I thought I would be slowing down by this age...

Guess that's what I get for thinking.

It's been a crazy couple weeks.

Drama camp was a ton of fun. We had seven kids in total. The week was filled with getting to know you/putting yourself out there games and daily rehearsals for The Three Wiley Goats Gruff.
Avoiding copyright infringement, ya know.

We had two little people who were completely disinterested in anything to do with acting, making a costume, or taking any of the available parts. I talked to their parents to make sure they knew they were paying for drama camp and that neither of their kids wanted to be in the play. Both of them were fine with that, they just wanted a place to leave their children for four hours a day so they could get some things done. 

So we made sure they had stuff to do and were having fun.

My sidekick for the week is a drama major. She heads back to college in a month. I didn't even need to be there except technically (someone director-qualified needs to be on site), she had everything handled and was great with the kids.

They put the play on for their families on Friday afternoon. It was a short little adaptation of the original story, and the kids made it their own.

The kid playing the troll didn't want to be a troll, she wanted to be a goat, too. So she was a sassy goat instead.

I had a good time hanging out with the little group and really liked my co-worker. It was a nice way to end the summer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This week has been a week of training/work.

Director-specific on Monday and Tuesday, full crew on Wednesday.
My assistant has six years of experience as a site teacher and will be handling the morning program, but I've only met him once in passing. So that will be interesting.

The owner of the company attended Monday's session. She approached me during a break to tell me how pleased she is that I'm taking on one of our new sites. She didn't need to do that. But that personal touch is one of the reasons I am liking this company so far.

I got an email this week, too.
I am receiving a bonus on my next check for, well, I'm not sure. For my dedication and commitment. Totally not necessary. I appreciate it, though.

I visited the new school today. I have part of a store room to keep my stuff in, which means I can bring some things to enhance the program and build it from the beginning. I want my program to be a destination rather than the default (well, there is no other place to leave my kid, so I guess I'll leave them there) and for the kids to have a good time.

I'm less anxious than I was now that I've been to the school. I met three school staff people, all three of them were welcoming and very friendly. They said they're really happy to have us there.

I actually have a day off tomorrow, but then next week is more busy-ness. Need to get out to my school and set up the program, put away all the stuff in the cabinets. Make sure I know where my clipboard is and that my assistant can open morning program on day one.

Lots of things have to happen.

Monday I have the hands-on portion of my CPR training. I did the online stuff a few weeks ago, but had to schedule the rest and this was the first one I could get.

I have a meeting with our inclusion specialist and my new manager to discuss one of my kids who needs some special accommodation(s) but we have to find a day that works for us all.

Wednesday isn't just set up day, but I will be staying for the evening back to school thing at the school. We'll set up a table and talk to prospective families and probably meet some of my new kids.

School starts on September 5th. I know that a couple weeks in, things will seem routine and will be running smoothly, but it's a little stressful now.

I'll have to remind myself that I asked for a new program.
Yippee.

I'm too busy to stop and think about all that has to happen between now and day one, and a ton of boxes and bins here at home that need to be sorted through.

Here we go.

It's happening...

Finally got to see where my program will be located.
There are pros and cons. Of course.

The new facility is beautiful. For more than 35 million dollars, it ought to be.
It's gigantic. All the kids are under one roof now. Before, we had a couple portable classrooms (without bathrooms!!) and the school was broken up in an odd way. Part of that was due to the haphazard remodeling and adding on that occurred over the 100+ years the building was standing. Up and down a lot of stairs. It was really tough on me physically last year, but hey, I made it. Now if I want to go upstairs to use the copier in the staff work room, I can take the elevator. It's just outside my door.

The room where I'll be holding my program isn't going to be a designated space just for me, but it will be mine during program time. I will have to be choosy about what I bring in, but I do have room here at home for some of it.

For example, during Seuss month I will bring in my bins of stuffed Seuss guys and my bin of Seuss books. And haul them out every day for the kids. And put them away at night. For a month.

But I would have had to do that anyway, regardless of location. Many of those things can't be replaced, so I have to keep track of 'em. Best place for that? Home.

