rich came out of the kitchen with MY mug in his hands. I froze. I said, "HEY. That's my mug!" He said, "It's A mug." I then had to go into the cabinet and find a mug that I could tolerate. It ended up being an X-Files mug that had once been my favorite but has been cast aside since the acquisition of kitty cat and crabs. My coffee then tasted meh.

I am pathetic.

(For those wondering, the order of mugs goes like this:

Kitty Cat
Crabs
Bats
X-Files
X-Files 2
Taurus
Chessie Systems
Halloween Cat
Animaniacs

All others are free and clear for Rich to use.)