J A S O N and I had another discussion, but it wasn’t a fight for a change.

Mainly because I wrote him a letter to approach him about it instead. He read it that morning when he got up, and got angry. Then he took a shower because I said not to wake me I didn’t want to fight anymore. So he calmed down in the shower, realized anger was not the correct response, and woke me up to hug me. I was pretty upset in the letter. I went on and on and ended up contemplating a break up. While both still living at home because we need him too much for him to ever leave. ANd I ain’t going nowhere. So when he hugged me instead of yelling at me, I knew he had really read the letter and had taken it the right way. That’s all I needed. To know that he’s still my best friend. That he’s still taking my side in life. That he’d rather be here than anywhere else. That he’d rather be with me than anyone else. I gave him wings and free reign in that letter. It’s not what was wrong, it was how he’d respond that was the real problem. I can’t live with someone I can’t talk to for fear they will blow up. No thank you. I was that person many years ago, and I lived with a mother like that for 18 years. No thank you. I loved him because he’s never been like that. Till now. Till the last few months. Ever since Ian’s surgeries. He’s stressed beyond belief. always in a rush. Like he’s never on time. He snaps at me at the slightest disagreement. All out war over stupid shit. GOes off on tangents just to fight some more it seems like. I love him more than anything I have or will ever have. But I ain’t living on eggshells. BTDT.

But he really read it. LIke, between the lines. He knew it wasn’t about the stupid shit I started the letter with , it was the heart that poured out afterward that was the important part. And he got it. He calmed down and he got it. I think the shower radio I bought him for CHristmas last year for $8 is the best $8 I’ve ever spent. He sings his heart out now to music. He loves that thing. Bluetooths it to his phone and itunes, and look out. But it’s dying. It was only $8 yanno. Worked pretty good for $8. So, I bought him a new one – even bought it back when he was being a royal dick. It’ sunder the tree.

ANyway, I had a horrible two days trying to word the letter just right. I was so nervous how he’d react. I honestly thought I might lose him. He flies off the handle over lesser things. But, I didn’t lose him. I think I got my husband back. He’s been kinder lately, but he said he realized that I wasn’t coming from a place to attack him. I was asking him about his fucking gaming app purchases and it snowballed into – I’d tell you to your face but you’d bite my head off and pack your bags. And he got it. Sorry, I’m just in shock. Been in shock all day. This is huge for me. For us. Lately.

Getting along so well we talked more about I a n. About planning things that are inevitably coming our way. Music. Pictures. Services. Places. Options. I know it sounds sick, but i feel better working this shit out. I feel better working it out together. Knowing we’re on the same page for the second most important thing in our life. The first important thing was watching our son Ian come into this world. The second will be feeling him leave it. Say what you will, think what you want. But the more we do before is less we have to do then – when we have lost our fucking minds and do not want to make those kinds of decisions. We did that with dad. And mom picked some hokey song that haunts her to this day. I won’t do that again. It’s too important. Maybe I’m crazy or stupid or mental, but I think a life should be celebrated with a thoughtful, beautiful, well thought out last service. Go out with a bang. Not expensive, just meaningful. Or at the very least, not hokey.

Time for bed.

I”m only giving myself 11 minutes to write this, so it’s going to be shit

I have Christmas with my sister and mom tomorrow morning and I have to get to bed. I type like shit enough without having to go fast.

Anyfuckingway.

My boob test came back 5 masses – all cysts. I’m happy. I have a boobie mri in June just to make sure none of them are growing. But I’m happy.

I go on the 8th to get this fucking thing cut off my face. Did I mention that? I have basal cell on my fucking face. Right under my eye? Did I? I can’t remember anymore. But I do, and I want it gone. Serious or not. She said I’ll have a black eye for awhile. Guess she’s gonna fuck me up. That’s ok little lady – do whatcha gotta do.

And I had a genetics test done because my sister tested positive for some gene. It multiplies cancer risk by doubling it. Sweet. Emphasis on colon, breast, and ovarian cancer. I might frown on removing my breasts on a what if, but I don’t seem to mind the idea of getting rid of these fucking ovaries. I don’t need em and my aunt died from that shit. I know I’ll turn into a man but I can handle that. She did say that if I cut off my boobs they will reconstruct them. That gave me pause. Am I shallow? I am huh? That’s ok. You can say I’m shallow if you want. But in my defense, my boobs are hideous. Like a wet sock stuck inside a dry sock? Yes, you could probably smack someone upside the head with the ball of my boob. Sexy. I pour right out of a regular bra – right out the bottom. Like silly slime. So attractive. So I buy VS padded bras that bring me up to where I should be.

Uh oh – time is up. Sweet dreams. Merry CHristmas. Safe New Year.

I told myself 2 am. Let’s see if I make it.

Doubtful. I’m still hungry. Taco Bell screwed up my order again and I went hungeeee all night. Assholes. How fucking hard is it guys? I did it. It’s not hard. Step by step. Get the food out. The right fucking food. I hate working when I’m that hungry.