Now that I know where I will be with my program, I can finally go through all the things I've saved/stockpiled at home, too. I have many things that I'd like to have at work, but there won't be room for them all. They're not necessary for my program, they're extras. Some I will keep in the shed, because if I get my way and run a program during the breaks, I will need the extras. The things like Hot Wheels (I have quite a collection) and ribbon and stuff for specific projects.

But there is a ton that I can get rid of. I'd really like to have the momcave for my own projects. My art supplies and TV/DVD player. The stereo. Does anyone still have stereos? I love mine. Bought it for Lyssa years and years ago. She preferred headphones and portability. So now it's mine. Mine, mine, mine!!!!

I've been stressed since May. Trying to run my program, get things packed, work in a madhouse all summer. Bob is coming for his annual visit in a little less than two weeks. Matt came over Monday and painted the spare bedroom. We got paint at Habitat for Humanity's Re-Store. He said it was some of the nicest paint he's ever used. They mix their own, using leftovers from all kinds of sources. Reasonable price, too. Far less than usual retail and much nicer quality.


The new school building wasn't even legal for occupancy until 5 days ago. They had a temporary permit for the grand opening/tour, but there was a specific route that people had to stay on. School personnel were stationed at strategic locations that night to make sure that happened.

But the building is open now. 
The space I'll be using has a full kitchen setup. And a washer/dryer. Not a huge amount of storage, but I think it will work out.

Things always do.

I'm hoping that I'll be able to sleep a little better between now and then. I have been waking up four or five times every night worrying over details. Obsessing. Because of course I am.

Then, when Eric gets up, I have to get up and go to the bathroom. I go back to bed and can't sleep. I get up. Then, when I'd really like to take a nap it's too late in the day or I have 10 other things that need to be done.

I can't wait for a routine. Oh my gosh. Never thought I'd be looking forward to getting up at 5 so things would be back to what passes for normal in my world.

Fortunately, my school year schedule almost always has time for a nap.

How things are... a 'get my thoughts in order' post.

I'm down to the last week or so before my surgery.
Still have a lot of things to do around the house, and it's not helping that I decided to sit here and write instead of doing those things.

I have not showered yet, it's after noon and here I am. I did do some dishes and started a load of laundry. I got out some supplies because I need to mix up some different dyes, a little more pastel than the batch from earlier in the week.

Actually chilly enough for long sleeves and jeans.
I'm planning to wear one of the shirts I dyed this week. It's soft and comfortable and not too thick. Just about right.

I definitely appreciate the cooler summer weather, as last summer was horrendously hot and ugly and I was stuck working in the Pit of Despair.
At least I was with people I enjoyed working with.
I don't know if I would have done things differently had I known that it was the last summer we'd be spending working together. I like to think that we all did our usual stellar job, enjoyed hanging out with some great kids and gave 110% to make sure the kids had a fun summer. There are three people now who won't be back when school starts. It's a shame, they were all dedicated and full of amazing ideas. And we shared the same priorities. The kids are #1. But maybe I'd have tried to spend a little more time appreciating the stellar qualities of the crew. None of us are highly paid and with the addition of Fluffy and her squad, there isn't a whole lot of respect for us, either.

I've spent a great deal of time thinking about why I am looking for another job.
I have written bits and pieces about it, and I'm glad I have. I think sometimes with the perspective of time away and distance from crappy circumstances, my mind paints a nicer picture than what's real.
Kind of like a figurative Dorian Gray... I have to consider the reality and not the lovely picture of what we used to have.

I can read those things again and know that my instincts and feelings are correct. I'm not being silly or too sensitive.

I wasted time meeting with Fluffy TWICE, thinking that she was a rational being. What a fucking joke.

It makes me disgusted and sad and angry that we ended up with such a shitty person as a manager and that our regional manager is so completely fooled by her. I had thought he was astute and intelligent. I was fooled by his 'we do what's best for children' mantra. I'm embarrassed that I thought he was better than that.

I've mentioned before that she has done this exact thing in at least two other places she's worked. Come in, hang out awhile and get an idea of how things work, then trash all of it and try to make it look the way she wants it to. I understand the differences in ways people manage, but I don't understand her assumption that if it's not her way, it's wrong. And needs to be fixed.

Of course I can't tell management that Fluffy has the same M.O. everywhere she goes, as Fluffy's former employers have breached confidentiality by sharing what they know about her.

