I A N is in the hospital after having spinal surgery. He’s doing very well. All of a sudden. He spent 5 days in PICU, today he went to the floor, and he’ll probably go home Monday.
He had a feeding tube in on the 13th of Feb. He’s still eating, but it was important for after this surgery.
I am not suffering from a nervous breakdown yet. Yet is Key.
J A S O N and I have been snarling at each other for two days, and even though we both know it’s just stress, it’s hard to remember that when someone is tired and snippy. Or going stir crazy like he is. He’s the one staying at the hospital at night. I go home alone and wait for the next day to drive the hour back there. I can’t ‘do’ hospitals. i smell death and sickness and depression and tears and pain and I just can’t stay there for very long. It’s stupid, but the longer I’m there, the …. sicker I get? But it’s a mental sickness,and it starts to go away with fresh air. I’m also homesick – although I don’t think that’s the right word. I’m just an introvert that combusts inside every time life forces me to leave my fucking house.
I’m currently in the running for Housekeeper of the Year. Unless they see that I’m currently sleeping with a large pile of clothes where my husband should be sleeping. No I’m not lonely. I’m fucking depressed and could give two shits about those clothes. Besides, I’m one of those – one position all night – people. set it and forget it
I might need to shower in the morning as I’m having trouble remembering my last bout with cleanliness. Not nasty, again just can’t be bothered by baths and such, because?? You got it, fucking depressed and I don’t give a shit.
I should be helping with the house and the dishes and such, but who am I kidding? I’m too fucking mentally burned the fuck out right now that I can’t possible fucking fathom lifting a fucking finger to do anything, and I’m liable to destroy anyone that wants to make issue. I’ll get around to everything, tomorrow.
Huge change to my inner clock. I can now stay up late again – which makes my heart happy, but I can get up and enjoy early morning – which is heaven as well. I couldn’t enjoy either one working early mornings. But now? I stay up until 1 or so, then pop right up at 4ish, 5ish. Hopefully that will gradually shift to 6am, which is when I need to get up every day.
Can’t apologize though. It’s been busy for everyone. So, I forgive myself. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. I’m allowing myself to live for once. To play video games with the kids when I should start dinner. To go out on a date with my husband for two hours and leave our handicap son (gasp!) with C arson. To sing when I want to. To smile at everyone I meet. To listen to music everywhere. To take my meds because I want to, so I never go back to where I was. To forgive others that have been due for a pardon for a long while now. To fantasize about my husband – because he’s hot. To not give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks. I mean, I do in a way. I just want everyone to be as happy as I am and mind their own fucking business.
when you take your fucking medication like you’re supposed to.
Still bawled like a baby when son #3 said he might come home instead of staying in California. Then I bawled again when the bus company left my disabled, lung-compromised child that cannot speak above a whisper outside my door for 5 minutes while DROVE THE FUCK OFF WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A HONK. Bastards. They will hear about this tomorrow. I’m not calling today because I’m liable to kick someone’s ass and I know the people that run it and I don’t want to make shit weird or bad for I A N. But motherfucker. Do NOT leave my kid fending for himself when it’s 29 degrees out. God help them tomorrow. Had I been watching the window like June CLeaver, I would be able to run out like a good bitch and greet my son the proper way. Except they come anywhere from 3-3:45. Never the same time twice. Sorry, not sitting on the couch for 45 minutes when you can honk your fucking horn to get my attention.
Not really. Lots of things going on. Not major things, but enough medium type things that are pinging around in my head so I don’t forget them. Bad part is, my anxiety keeps me from using the phone very much. 2 of my tasks involve the phone. That’ll be fun.
I was supposed to work from 6pm -2am. Yuck. Except, it’s quiet in the evenings and the work is at your pace. Well, once the trucks are gone. Getting the trucks unloaded and then reloaded on time is a giant pain in the ass. Total bust ass work. So I guess you are rewarded with slower paced shit. But I don’t have a slow speed. So I do 50 millions chores around the plant for the shift coming in. They love me. They miss me on mornings though. My home mail usually comes at noon. When he doesn’t roll up until 3? They had a yucky day at the post office. That’ll teach you to put me on nights.
