3/14/10 - Daylight Savings Time

I despise daylight savings time. Truly abhor it. It was easier to sort of ignore its existence when I was younger or even just before I had kids. Now however, it totally screws up everything. Does it make it a bit easier for the kids when it occurs on a weekend (does it always occur on a weekend?). But it seriously messes with me. Because weekends are when I get to sleep in. So I let myself stay up later. Especially when I’m totally sucked into a book and I just do not want to put it down, thinking I’ve got another hour or so to read before it’s just too late because I’m pregnant and always tired anyway. And then I remember that because of the time change, it’s actually already too late and I need to get my happy ass to bed. So yeah, I stayed up too late, way too late. In fact I fell asleep on the couch, awoke at 3am and after peeling my drool pasted cheek from the pages of said book, wondered why I wasn’t in my bed.

All of this with me thinking, well it is Saturday night. Even if I do stay up too late, I’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow and catch up. Except for frigging daylight savings time stole an hour from me. Forcing me to get up well before I was ready because it’s just not decent for a mother of two to still be in bed at 10am (especially when it’s actually 11am). The Boy looked at me like I was on crack when 7pm rolled around and I said it was time for bed because his internal clock ain’t no dummy and told him it was too early to go to sleep.

I mean, yes, we get more light in the afternoons. But I find it far more depressing to wake up when it’s still dark than I do to be eating dinner in the dark. I know that will change in a couple of months, but I’d rather just let time alone and have light when we have it than do this time tug-of-war every fall and spring. Seriously.

Karmic Bone to Pick

Alright. I’ve a bone to pick with karma. Everything from the fact that we finally get a string of sunny days and I’m stuck inside with sick kids. To the fact that my dad is going downhill fast according to my mom and I’ve got sick kids so therefore cannot go to NM to be with him. Oh and there was the whole we paid off my husband’s car and then he got into a car accident less than 24 hours after we paid the sucker off. There’s the biggie of my dad dying of course. And to top it all off, my dog died. Seriously?!? What’s this all about?

I’ve been working my ass off for the past 18 months to grow as a person in pretty much every conceivable way. I’ve been doing everything I know how to do to take care of my family and make it stronger. I’ve been pushing and learning and just doing what needs to be done in order to be a better person all the way around. And instead of even just getting a breather, the universe just keeps piling more crap on my plate (and the plates of the people I love now that you mention it).

I just don’t get it. Is the universe on a broadly sweeping war path these days? Between the earthquakes and tsunamis, the shootings, the financial issues, the health crises and on and on it feels like one big tragic swath is being cut through the world. Indiscriminate in its path and showing no mercy.

There’s a part of me that wants to climb atop of the tallest mountain and scream at the powers that be to knock it the hell off already. There’s another part of me that just wants to curl up in a ball and cry. Then there’s a part of me that is continually grateful for the chance to keep learning. Grateful that I’m being forced to keep expanding in my being, because at this point I would b relishing in full-on sloth-hood because I’m so bone tired. Granted I think that grateful part of me is a wee bit on the crazy side. But still.

The Mess That I Am

So I have this anger. This anger that I keep expecting to start dissipating as the time goes by. This anger that I’ve been diligently trying to just let be in the hopes that it would burn itself out. Here’s the problem though, it turns out when you “diligently” try to do something, you’re not actually just letting it be, are you?

So, here’s the truth. I am angry. I’m so angry I can hardly see straight. I’m angry that my father is dying. I’m angry that my father will not let me in during this time of grief and ending. I’m angry that he won’t let me help him find the answers he’s craving so that he can have some peace in whatever time he has left. When this diagnosis first happened, it brought my dad back to me. He was present and honest and actively choosing to bring me into his process. Now he’s gone back to sitting still again, in the worst possible way. There’s no peace or growth in this sitting still. Or at least there doesn’t appear to be any, but I wouldn’t really know for sure because he won’t, you know, let me in.