The last place she worked, she was literally hours away from being fired. All the paperwork had been done and the person who was to give her the news was mentally prepared to go in and hand her the paperwork.

She knew it was coming. So she got all her stuff taken out of her location and turned in her keys etc. before midnight. And she took Twatwaffle and Snippy with her. (Haven't talked too much about Snippy. I don't like her, she's horrible to the children in her care... although much nicer to them than Twatwaffle is to her charges.)

One of the things I saw when I visited summer camp was Twatwaffle's stash of goodies on the stage. Candy bars, diet Dr. Pepper. She has those things in front of the kids every day. Several times during Winter and Spring breaks, kids commented on it and she very arrogantly told them that she is an adult and 'can eat and drink whatever she wants and that's just too bad, isn't it?'

Insensitive at best.
Having treats in front of children and lording it over them shows what a shitty person Twatwaffle is in a way that words cannot.

Isn't it lovely that Fluffy brought her bevy of bitches with her?

I don't get a lot of comfort from the fact that after she's ruined one place, she moves on. Because currently she's still in fuck things up mode and hasn't moved on. Of course things will never be the same when she finally does go. She's really wrecked a lot. And she isn't finished. I already know that she wants us to have little classrooms at our sites. To make the children sit down and do school after school every day.

I won't comply. If I haven't found a suitable job before school starts, then I'll refuse to turn my little haven for children into still more 'education'. What she wants isn't "best for children" at all. She craves notice from people who think like she does. She preens and puffs up under their regard. She's a REAL EDUCATOR!!

You don't have to spend a lot of time here to know what I think of that.

It makes me sad, I have devoted 12 years to this job and seven to the same school.

I know I can enjoy hanging out with kids at any location, and undoubtedly can find someone who will appreciate my talents with kids. I know that life isn't fair. Shit happens. All the platitudes.

And I can just stay where I am. I will still have health benefits, I will have the respect of the school where I work, the families who have been with me for years and years, one child after another, the principal who can't say enough good things about me and my program and who has entrusted his child to my care... all that can still be mine.

Balance that with my knowledge that new hires into my position are being paid more. Were given bonuses at the end of the school year for staying at their job for a few months. That Fluffy is a mentally ill narcissist who, while not being completely unpredictable, is a complete stranger to logic and only knows how to do what's best for her.

She has no respect for any of the people who built these programs. She has no regard for the staff unless they're her hand-picked bunch. Hence the extra hours and higher pay and respect.

She has pointed out the site that Twatwaffle runs as our 'model' site. You know, the site where she demeans children, withholds physical activity and craft projects when they don't do exactly what she wants when she wants it? Yeah, that site.

And Twatwaffle was guaranteed full time work over summer, too.
Something that those of us who weren't part of the ass-kissing chain weren't allowed.

Fluffy and Fluffy Jr. made up a huge four page summer application for the peons to fill out. It was the most ridiculous crock of shit... contained at least four questions that are ILLEGAL under ADA.
It was designed to weed out people who had mobility issues.
It was personal and arrogant.

We were told that we had to fill it out completely, which would have taken more than a couple hours, too. OF course we were to do it on our own time. Applying for a job isn't generally a paid occupation, after all.

It asked questions they already knew the answers to. Questions about leading songs and doing crafts and what kind of activities we could bring. Fluffy watched us work together for TWO SUMMERS. Either her powers of observation suck or she was playing games. And since she probably doesn't miss very many details (narcissistic people like to use everything they know about you against you) it was one of her games.

It was a crock of shit and they expected us to just fill it out without commentary.

In addition, they waited to get the application out. You will never be able to convince me that they didn't have a little timeline in their heads. Not only did they want to reject specific applicants, they didn't want those people to be able to find a summer job elsewhere.

Since the illegal application was given to everyone in our area, probably about 35 people, we had a base for a class action lawsuit. I doubt it would have been too difficult to get people to sign on, either. Fluffy doesn't care who she shits on and many of us are frustrated, angry and yeah, have hurt feelings.

And when we emailed this application to the head of HR, Fluffy and Fluffy Jr. got their little hands slapped. But instead of admitting that they put out an application that was not run through proper channels and vetted and full of questions that broke the law, they chose to tell all of us in writing that 'the application was pulled nationally'.

