night is over though. i’m not the least bit sleepy. I worked tonight from 3-1130. now i’m pretty wired. but it looks like this is my new shift. joy.
Being converted to full time regular on the 18th, and had to have more training in order to make that happen. It’s window training, so I automatically love it. I love working with the public. WIth my anxiety. Go figure. But if they COME IN to MY place of business – be it the post office or a restaurant or a barbershop – they are coming in because they want something from me. I take great pride in being able to make people happy by giving them exactly what they want even if they weren’t sure about it themselves. People are spending hard earned money, and that should mean they get quality – both in product and service. I taught a class on customer service a long time ago. Before I started taking pills for my mental …. issues.
I wasn’t so fucking scared of shit back then. Now my own shadow gives me pause. S’ok. The trade off was worth it. I have my life back. I’m steering this bitch now, and my illnesses will never lead the way again. Unless the zombies come, and then I’m going back to being mean.
J and A – I use janda combinations for so many things. I put our initials together for a combined myspace log in. Geebus. That was a bit ago. Anyway, I’ve used it ever since. I say J and A in my head when I type it. Not janda. I say J and A because it reminds me that J is with me. Me. No one else. I’m with him. I choose to be with him after 30 years. I love him so much more than I did 3 decades ago. I didn’t know what love was back then. I loved him, but I had no idea that there were so many levels.
He became my best friend early on. He continues to be. We parent the same way. We share the same political beliefs. We like the same kind of friends. He plays sports. I watch. He has become the Cleaning Master. Some chores are split up according to who has a penis (spiders, snakes, something high up, something dead, something smelly, leftovers to garbage because it makes me gag, snow removal, car repair, do you get the picture? Then there are vagina jobs. Growing those babies, breastfeeding, puke, pee, shit we share. Blood – totally his. I faint.
Discipline used to be me. Now it’s him. Both I guess. No, him. Abilify has left me completely neutered. I take it for my temper, but it dampens every bit of it. I have a hard time getting fired up. Safer that way. But that has turned him into the mean guy. I don’t mind. I was the bitch for so many years – the kids’ younger years too. When they needed discipline yes, but not from the bipolar mom with the nasty temper. I never hurt them. I just yelled when they fucked up. And sometimes just for being kids. If only we could have our minds now at 50 and the body of a 20 year old – that would be perfect to raise a child. But we can’t. And I can’t go back those first 15 years and medicate.
Anyfucking way – where was I? Oh yes, there are also regular chores that are shared by both us – except with my nighttime hours and the depression, I personally don’t give a shit about chores right now. I’m such a clean person, and it kills me that the house is in need of some love. J A S O N comes home every night and helps me cook. He cleans the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and does laundry. I try try try to do shit during the day, but I’m so worthless. I did start a load this morning. I’m trying. Baby Baby Baby – maybe if I remind myself that I’m almost a grandma, my head will stay above water.
Where was I? What was my point? The point is, my husband and I don’t have the perfect marriage. We fight. Not as much since we are managing to pay the bills on time, but we still fight. We also make up. Quite nicely. Some things are perfected with age. The longer we’re married, the better the sex is. Go figure. Ain’t that the way it’s supposed to be?
If J ever leaves the A, ……. she probably won’t make it.
Too many fucking spiders.
I can’t get enough of his voice. So crisp, so strong, so beautiful.
Maybe I’m late to the party, but I don’t listen to the radio in my defense. I go through the top 10 songs every so often to see what I’m missing. When one catches my …. ear, I tend to obsess. I simply adore this guy. I have yet to find a song that I tend to skip over. There is always a skip song. Not on this cd. I only bought one though, so maybe the others have garbage, but I doubt it.
Yeah, I’m alive. Sit down, I have some news.
I knew I’d need it someday – MoodyGiGi.com that is.
Yuppers – A u s t i n and his girl S a r a h are going to have a little one. And that girl is now his wife and we love her. She’s a young-in, and my son needs his ass kicked, but I can see why he’s with her. She’s been on her own for awhile now, and that grows ya up. Haven’t you missed my butchering of the English Language?
Ok, there’s that news. Guess I don’t have much more. That was pretty much the highlight of my past few years. I’ve been really down, reason why I rarely post. Eyore shouldn’t talk to people while dealing with that dreadful depression. It brings people down.
But, I feel better. I’m going to be a gigi, my marriage is 30+ years old now and still strong, i have a new daughter, my baby daughter graduated from high school yesterday, i got promoted, and i started taking my pills regularly. Bettin the farm it was the pills. Although I have not managed to tell anyone about the baby with out bawling. So that could be helping a teeny bit.
We are saving for a house. I want Ian to have the space he needs for him and his equipment. Just too cramped here. I have toilet paper under the bed and paper towels in the linen closet because there just isn’t any room for anything anymore. We have grown up and out. So, we save. Except shit keeps breaking. Ain’t it always the way.
I’m missed this place. Not sure what to do when the baby comes. Do I move? Do I give this domain up? I’ve had it for 20 years.
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.
Tomorrow Tomorrow Tomorrow
Alright, up at 5am means bedtime now
I usually work from 1 am to 930 am.
I now work from 1 pm to 930 pm.
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.
Hot damn I’m pissed.
If he gets sick…..
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.
Oh well. I will treat this as a vacation.
Life has been happening. ‘Nuff said.
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.
But I’m starting to believe in ghosts.
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.
I have nothing new to say. It still affects me just as much today as it did then. I thank God we’ve gotten this far without a world war on our soil.
I still remember. I will never forget.
So here I sit, contemplating this task as though the rest of the musical artists are going to be shot to death. Serious business man.
So much to do. So little motivation to do it.
I WILL clean out the hall closet today if it kills me.
It just might.
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.