And I’m angry because everyone just expects me to understand. My dad expects me to take care of my family and that’s it. My mom expects me to just let them both do whatever they want exclusive of my place in this family. Our oldest family friends expect me to sit back and just understand. I do not understand. I do not understand how it’s ok to shove your only daughter away from you when you’re dying under the guise of wanting me to take care of my “own family.” What the hell is that?!? My parents aren’t my family?

To be honest I’m tired of understanding. I’m tired of walking on eggshells. I’m tired of pretending like everything is ok. I’m tired of acting as if my feelings about my father dying don’t actually matter.

I want permission to be angry. I want permission to fall apart. I want permission to be the mess that I am.

The angry, tired mess that I am.

Stuck

I wrestled with this week’s story all day long. I am not even kidding. I started completely over three times. I’ve just got this idea, from another dream I had, that I can see and feel so clearly and I cannot figure out how to translate it into the story that it already is. I feel like I am trying to compose in a different language or something, that’s the kind of disconnect I’ve got going on. I am fairly sure that I’m totally over thinking the whole thing and thus making it much more complicated than it actually needs to be. And I think I’ve got myself in some kind of self sabotage brain loop to boot, i.e. the genre that this particular story falls in is way out of my typical comfort zone, so because I don’t know this genre very well it makes sense that I can’t find my voice within it. And while I think there is probably something to that theory, I also think it is a big mind fuck to explain my inability to write the way I want to. Either way, it’s infuriating. The good news is that I finally finished a draft that I didn’t want to immediately erase. The bad news is that there is a very good chance that I will wake up tomorrow, re-read it and immediately want to erase all of it. Which means I would be starting all over again on the day of my deadline. It’s all quite maddening really.

But I am going to try to put my mind down and walk away before I re-read it tomorrow and hopefully I’ll be able to lend an objective eye to the piece and either know there are big problems with it, fix what I can and publish it anyway or just give up and publish it anyway. Either way, I will be publishing something tomorrow. I just hope I don’t cringe when I do it.

There are 48 more stories to tell this year, I’m sure this will not be the last time I get stuck, I just hope I figure out how to deal with it better the next time.

12/19/09 - Flat Tire

I woke up this morning with a headache. But determined not to let it drag me down because my husband and The Boy were on their way. My husband was dead set on leaving the house at the ass crack of dawn so that they could get down here with as much time to hang out as possible since my husband has to leave tomorrow and be back at work on Monday. So I spent the morning planning dinner and getting ready for them to arrive.

Just as I was starting to get antsy as the time I thought they’d pull into the driveway crept closed and closer, the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, but I answered it anyway. And it’s a damn good thing I did. Because it was a strange woman calling to tell me that my husband had a flat tire and was stuck on the side of the road with no way to change his tire. Seriously?!?!?

So I brushed my teeth, put on a bandana and walked out the door to go scour the highway in search of my husband and The Boy. At least I still had my book on tape to listen to as I eyed the sides of the road.

I came up them surprisingly fast and figured out that he couldn’t get his tired off and the spare on because the new wheels he had bought last year came with locking lug nuts and the tire store had never given him the key to unlock them. Seriously?!? So into town we drove in search of said key. After trying a couple of different places we finally found one and back out to the highway we went. At this point we knew we’d never make it to the tire store on time to get a new tire so we just headed back to my parents’ house.

We decided that my husband would drive my car home tomorrow and I’d get his tired fixed this week before he came back for Christmas. Sounds like a great plan right? Except for one thing. He didn’t leave me the key to his car. Seriously?!?!

11/13/09 - Growly

I have always referred to where my parents live as Jabuti, New Mexico. The closest town with a real grocery store is 30 minutes away and it is a thriving metropolis of about 5,000 people or so. There is a larger town another 30 or so minutes beyond that, but to say that it possesses significant civilization and/or culture is to dramatically overstate.

I have never really understood the appeal of the area. Yes the rocks are pretty. But it’s unbelievably hot in the summer, it’s infuriatingly windy in the fall and spring and it still snows in the winter. I don’t get why you would choose to live in the high plains desert and still have to put up with snow in the winter. If anything, the weather closely resembles the weather here in Colorado just more extreme. And it’s always dry as all get out, no matter what the weather is doing. It’s just not a very hospitable place to live my humble opinion.