They think we're stupid.
That was not a national application.
That was their own concoction of bullshit and as far as I know, they still think we believe their story. They used the same phrase every time the application was brought up. Same words, same inflection, same eyes-wide-sincerity-apparent tone of voice.

"They" (ahh yes, the ubiquitous 'they') "Pulled the application nationally!"
Thereby absolving themselves of any blame. Because of course we're supposed to infer that the same 'they' were the ones who wrote the application in the first place... certainly our own managers wouldn't be so nasty!!

And after they got in trouble for the application, they did a much shorter one.
We had to apply for our own jobs over summer. Even though we built their summer program and had it running smoothly and well for several years before they showed up.

They waited until mid-May to offer summer hours to the staff. Really too late for most of them to find employment over summer. I'm sure that was their intention.

Tell ya one thing... if I am still with this company next summer, I won't work over summer again. It doesn't help pay the bills, and my insurance premiums (which are astronomical) have to be paid anyway... but I don't have to hang out with the cavalcade of cunts, either. A fair trade.

Well it's hotter than fuck

And that, my friends, makes me crabby.

Not that I'm all that cheerful lately anyway.

Things are fine at my little program because I really am very good at what I do, but I'm still working for the same lovely, caring people who really want to take care of the people who are making money for the company.

For example, Lyssa left for her summer vacation today. NINE days ago, I let our kind and generous manager, Fluffy, and her precious and adorable little sidekick Fluffy Jr know that I will need someone who can help me move furniture and close down my program for summer as I am on the injured reserve list. I emailed them with my needs. And I got a favorable response.

So fast forward to last night when our weekly schedule arrived via email.
They scheduled Mabel, an older lady with so many physical disabilities that all she can do is sit. That's it. It's amazing she can make it from the parking lot to the cafeteria.

Now don't get me wrong. Mabel is a very nice person. But I would not leave my children with her because if something happened, an emergency situation that required her to protect kids, I don't know that she could do it. In fact, I'm pretty sure she could not.

And with the things that need to be done, like cleaning out my stuff from that site, she's not going to be a lot of help.
It's simply amazing how well this company takes care of me. How they appreciate the long hours I put in designing extras for the summer curriculum (hint... all the stuff I came up with is hands-on and designed for fun.) Yeah, they'll learn, but that's not the purpose of the things I created for the kids. I have come to despise the word 'engagement' because Fluffy thinks unless kids are crowded around a table doing an activity, they're not 'engaged'. Which is crap.

I was asked to attend (cooped-up-all-fucking-day-downtown-in-a-goddam-office-building) summer training yesterday. My last day to hang out with my daughter before she left for the summer. I suggested to them that since I am not working summer, it really didn't seem to make sense for me to be there, but Fluffy assured me she wanted me to conduct some of the training sessions. She put me on the agenda in several different spots.

And I did a really good job of speaking and explaining and offering the benefit of my years of experience. Training people who are making more money than I am in some cases.

Because this company is fair and believes in equal pay for equal work.
And they take really good care of me, bless their greedy corporate vampire hearts.


So it was either 100 or 98 or 102 here today, depending on which weather jerk you trust. I have a screaming migraine, which happens when there is extended high atmospheric pressure.

Lyssa's flight was rerouted and delayed this morning by three hours. So we sat at the airport with her (Matt came along to see her off) and had some food and just talked. It was actually kind of nice.

Then a little bit ago, she texted me that she is stuck on the ground in Atlanta. They don't have a pilot for the flight, so they're waiting for someone to come fly the plane, apparently. Not sure. So I am going to bed, but I won't be able to sleep until I hear from her.


Eight more days of getting up at 5.
I see the 2nd opinion doctor this week.
Can't wait to get sliced and diced.

How's life in your neighborhood?

Do You Stress and Obsess?

I wish I could say that I do not.

But it's something I've done my entire life. My earliest memories of obsessing are all about what might have been in the closet. I had to have the closet doors OPEN at night. If the door was closed, I couldn't see inside. I wouldn't know if there was a monster lurking, although I don't think 'monster' was what my mind seized on. Just... 'something' might be in there.

I was only three years old when every time I "misbehaved" my babysitter told me that she would put me in the closet and the devil would come get me.

Although in retrospect, having raised a couple kids of my own, at age three there really isn't a whole lot of misbehavior.