ANYfuckingway, I was supposed to work from 6-2, but now I have to go in at 4, so I get off at midnight. Cue the Angel Choir. Much better. I am sorting mail for the first two hours. BOring. But necessary. Then I’ll help with the dock, then I’ll do whatever the fuck I want for the last 4 hours. BOring. I need the fast pace of mornings. That’s bust ass the entire time.
Not to say that I have a busy life. It’s not really. Not anymore. No kids around most of the time. No husband around most of the time. Just me. Me by myself a lot. Realizing just how much of Me comes out of the rx bottle. Yesterday I slept until 10am. I didn’t take my morning pills until 2pm. Needless to say, I didn’t get dressed until 5pm – to get ready for work at 6pm. Today? I get home at 2:30am, sleep from 3-6am, take my meds, see kids off to school, shower, dress, and head to Wally world to get more rx’s – all before 8am. Something still goes wonky every now and again and I cannot get with it. What happens when my brain just refuses to turn on – and I have to go to work? It’s happened twice with school. Only classes I missed in 4 years. Wait, I missed one when Jen died. So 3.
I’d say I’ve been having sad thoughts more than usual, but is it more than usual? Or is it just the norm? I dunno anymore. I’m just sad. Sad that some fucked up disease is going to steal my sunshine in a few years. Hurts to breathe when I think about it. I don’t tuck it away though. I know from dealing with my cousin’s death that you have to deal with the demons as they come at you, or they fester and unite and become something you can’t defeat on your own. Each and every time I think about the inevitability of the situation, it sucker punches me. Every time. I explore a bit of the horror that awaits us, and it destroys me. I’m just hoping it’s desensitizing me, even a little bit so the real deal doesn’t kill me. Cause I’m afraid it might.
I wanted to listen to My Own Prison this morning (oh hush, I love it), but I couldn’t remember who sang it. I knew Scott Stapp, but I didn’t know the name of the band. I put my head down and thoughtthoughthought – and CREED popped into my head. I yanked my head up to scroll back up to get to the C’s, and saw that my cursor was hovering over My Own Prison. I’m not even lying.
Co-Workers think I’m a witch because I can ‘find’ people. If I start thinking about someone or talking about someone, I’ll see one of their packages or letters that day. 3 have happened at the same moment. I was listening to a friend speak about a co-worker’s ex-husband being a deadbeat dad and how they couldn’t locate him and yadayada – and guess who’s letter I happened to be holding with his new address? Yeah.
I was talking to a new gal about the psych department at the university and rambled on about my favorite professor – only to be holding her package when I looked down. These strange “happenings” make me jump inside – my guts are tied in knots for hours afterward.
Then my favorite – I was telling my friend at work about my mother’s diet pill addiction – and proceeded to toss a package (of pills) into the bin. I went to check on the package because of how it landed. It was mom’s. I damn near had a heart attack.
If I’m a witch, I’m getting fucked out of cool powers. Soooo, I don’t think so.
All from ~ I A N ~ ‘s pt and ot and principal and nurse. WONDERFUL people. Just checking in with various comments and suggestions after getting my email this morning about his appointment Monday.
I heart them.
I have all my Halloween decorations now. Just need to wait another week or so. As soon as I see a fall display outside someone ‘s home – it’s on.
The principal said I was strong. I sure don’t feel strong. I feel really really weak and small right now. My son has started down a path that I can’t save him from. All I can do is hold his hand and walk with him.
I can only imagine – this song comes on right at this second? As I sit here thinking about Heaven and my son and my dad and is any of this shit real – and this song plays? I’m not much into signs and I’ve only recently began talking to God again – but I have over 10 gb of music, and I Have one “religious” song – and this is it. It gives me chills, especially right now.