Their house is at least an hour away from the nearest hospital. They don’t get cell service at their house. Their only option for internet service is either slower than dirt dial up or uber-expensive satellite. They lose power and phone service all the time because of the myriad of weather conditions. There is no middle class; the entire population is either over the top rich or just barely scraping by poor.

And now I get it even less.

Because with everything happening with my dad’s health right now, we have to wait until Monday for them to do the bronchoscopy and biopsy because the hospital doesn’t have the staff available for the procedure during the weekends. I dare not think about what would happen if someone came in an emergent situation needing a procedure that they don’t happen to have staff for on the weekend. “Feel free to live here and enjoy the scenery; just don’t get sick on a weekend.”

The waiting is driving me crazy. I hate waiting. I thrive on information and what the doctor’s are giving me right now is the furthest thing from useful information. If I could growl right now, I would.

This? This is a Vent

I woke up crabbier than crabby this morning so today’s post is just one big ‘ol vent session. I was going to vent on Facebook and then remembered that today is Veteran’s Day and felt like a big ‘ol selfish person for wanting to vent instead of thanking all the soldiers past, present and future. So you get it instead. Feel free to just come back tomorrow.

The children don’t have school today and I would love to take them to Denver and go the Natural History Museum or the Children’s Museum or go out for a fun lunch at one of their favorite places. But I can’t do any of that. I can’t drive to Denver because I have to conserve gas. I can’t even take them to McDonald’s for lunch let alone Fargo’s or Chuck E. Cheese. I can’t really do anything with them today because we have no fucking money.

I’ve tried really hard to stay positive about this whole financial crisis that we’re in. I’ve tried really hard to keep it all in perspective and know that it’s for the best and will give us a chance at real stability instead of credit card funded illusion. I’ve struggled to keep the bitterness at bay by taking responsibility for my actions while not laying a gigantic morass of guilt around my neck. I’ve done all of these things every day since we first realized that bankruptcy was our only option.

But today? Today I am angry and bitter and guilty. Because I manage the money in this house and I am apparently so good at it that I managed us right into near complete financial ruin. I so want to take my sweet children and do something fun and frivolous today and I can’t because I fucked up. And that feels pretty awful. And that’s not even touching the guilt that floods if I consider what would happen if one of the cars broke down or our heater went out.

Today I want to throw a huge, out of control temper tantrum about the whole thing and go to Starbuck’s on the way to Red Robin. But I can’t. And that sucks.

10/6/09 - Football Gripe

**Sorry this is late (man I seem to be saying that alot lately), but something nasty put me on the couch yesterday and I am still there, much whining is sure to ensue.**

I love playing fantasy football. I really love it. I mean yes, I gripe occasionally that it takes more time than I have to really do good research. Or that the networks never play the games I want to watch so I can see players in action that I’ve had my eye on. But mostly, I love it.

Except for one thing.

The all girls league I have always played in added more players this year and I do not love playing in a 12 player deep league. I do not enjoy doing all of my weekly research only to find that the other players apparently read faster than I do or have some other mind-meldish type tie to Matthew Berry and have already picked up EVERY single player I was going to add to my team. Having that many players in a league really means you have to dig deep to find substitutes on bye weeks or to swap out hurt players or flat get rid of players who just are not performing. Consequently, this year is taking a lot more time than I am used to.

I am fully aware that my latitude for griping is slim because I am the two-time defending champion of my league (notice how nonchalantly I threw that in there this time?). That really I need to stop the bitching and just suck it up. But seriously, I am totally frigging frustrated at the moment. Not to mention that I’m not entirely happy with my ranking or current record.

By this time in the NFL season, there are typically standouts. Players who are consistently producing, rookies who have emerged as go-to’s for their quarterbacks. Overall dominant players in one way or another. But here’s the frustrating part. Every time I get me one of those dominant players, they get hurt or they all of sudden stop producing. So back to the drawing board I go in hopes of finding someone new that will fit the bill. And I’ve gotten lucky a couple of times, but mostly, I have just found more frustration.