Whatever. Woman gave me a complex.

I've obsessed and stressed forever, though. And would have, even without the help of the elderly lady who threatened me with the devil took care of me and my little brother while my parents worked.

I have some stuff going on at work. It's all relatively minor in the general scheme of things, but of course the issues are important to me. I am frustrated, I am tired, and did I mention frustrated?

A manager from the closest school district we have programs in (convoluted enough? I'm tired... have I mentioned that? and can't seem to figure out how the words fit together tonight) has accepted a position in another state.

She left for greener pastures last month. Not that I'm calling her a cow. Not that I'm not calling her a cow, either.

And now our manager, who was more or less shaping up to be one of our better ones, is going to be managing MORE areas. When she was already kept running trying to keep up. Disappointing. Of course my kids won't get shortchanged, since *I'm* the person making sure things run smoothly.

If there's one thing I've learned in all the years I've spent doing this job it's that I'm the only 100% dependable person I know. Sad but true.

I woke up this morning at a quarter to 6. I got up and did the usual stuff, (pee, flush, wash, take an aspirin for the mild headache) but it didn't do me any good. Could not go back to sleep.
Go ahead and guess why.
I'll wait.

Did you guess that I was obsessing? If you did, you win!!

I stayed in bed until about seven. Lying on my left side didn't work, couldn't get comfortable. Roll over to the right. Work like hell to get the blankets JUST right. Then I was too warm. After all that work, you know. So I threw the blankets off. And three minutes later, I was cold again. Back and forth and back and forth. My hips started to annoy me. Took a sip of water. Contemplated more about the issues at work. Looked at the time.

I finally got up and took a shower. Started a load of laundry. Started a fire in the woodstove. Checked my email. Put away the dishes. Loaded more into the dishwasher. And under all of it, like a theme song in a movie?

:::obsess obsess obsess:::


FAAACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!

Been doing it all day.

So I finally sat down and wrote an email to my manager, outlining some of the issues on my mind.
Concerns, I guess you could say.

Not all of us are dedicated to the kids in the same way.

I have said before that it is not a prestigious line of work. The job doesn't exactly attract Mensa material. It doesn't pay much, either. Most of the time, I don't really care. My job pays for our groceries. Our medical insurance is also through my job. I am willing to put up with quite a lot for the peace of mind the insurance provides, although our income is small enough that we could qualify for government assistance in our healthcare.

Anyway. Wrote an email to my manager.
Then, because there are separate issues, composed another. They're both still sitting in drafts because I want to make sure they say exactly what I mean them to say, and the best way I know of doing that is to let them sit.

I'll read over them again on Monday and see how they look. Adjust the tone a bit probably and then send them.

I don't know if that will keep me from obsessing tonight or not, but taking a step in the direction of solving problems is at least trying to move in a positive direction, right?

Bah.

Anyway, time for bed.
I'll try not to obsess.

What's on your mind?

Visitors

I wrote a couple weeks ago (not sure exactly how long and I'm too lazy to go look it up) about my parents heading this direction for a visit.

They visited my cousin Bigot and his wife, Bigette and all the little Biggles up in Washougal. Biggle #1 was graduating from high school and Biggle #2 from 8th grade. There are two other Biggles. The youngest is a boy, aged 12.

They're very controlling, the Bigots. They don't want their children to be exposed to all the scary things out there. Television news, for example. My mom had to have Bigette fix the remote for her, as the parental controls were on. Mom likes to watch the news. I'm sure it won't surprise you to learn she enjoys Fox News most of all.

Anyway, the kids were raised ultra-religious. One of the things Bigot said to his sister, my other cousin, when he informed her that she wasn't allowed to visit anymore was that he 'had to protect his children' from people like her.

I'm not sure what sort of threat a middle aged lesbian presents, but whatever it was, the kids are safe from her. She hasn't been allowed around them for a long time.

The oldest Biggle is a boy, aged 18. He is joining the army. Headed for officer's training school, apparently. He hasn't been away from home before. I'm sure it will be quite informative for him.

The other three Biggles will eventually leave home, too. And all the gaps in their education will be filled in.

I'm not sure keeping information away from them will have its intended consequence, everyone knows about the preacher's kid in school, right? My own religious upbringing kept me from learning quite a few things, too. Although I caught up once I realized there was a larger world out there.