Damn, let me step out for a cookie. Alrighty. Try 6 cookies. Stop. Just stop.

Omhell. The ‘radio’ I have in my head is playing so fucking loud that i can’t hear myself think. That’s no bullshit. Right now ted nugent is come on come on come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Best part right there, but Let’s turn it down now. My gawd. I do not control the music in my head. Nor the horrorvision that plays nonstop horrific images of the worst of what can happen of any situation. My stress rides at all all time high when the kids drive. I see pictures of them wrapping themselves around a tree or getting hit by a semi or hit by a rock thrown over the fucking bridge on 22nd street. I mean, seriously. My brain has gone out to lunch and left me here dumb as a box of rocks, emotions out and about cause I’m all friendly and shit now, and I keep getting hit in the head with a shovel out of nowhere. There’s even a po rn channel in my mind. I don’t control this either. Thankfully, my OCD has given me one that I can handle. It’s nothing more than a non stop fantasy in one way or another. Usually with my husband, so it’s all good.

so back to the radio, it’s fucking loud and this bitch doesn’t control the volume. Sometimes if I change what I’m doing, I’ll get a reprieve for awhile. I don’t mind the music so much, but I don’t understand why it’s so fucking loud tonight. Enough whining. Could be worse. I could hear voices instead.

Thanks Tink. Thanks for caring. I forget how much I love my internet friends. And they are very very real and I shouldn’t forget that.

I feel so alone without Jenny and Shawn. I feel lonely without my old best friend too, but she made her choice when she blinked out of our lives. I’m not chasing anyone. I feel alone when Jason and I fight. I have no where to go when I threaten to leave. He left the other day, and I wondered where the fuck he would go. He has IRL friends, but not on a very close level. One, but I just don’t know if he’d go there. Turns out he said he drove around. His plan was to let me cool down until he ran out of gas, then have me come get him. Genius there.

Had another fight last night. It’s just stress. Fucking stress. We are only human God. We can’t take much more. I mean, we will always do whatever the fuck we have to do, but it’s gets old. We’ve been together 30 years. We’ve had 6 kids, and helped raise a dozen more. When is it our turn to enjoy this money we’re finally making and spoil some grandkids. When will enough be enough with the sorrow and bullshit diseases. When will life not come with a pit in the stomach.

Whining over.

My mammogram and u/s results were shit. Boobs are too dense. They feel the lump, but they can’t get a read on it. I have a trio of cysts in one of my boobs, and they were looking to see if that’s what i feel. Even though I haven’t felt it before. WHich would mean the cysts are growing. Which they told me wouldn’t happen. I have a more indepth test on the 16th. And a genetics test on the 17th. Yay. Let’s go see what I Have so they can talk me into cutting off my boobs. Gah

So, I wait. Wait with this Thing in my boob. Wait when my skin is crawling thinking about it. Wait when i’m wondering if i could dig it out with a fork quicker. I won’t. Just wondering.

I don’t dream anymore. Except last night. I dreamt I had it and it was everywhere and they gave me 6 weeks. And I died without seeing my first grandchild. Today, that dream played on repeat while I suffered. I love OCD.

I’m eating a cookie. Just thought I’d share. I don’t really eat sweets anymore. But this damn thing is tasty. I forgot that Sugar is my friend. I keep losing weight. I know. That’s about 50lbs now. I can’t keep my balance for shit. I fall over just standing there. My eyesight is shit shit shit. Just gets shittier every fucking year. I don’t even make it a year. I start calling around the 7 th month asking if it’s time yet. Cause I can’t see. I have progressive bifocals, and i walk around with my head up so i can look out the bottom where the RX is strongest. Such an idiot. I can’t hear. People stop, face me, and repeat themselves loudly these days. I feel like a boob. But I can’t fucking hear. Wait, I can hear. Volume is fine. I can’t understand you. It’s garbled. It’s Charlie Brown’s teacher. I am forgetting words. Everyone does this, but when my brain forgets, I don’t get to just stand there and ponder. My mouth gets in on the action and comes up with a splendid replacement. Tampon was twatcicle. Twat. I don’t even say that word. It’s gross. But it’s words like that that don’t exist usually. Add all this up, and I am convinced its spread to my brain. I don’t normally like to buy trouble like this, but without knowing for sure, my mind is having a hayday.

Ok, I should get the rest of my shopping done. At 1am. Go me.

Just a minute, I need toast.

Except the bread is a lovely shade of green. Grrrross. Guess we need to go to the store. And to therapy. I don’t think a meal has been cooked in that kitchen all week. I’m not home and he’s tired. He’s become a single mom. And he’s not faring well right now. He’s drowning, and I can’t help him because I’ve been drowning for 10 years. Shhhhhhiiiiiiit, more like 30, but who’s counting. Nice of you to join me. Let’s struggle together. Hope we survive.