It appears that I am really going to have work it to earn my third championship.

Rain, Rain...

I really love the rain. I love to play in it. I love the clean smell it leaves behind. I love how it can cool even the warmest of summer nights. I love waking up the next day after a rainstorm and seeing how green and alive everything is. I love the sound of it against the windows and skylight in our bathroom. I love the rain; it makes me all cozy and introspective. I really think I should live in the Pacific Northwest I love the rain so much.

And we had the mother of all rain storms last night. It let loose just after we finally got the kids to bed with its wind and hail and rivers of water flowing off our roof. And it continued for most of the night with that level of intensity. But for whatever reason, being all wound up about not getting this job or worrying about The Girl or thinking about what I was going to do next or whatever, in conjunction with the severity of this particular rain storm, I suddenly found myself really, really irritated with the rain.

Irritated that whoever designed our house directed the second level gutter drainage right at the front door so it leaks and is slowly sinking into our doorstep. Irritated that the soft pitter patter that usually emanates from rain drops hitting our skylight turned into a loud, obnoxious din, thus keeping me awake for half the night. Irritated that today my internet and phone service are all screwed up, and yes, I am blaming it on the rain. Irritated that our recently clean dogs are now caked with mud and matted fur.

I’m well aware that I may very well be playing the rain for a scapegoat. That all of this irritation and lack of sleep could very well have nothing to do with the rain and much more to do with being disappointed, nervous and out of answers.

But regardless of whether the rain is simply an innocent bystander or a tangible illustration of my own mind state, if it’s going to stick around, I wish it would wash away the irritation while it’s at it.

8/15/09 - Frustra-shon

The Girl and I didn’t go anywhere yesterday. We just hung out all day and played, caught up on some house stuff and relaxed. I didn’t even check my cell phone because everyone that I know knows that my cell phone lives in the car. That unless I am out and about, I don’t even give a second thought to my cell. That calling me at home is definitely the best option for getting a hold of me. Well almost everyone I know. Because when we got in the car today to go run errands, I looked at my cell to find one new voicemail. And it was from THE administrative big whig. Calling to talk to me about the position I had interviewed for. And the call had come at 9:30am on Friday morning.

Damnit!!!

So. Even though it was Saturday and I knew no one would get the message, I called him back immediately to say that I had only just gotten his message and that I would call back first thing Monday morning. I was pretty upset. But know that there’s nothing more I can do until Monday, so I’ve gone back to trying to forget about the whole thing and just enjoy my weekend with my family. It’s sort of working. My mind is running wild with imagined conversations that might have happened if I had only checked my voicemail sooner, but I’m doing my best to just not listen.

Instead I’m looking forward to delving deeper into the second season of Deadwood when the kids go to bed. And trying to come up with something purely fun to do with the kiddos tomorrow since all we did today was chores and errands. Maybe we’ll go see a movie or if it’s nice and warm maybe we’ll go to a fountain or just get in the pool in our backyard. I would just really love to have a footloose and fancy free day with my family tomorrow. It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those.

A day of fun should keep my brain on a leash. Or at the very least barking somewhere I don’t have to hear it.

H Day 4

I really, really hate dealing with doctors. Especially when the only friend I have who happens to be a doctor, and could have been a gigantic help with navigation and resources, is in Cyprus for two weeks. When the hospital discharged mom yesterday they explained in no uncertain terms that her incision site from the angiogram/plasty needed to be seen within a week and she needed to follow up with a cardiologist within two weeks. I knew from the moment they said that that the cardiologist piece would be the toughest demand to follow. I thought perhaps I could find her one here in two weeks, but didn’t quite know where to start on the other.