My parents, Mom in particular, were quite impressed with how Bigette runs such a tight ship. The kids are 'trained' (Mom's words, handed directly to her from Bigette) to clean the entire house, top to bottom once a week, every week.

They were allowed to skip their Saturday chores during graduation week, but they were 'definitely going to do their chores or else' on Monday. So speaketh Bigette. So believeth my mom.

I endeavored to keep a straight face and not get drawn into arguments about the kids and how they were raised and what the whole family believes. I tried. I did.

It's their thing, and it's what they think is right for their family and their children. I raised mine, let them deal with raising theirs.

But when my mom started asking me pointed questions and despite my evasive answers still wanted to know why I hadn't wanted to attend all the festivities, I told her.

"I figure that if my entire family isn't welcome somewhere, then I'm not interested in being there, either."

First, she tried to act like she wasn't sure what I was talking about.

And my dad said, "Who's not welcome? Huh? Huh?" He thinks he's funny, my dad. And even when he knows it's not funny, that it's offensive or upsetting, he does it anyway.

So I said, "The Bigots are afraid of gay people. They were afraid that Denette was going to corrupt or molest their children, I'm not sure which, but they hurt her feelings and told her she was no longer welcome there. Treating his only sister and his mother the way he's treated them is disgusting. I just don't want to be around people like them. Using religion as an excuse to be an asshole makes me sad and angry. That's all."

My dad laughed.
Again, "Who's not welcome? huh?? huh??!?"
Because he reacts inappropriately to things. I'm accustomed to it, unfortunately.

I spent a great deal of the time we were together trying to ignore his behaviors. He's aggravating and annoying on purpose. If he senses that something he's doing is making someone upset, he redoubles his efforts. The more pissed off and/or worked up a person looks or *is*, the better.

He'll get a word or phrase in his head and like a 2 year old who just likes the feeling of a word in their mouth, he will repeat it or I-swear-to-whatever sing it. Over and over and over and over until people either get angry and call him on it, which makes him laugh that obnoxious 'heh heh heh' and do it even louder until people either get up and walk out on him or ignore him so much that he changes. Usually to something else just as obnoxious.

He's also full of false bravado. He went through a martial arts phase many years ago, saying, every time he visited our big, bad city, "I showed him my taser and he gave up on stealing your mother's purse. I woulda knocked his head off and shit down his windpipe."

It's completely crazy to spend time around him. Particularly bad when he's been forced to maintain and be 'good' for any length of time, as in the last week when he spent the week with the Bigots up the road.

He knows he isn't quite right, and can hide it pretty well, but eventually he gets cracks in his facade and the I'm-going-to-be-obnoxious guy peeks out.

In the reading I've done and the talking to certain medical/mental health professionals, he presents symptoms of several things, among them Asperger's.
I know he's not okay.
That doesn't help much.

His current do-my-best-to-piss-off-everyone-in-a-5-mile-radius schtick is Alzheimer's. He says something or is reminded of something by someone and pretends he has no idea what they're talking about. "Heh heh heh, that's the Alzheimer's kicking in. Heh Heh heh."

It's partcularly cruel to my mother, who doesn't find dementia in elderly people the least bit humorous. Her mother, my grandmother, was confined in a care home for more than 16 years with dementia. Little bits of her kept slipping away until all that was left was an incredibly healthy exterior. It was awful, but my dad, who's been jealous of my grandparents one day and gloating about how 'they died pennaless*' the next thinks joking about it is the height of wit.

*I know that word is spelled incorrectly... that's how my dad says it. With great relish.

I know he's mentally ill, and I don't blame him for it. I'm not angry with him anymore, either. But I know that being around him isn't good for my mental health, so I avoid it when I can. It makes me sad, they are my parents and I love them. They're not bad people, and they love their family. Even though I know I'm a terrible disappointment to them, they still love me. They've been good grandparents to my children. My dad would do anything at all to help his family, and has a generous spirit underneath all the crazy.

But it causes me a great deal of anxiety to be around them, and in the days leading up to a visit, I end up feeling upset, angry, emotional, up and down and up and down and up and down... It's not a good place to be.

I've tried talking to them about all of this before, by the way.