I can only imagine what it will be like When I walk, by your side I can only imagine what my eyes will see When you face is before me I can only imagine I can only imagine
Surrounded by Your glory What will my heart feel Will I dance for you Jesus Or in awe of You be still Will I stand in Your presence Or to my knees will I fall Will I sing hallelujah Will I be able to speak at all I can only imagine I can only imagine
I can only imagine when that day comes When I find myself standing in the Son I can only imagine when all I would do is forever Forever worship You I can only imagine I can only imagine
Surrounded by Your glory What will my heart feel Will I dance for You, Jesus Or in awe of you be still Will I stand in your presence Or to my knees will I fall
~ I A N ~ had his semi annual appt Monday. Basically, his spine is shit and needs rods. His heart is ‘nothing to worry about’ , yet she ups the doses and orders a third heart pill. And a heart monitor. And they stamp – sudden heart failure risk – on his chart. yeah, it’s fine.
They won’t wait until he has left the room before they start talking about serious stuff. His care, they say. He’s almost 16. Yeah, I know, but my boy is sensitive. He was having trouble yesterday about the spinal rods thing, and we talked and he felt better. Now we have to tell him that the test results show major scoliosis, and he needs the spinal fusion surgery. He will no longer be able to feed himself. Or write. Or or or. I hope he can still play video games. That will be a sad fucking day in this house.
I will own these motherfuckers by the end of winter.
I swear it. I will do whatthefuckever I have to do get them. Jay already asked how much they were when I was gushing over them. $320. I know. That’s groceries. Car payment. But dammit, those boots will last forever. No lie. I add a pair or two every year, and most go back 15-20 years now. I take care of my boots. I love my boots.
And these will be my boots…
Say hello to my pretties …
Go to the site to turn the boot to its side – udder perfection.
I wrote a partial post, clicked anyfuckingwhere to hide it when the fam walks in, and then I lose it when I’m alone again. I don’t retype. Can never get it right the second time. So, it’s gone. Something about old flames that shouldn’t be revisited anyway.
I hate that I am limited here by what might be. Who might find this. Who might read it. I’d move , but it doesn’t hold the same charm for me anywhere else. So, here I stay. And here I stay restricted. S’ok. Partial release is better than no release.
Two paragraphs in, and I’ve said nothing. It’s a gift.
I still love my job. I do. But it’s hard work, and it’s so early – 1am. That sucks when you have to go to bed when everyone else is just getting into their evening. I miss so much. I’m always tired. I’m getting a better routine, but that involves sleep, and I detest sleep. Wastes my fucking life minutes. I will sleep when I’m dead. Until then, I’ll live on the bare ass minimum.
So the other job I applied for hasn’t started interviewing yet. Friend of mine said the boss is holding off, while trying to talk to me on the side the past few days about how I’m next to be promoted, and how everyone loves me, and how I’ll be working that window soon.
He’s a fat fucking liar. Yes, I’m next, but the 1pm-930pm gal threw her hat into the mix. Now I’m fucked. Let me explain.
Position comes open – people bid for that time slot, that specific job/role. Sometimes it’s window, sometimes it’s work. Clerk work. And clerk work is NOT sorting letters. It’s pushing 500lb metal cages full of mail and packages around a huge plant. It’s unloading the truck when it’s 130 degrees on the dock – or worse, 15 degrees. It’s standing in one spot sorting packages or mail or magazines for 4-5 hours at a time. There’s a job there sorting all mail for the 72 rural towns – I kind of like it now. It’s ass stomping busy. Like, you get there at 1 and except for a mandatory break at 4 – you go at it until 7. Full speed sorting and throwing and moving and running and omg it’s nuts. Exhilarating though.
Anyfucking way – I am a support clerk right now. I can’t bid on jobs yet. So I have to wait until Person A wins the bid for the empty spot – AND THEN I have to wait for Person B to win Person A’s now empty position – and so on. I would get what ever job is left – and it’ll be the worst one with the worst hours. And I consider 1-9pm fucking horrible. No one else wants it either. So that means I’m a shoe in.
Some ways it’s not bad. There is nothing to do but make sure your support clerk is doing their job and bullshit with drivers. Fucking easy. And I like the people on that shift. Just not the hours. I need to be here for when ~ I a n ~ gets off the bus.
We’ll make it work if we have to. Just rather not have to.
He bought me a Note 10+. I am a phone whore. I love fucking love new phones. New androids. I love coloring with the stylus.