But this morning I jumped in with both feet. I spent all morning on the phone getting appointments lined up. Explaining over and over again how mom doesn’t live here, but she just had a heart attack and is staying with me for a couple of weeks so we needed to get her follow up care started now instead of waiting for her to get home. And even though two different hospitals had no problem taking her insurance, I was told by a huge cardiologist group here in town that she had never heard of my mom’s health insurance company. So therefore, it must not exist. I finally got her to believe me and then she started in on the whole “we need a referral from her PCP in order to see her.” I was almost screaming by the time I got off the phone with her. But, if I can get her doc in NM to fax a referral letter soon, then they can see her on Friday.

I’m tired. Tired in a way that I never even thought existed. But I think that I’m doing better when I have something to do; something concrete to focus on. At least it was something to do this morning, haggling with these scheduling people and nurses. Just like doling out pills and taking blood pressures and asking over and over again how mom’s feeling.

Right now I’m better in motion, with purpose and determination. Rather than sitting still being tired.

Not A Good Day

So. This day started with me totally willing to meet it head on and enjoy whatever came. At least until I opened my eyes and realized that I had a massive headache. That only got worse as the morning progressed. Damn it! Now I had to cancel my breakfast plans with R which literally took us about two months to get scheduled. I just couldn’t handle trying to sit through breakfast while my eyes wouldn’t focus and waves of nausea rolled over me.

Fine. Drop kids off, come home and relax, maybe go back to bed until I had to pick them up. Came home, was able to relax enough that the migraine sank into the background. Left to go pick up The Boy from summer school. Got there, was perhaps 1-2 minutes late, and went to the cafeteria where I have picked him up all week. He’s nowhere to be found. I go to his classrooms. Nope. Go to the office. Not so much. They make an announcement over the loud speaker that he should return to the office immediately. Five minutes go by and still no Boy. Now I’m getting worried. So I start combing the halls with any and all school personnel that I can find along the way. It took us 15 minutes to find him. Turns out he got tired of waiting in the cafeteria and thought he would just go get on one of the school buses to take him home. When we finally found him, my head was reeling with thoughts of “Oh my God! I can’t remember what he was wearing this morning! What will I tell people to look for if I can’t remember what he looks like?!?” I kneeled before him with tears flowing down my face and just hugged him tightly.

Got The Girl picked up (late), ran errands, came home. Checked email. Found a one-line message from the HR woman for the job I’ve been interviewing for saying that they’d “decided to pursue other candidates.” Emailed her in return to clarify; did this mean my interview next week was cancelled? Yes. Interview cancelled. Another opportunity vanishing before my eyes.

I need a cocktail.

A Healthy Dose of Belligerence

FUCK!!! Fucketty, fuck, fuck, fuck!!!

I’ve got some pent up belligerence boiling I think. Because every time I try to retreat to the peace of my own inner thoughts, all I’m finding is me screaming FUCK at the top of my lungs. Ever since the silent retreat, I’ve been doing everything I can to be a picture of peace, joy, patience and awareness. And for the most part I’ve been successful. I can catch myself when I’m manufacturing drama. I can catch myself when I’m getting entrenched in fear. I can catch myself when I’m projecting or hiding behind some silly mind story or feeding an unhealthy coping mechanism. I’ve been doing pretty damn well actually.

But today? Today I woke up crabby, belligerent and not wanting to do much of anything. I want to smoke and cuss, eat junk food and drink cocktails, ignore my children and my responsibilities. I want to tell the Buddha and Joseph Goldstein to take a big ol’ hike on the highway to go fuck yourself. I want to get in my car, drive away and not look back. I want to dye my hair purple and hot pink even though I might get an interview any day. I want to write awful emails to all of the places that I’ve applied to for a job that I am more than qualified for and point out how much my resume fucking rocks and they must be absolute idiots for missing that fact. I want to encase myself in a Plexiglas box so that my children CANNOT be in constant contact with me. I want to tell my husband to get off his fucking high horse and try walking a mile in my shoes for a couple of days. I want to strangle the office manager at The Girl’s preschool for the complete lack of accounting competence. I want to throw my scale out the window and embrace a feminist fuck it attitude when it comes to what I look like. I want to beat the shit out of the creator of Dora.

And I want to do it all while gorging on barbeque potato chips thank you very much.