I appreciate the fact that I have the most supportive husband in the world. And that he understands my upset. He helps me get through a visit and sort out my feelings about it over the next few weeks or so. Listens to me patiently, offers his thoughts on the topic, and life goes on.

Until the next time.

Infrequent Flier

I made reservations today to go visit my cousin in Arizona in the next couple months.

Going to take a long weekend (school will be out) and take off for a few days.

I don't like to fly. I know all the scenarios, 'you're more likely to die in a car wreck on your way to the airport than you are to die in a plane crash'. I plugged a query into Google and got some other statistics.

I know all that.

I have flown before. I have taken my children on airplanes. I have always arrived safely at my destination. My kids have traveled, too. Safely. But man, I hate getting on that plane. In the days leading up to a plane flight, I worry. I don't sleep for shit. I freak out big time.

I'll go. I won't cry or say anything to other passengers. I may actually even remember to breathe as the flight gets off the ground and cruises along about 29,000 feet (that's a long way to fall, if you should wonder) and I will manage to speak as needed. Manage to maintain.

So why, when perusing the website and deciding when to leave/return did it feel like playing Russian Roulette?

I'm so nervous about flying that being anally probed by the TSA probably won't even get my attention.

I am pleased to have the opportunity to go see my cousin. She married her longtime partner last month in California at 11 PM (11/12/13/14) and this will be my opportunity to hug them and cry on them and all that. I'm very happy that we've reached a point in most states where people realize that the love of two consenting adults is really their business. I love them both, and I know I'll enjoy seeing them. But I wish I didn't have to fly.

Sending Email

Back in the days of running a Girl Scout troop, whenever we had what I called a super event* coming up, I had lists all over the house. An index card and pen on the counter in the kitchen. One on the table. One next to the bed. Usually one either in a coat pocket or in my wallet.

*Super event... one or two nights away at a Girl Scout property. When I'd need a ton of things to entertain, amuse, teach, do with the kids. When the box of markers or the extra paper or the photo printer or the earplugs or the myriad of other necessary items absolutely had to be with me.

Because if I didn't have those lists going, I would lie awake all night long and obsess. I'd think of something and in an effort to avoid forgetting it, would repeat it to myself every time I briefly surfaced from sleep. It was just nuts.
Eric pointed out more than once (correctly) that just taking the kids to one of the GS properties and letting them hang out for the weekend would have been enough to make them happy. That they'd enjoy each other's company and if I forgot something, no one would care. In fact, they wouldn't even notice unless I told them.

He was right, of course. But just because he's right doesn't mean I won't obsess.

I still make lists.
Right now, I am planning the things I'll need to do a bunch of crafty things at our winter break program, and making a long list. I'm also doing my annual thing I do at my own site, we make an ornament or some sort of decoration every single day during the month of December. Today's project was a reindeer made from puzzle pieces. I painted them brown a long time ago, and they are in a ziploc bag. We add our own touch, after they're glued together, the kids paint on a clear coat with extremely fine glitter mixed in. We can't use the sprinkle variety in the cafeteria, and really, who wants to? There's a reason glitter is considered the herpes of craft supplies, am I right?

So instead of trying to keep track of lists here and lists there (here a list, there a list, everywhere a list list) I am constantly picking up my phone and sending myself a one or two word email. Then, the next time I sit down at the computer, there's a list of all the things I need to remember to either take to work with me or find here at home and put into a box for winter break. I've also been texting our manager to let her know that I need this or that.

And I still obsess. I worry all the time over inconsequential things. I worry about important things. I worry. I obsess.

My friend Karen and I refer to this as riding the crazy train.

Have you seen my motivation?

In my defense, I had a migraine off and on all weekend, and I'm tired.

I am also stressing out over work.

It's been an... interesting summer.
Actually an interesting year, since it was a year ago our abrasive supervisor left for greener pastures.

I am looking forward to getting back to my own site on September 9th. Where I can put my hands on anything I need in the back room, where there is no deferring to someone else regarding scheduling (if the kids need a change of scenery or activity level, I can just decide to do that without being told I'm doing it wrong) and I won't be working with anyone who doesn't share my love of the job.

But in two weeks we'll be having company and it's time for me to catch up with all the things that need to be done at home.