I better bring knee pads to bed tonight. That thank you will take awhile.
I’m good. Amazing what taking your meds — all of your meds — will do for your mood. I essentially blew off about half of my medication by not taking the night ones religiously. I need 3 lithium tablets – I take 2 at night so they don’t upset my stomach. So I basically score low on the lithium levels BECAUSE I DON”T TAKE ~~~~~ MOST ~~~~~~ OF MY LITHIUM!!!!
Anywhoooo – I’m better. I applied for another position and since I love where I am now, either way is great. I would make more an hour, but with a lot less hours – for now. The pay would stay later as I bid for other jobs with more hours. This schedule that’s open is days – m-sat. 8am-1pm. Sweet.
BUT – I get around 35-45 hours a week here. I may make less, but OT kicks ass no matter what you make. And it’s po dunk town. Happens to be The po dunk town I grew up in. Well, the minitown over from there. I would be home. Sort of. I know a great of the folks there. Good people. Hot farmer men. Win fucking Win.
In other news…. my new phone will be here sat. I had to wait to get the one I wanted. I wanted the aura whatever one. Swirly. Cool. Not that any of you give a shit but I had to tell someone alive about my upcoming joy on saturday.
We joined a gym yesterday. Even ~ I a n ~ is on the membership because Hot Trainer #1 said he would hop in the pool with him and do a little PT. I thought about breaking a fucking leg to get a little of that PT action, but I just smiled and told him how wonderful that would be. And it would, cause to see that man in some trunks. Good golly molly. 230lbs – 9% body fat.
Hot Trainer #2 offered to be my personal trainer – for $350 a month. Seriously. And that’s only 2 times a week. Again, seriously dude. Like I would want to be around him all old, fat, and sweaty. Fuck that. I’ll stick to the routine the intake trainer gave me today. I get 3 more free sessions, and I’ll use that to learn what I need to do. We could get a family bundle – 48 sessions for only $1920. That’s 1- 2 months.
What the fuck? If you have this kind of money laying around- call me. I’ll train you. Train you to spend your money a little wiser. I can see having a trainer. I can’t see them charging that much. Don’t they get paid by the gym? I’m baffled – and in the wrong line of work.
I realized that today – as I was having a conversation with my fat boy.
He doesn’t interrupt much. He listens – really listens – instead of daydreaming about sniffing ass and PRETENDING to listen to me. Not that anyone does that, I’m just saying. He follows me around and cries when I’m not talking to him or scratching his head. He is devoted. I heart him.
Mister Link. Not very zelda like, but my kids are nerds.
Can you see how massive he is? He’s a big fella. He hates almost all food, yet he weighs 5000 pounds. Ignore the cramped living room. We are busting out of this place. Putting $ back to buy a bigger house. Strange, since almost all the kids are grown. I still need to house C and his girl. Bana. ~ I A N ~. A and his friend when they leave the Marines. (IF he leaves. Dammit. I want him home and he thinks he can be young and carefree and see the world. At least we can Facetime. Thank God for technology. Keeps me sane. Sort of.
I mean, I have tons to tell, but I lack the give a shit to put together a coherent thought. I work, I try not to fall asleep, and I sleep. Those are really my three phases of life right now. It leaves me drained and grouchy – Just ask Jay. He has stopped beating his head against a wall when it comes to me.
He just ignores me when I act like a child. Which just infuriates me more. Also pulls my head out of my ass quicker than engaging into the fight with me. He’s my fixer. Always has been. He and I are getting along so fucking well it scares me. Without money and bills to stress about – we are finding that we actually enjoy each other. Friends again. I needed it. He’s been super sensitive to my needs lately. I asked him if he was screwing around and feeling guilty about it. He rolled his eyes and kissed my forehead. I accuse him of other women constantly. I know I shouldn’t. I have no reason. But it no matter. I’m crazy, remember?
We are going out tonight for the first time in months. We’re going out to eat with ~ I A N ~ and C’s girlfriend so she’s not home alone while he’s at work. Bana is at work too. But when they get home, Jay and I are going to watch some volleyball games and relax. Then we’re going to enjoy each other in a way that has never been an issue.