We had a nice week. We have not had a nice past few weeks, so that’s why I am noting the improvement. We aren’t at each other’s throats. We aren’t saying bye bitch when the other one threatens to run away. We aren’t tiptoeing through the tulips hoping not to wake a demon. We aren’t merely existing as two adults in a house. We weren’t sleeping in the same bed thanks to me working late and him falling asleep on the couch waiting for me. He’s a fucking zombie if you try to wake him, so I leave him. Bed hurts his back anyway. We weren’t talking. He would let me sleep as long as possible in the mornings, then leave when I woke up. I’d be gone before he got home from work. He’s asleep when I get home. I try to get up earlier, but I’m old and I’m tired and I need more sleep than I usually do. I can’t hang on 3 hours anymore. 4 maybe. 5 is ideal. So I get home at 2, have to unwind and settle my brain, fall asleep about 3. Get up at 6 to help him get Ian ready, then I fall back asleep until he leaves. He’d let me sleep longer but I want him to wake me up so I don’t piss away my whole day. Not much time for us to talk. We weren’t having sex. No time for that either. We weren’t eating a meal together. We weren’t connecting on any level.

Not sure what we were fighting for, but it just doesn’t seem worth it to bicker and bullshit our relationship away. He’s nicer, I’m nicer. I’ve watched my tone, he turned off the tv on my only day off. I sure heart him for that. TV fills my head with noise. We’ve been trying to sleep in bed. I need to buy him a mattress topper for CHristmas.

Then when I found the lump, he became softer to me. I need that right now. I just need someone to give me two fucking minutes and take the wheel while i close my eyes and learn how to breathe again.

We’ve got to stop meeting like this. At 2am.

I need some fucking sleep. Not going to get it, I just have that feeling. My brain will not turn off. but I just got off work, and I’m getting squished in the morning. I’m stressed man. I don’t want to be one of those people that feel fine until something gets out of whack enough to get them to the doc – only to find out they are advanced to the point of weeks, maybe months. I need more of a notice than that. My dad’s doc told us he had about a year and a half left. He was close. Dad was able to take his time and leave on his own terms. He sold shit that he knew would give mom trouble. He bought shit he knew she would need. He made lists of options for when things broke or needed replaced. He gave her a list of cars to choose from. Mom needed shit like that. He was able to talk to me about death and heaven and dying. Dad wasn’t afraid Dad knew Heaven existed. He was there before. At 17, he had a motorcycle accident so severe that he was in the hospital for 9 months. NINE fucking months. Can you imagine? He was so far gone that he died on the table 3 times. He didn’t want to come back. Said he a glimpse imprinted in his heart of what heaven will be like. ANd my dad was no weirdo. Very down to earth guy but he believed fiercely about God and heaven and such. I needed that growing up after my cousin was killed. I was convinced God was fake because what God would let my cousin suffer so? FUcked me up for years. Had it not been for dad’s firm faith, I am not sure I woudl have fared as well as I did. Was a safety net if nothing else. Because if you don’t believe in God at all – you are going through life with no net. I can’t do that. I need to believe that God is still there, giving two shits about my littlelife. To even think about life without God is frightening. I need toknow there is a big guy in my corner when things get rough. He ain’t going to do much to my life, but he’ll listen if I talk, and to talk is the best therapy. Might even throw a miracle my way.

ANYFUCKINGWAY!! All that to say I hope if this lump is something serious, I have time to do what I Need to do before i kick it. And enough time to see my granddaughter born. And to see my daughter finally find someone worthy of her heart. And to spend some needed alone time with my husband. ANd to find a cure for DUchenne. And to lost this belly fat.

I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid of not living. I got too much shit to do.

It’s time to go to bed. And I don’t wanna.

So I ain’t.

Trying to get into the holiday season but like always, money is on the mind.

His bonus was to buy Christmas. And it did, but $1000 of it went to fix my brakes, tires, and sensors. Lovely. Unexpected. Game changer. I have 3 items picked out for everyone, but I only have money for half of them. I could scale down, buy some people were done because I knew exactly what to get them. Now that I have my list complete, the money poofed again. Fucking van. Fuckfuckfucking van. So now I get to whittle away at the list the best I can the next three weeks. Dammit.

BTDT, we’ll get by. If my biggest worry in life was Christmas presents for some older kiddos…..

I found a fucking lump in my breast this morning. Was a fucking accident I found it. I check myself when I think about it. Like never. I have skipped over the last two mammograms. Not my choice, just happened that way. Like tomorrow at 8am I”m supposefd to go the doc for a …. something on my face. It’s changing colors and scabbing over and leaking BUt now the doc wants me to have mammogram at 8am. Can’t have both so I guess I’ll make sure the Girls are ok before i worry about my face. If you pray, send a quick one up that either I’m stupid and it’s not a lump or that if it is something, it’s still nothing. We need some stability for a change. And good news for once. Please.