I find that without IRL friends – alive ones – I spend a lot of time internalizing my thoughts and I spend way too much time talking to myself and I spend shitloads of time talking to dead people that can no longer join in on the conversation.
My husband is fantastic – he’s my best friend. Has been for 29 years. But a girl needs more. I need to talk into the wee hours of the night and get our nails done and do lunch and all that fun stuff. I don’t have anyone to unload to about Jay. Can’t bitch about someone to that someone. That’s rude. I’d rather talk about him behind his back. Can’t do that to my mom because when you share negative shit with your loved ones, that’s all they remember. My sister is moving, but we only talk occasionally anyway.
Summer is quickly approaching its end. I’m sad because we no longer go to the pool or the beach or the aquatic park or the water amusement park. ~I a n~has bent legs and turned in feet. He needs cushions to sit in most places. Or his chair. It’s hard making it work. We are stumped with ideas on fun things to do in a wheelchair. I want his days filled with fun, not bottled up in his room always playing video games.
Although he loves those video games. I think they keep him sane. Or at least occupied.
I wondered today about what he’ll look like when he’s older. Then I choked up because that’s all it takes for my brain to remind me that he probably won’t be ‘older’. Immediately I feel punched in the throat. Reminder #475,987,346 that my son is terminal. Terminal. I found a website on Duchenne that had good information on research, and there was a flashing banner — Duchenne is 100% fatal – there are no survivors — And I thought – really? I get that they are trying to incite a donation reaction, but it made me nauseous. More than that – it made me very fucking angry that all I can do is watch blinking signs that countdown my son’s life. I can’t DO anything to his attacker. I can’t kill it. I can’t throw money at it. I can’t wait for medicine to work. I’m not sure if prayer works, but it’s all I’ve got. I find myself talking to God quite a bit too. I decided that yes, I’m agnostic to a point, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe. It means I have questions. Lots of questions. I hope God doesn’t find that offensive.
I can’t believe it’s 11 already. I got home at 8:30 – sat down, paid a few bills, read a post or two (or 47), and sat down here to write. Hot Damn! I can lose some time. I’ll check my fitbit later to see if I took a nap. I never realized how many naps I get. I don’t realize I’m asleep, and when I wake up, I pick up where I left off. I think something’s wrong lol. I always thought narcolepsy was bullshit. I don’t think so anymore. I do it while driving. Yeah. I have done it while talking. While listening. While bathing. Very annoying.
I don’t sleep when I’m standing. So I’m going to go clean something.
A Fucking month Ang? My gawd. Way to get back to blogging.
I have been busy. I have been working a lot. I have been really tired.
Blah Blah I know.
I’m here now, that’s what matters. Yeah.
My pdoc is leaving the practice. Going somewhere I can’t follow. I am crushed beyond words. I love her to death. I would not have made it through my son’s diagnosis without her. Or dad’s death, my sister’s cancer, and my cousin’s murder. She’s the reason I don’t have nightmares anymore. She’s the reason I don’t have to check in every month – I decide. Every three month or so. Sometimes longer. I’m ok now. She gets that. More importantly, she believes that things could get ugly real quick, so she really listens to me about the meds. I want to take them, they make me feel better. They make me a better person.
Someone else isn’t going to understand that sometimes I need the propranolol and sometimes I don’t. Same with the adderall. Shit, no psychiatrist is going to let me keep my adderall. Me, bipolar. Yeah, no. I can hear it now. Hopefully my 5 year history proves that I only take it when I can’t get my shit together mentally. I’m not hooked on phonics. Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. I feel nothing when I take it. I simply think clearly. Calmly.
WTF am I going to do. When the receptionist called and told me, she said that the doc had her schedule last appointments with a few and I was one o them, so at least I get one more appt with her. I’ll ask recommendations and such. All while I try not to bawl. 8 years. A sixth of my life. Dammit.
Enough of that. I get this feeling like I’m about to be pushed out of the boat – and I’m not sure if she taught me how to swim well enough. Sheer fucking panic. THat’s what I’m feeling. So… enough of this shit for now.