I love that Bob comes to visit us. He's a good guy, he loves my kids, they love him, and I know I've mentioned before that in our nearly 33 years of marriage, he hasn't said a single negative thing to me regarding how I take care of his son, my house, my kids, my life in general... not a word.

He's actually said to me that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to his son, that he is happy we got together all those years ago (so am I, really) and I appreciate that.

I even appreciate him coming to visit.

But we have to get the bedroom ready, we need to get a bed or something for him, nothing is done, the house is a mess, we have a ton of stuff to toss out (gonna have to rent a dumpster because part of what we have to get rid of is furniture) and I am tired, my feet hurt and I don't WANNA.

So if you see my motivation or you can spare some of yours, send it out this way, will you?

And I have some phone calls to make today. A couple of them are of extreme importance, and one of them has me a little... apprehensive. I know I'm doing the right thing, and that helps, but it's still difficult for me to do.

I am being deliberately vague because it's work stuff, but considering how I can write it up. I'd love to share, believe me. It's possible that I'll write it all up and then tell you that if you want to read it, email me and I will email you in return. That way I'll know who's reading.

Hm.

Adolescent Skin and Litigation

AARGHHHHHHHHHH!!

And whiskers!

And mood swings.

I've been having the weirdest sleep patterns. I know that part of it is the ungodly hour of the morning that I must get out of bed, part of it is hormones, part of it is continuing pain in my left knee that never has healed properly, part of it is that I'm always anxious.

Now that most of the legal shit is over, I should be less anxious, but that's not usually how I work. During all the long, drawn out legal process I wasn't as edgy as I am right now.

I'm weird. I admit it.

In July, the judge handed down his decisions... all the medical bills from continuing treatment related to my left knee were to be paid. I was to be reimbursed for the surgery I paid for myself in December, paid for time lost from work, all my attorney's legal fees were to be paid, and the remainder of the permanent partial disability on my left knee was to be paid as well.

None of those things happened. A new player, Charitable Inc. sent me a bunch of letters denying all of it.

Evidently they can't do that.

So now, in addition to whatever they were already ordered to pay by the judge, they must add a penalty for not paying in a timely manner.

Every piece of paper I get is almost undecipherable. I mean, they're written in English, punctuated correctly, and perfectly legible, but I have no idea what the fuck they mean. All written in legalese.

So I finally managed to be calm enough to talk with my attorney and gained some understanding of what is going on.

It boils down to: I will get some sort of settlement. It's being hashed out by my attorney and the Humanitarians, and we may or may not be able to come to an agreement.

It has never been about personal gain, and it isn't now, either. What it's really about is that I'm pissed about how I was treated, I am pissed that there are actually legions of kind and generous people JUST LIKE them who make money out of shitting on injured workers.

This is one crazy world. Seriously.

My stupid head...

OH MY GOD headache from hell!!!

Do not ask me why I got it or where it came from or for goodness sake WHY the medication DID NOT WORK. I don't have answers for any of that.

Now I *can* give you the answer my 'doctor' in the dream gave to me just before I woke up about 3 AM to take a migraine pill.

"You have a large tumor in your prefrontal lobe."

Nice to wake up to.
The migraine pill did not do SHIT to stop the headache.

I took two excedrin. Two hours later, I woke up and it still hurt just as much, so guess what? I took ANOTHER one.

And when I got up about an hour after that, I was able to get a shower, but after that unable to function again at all. So I took two aspirin (yes, I know that's a fuck of a lot of aspirin products) went back to bed, told Eric to wake me up when it was time for another dose of migraine medication, and sort of slept.

The 2nd pill seems to have worked, at least for now. It's 7:30 PM. I took two online courses to maintain my certification for my job for another year, had a taco salad and a little bowl of ice cream, chatted with some friends online.... and bam, just like that, the weekend's over.

And although there are more exciting things on my mind than my headache, I find I haven't the _____ to talk about them.

Coming soon, though, more on the upcoming work comp hearing and assorted other shit that has me stressed out. I'm not at all sure that I won't be pursuing a claim for my mental state after all this. That's part of what I'm talking about right now with an attorney.

Long short week

Enviable schedule, really. Two days on, a day off, two days on, two days off... what's not to like?

But I haven't been sleeping well for a variety of reasons. Some I can talk about here (missing my daughter, changes at work, fireworks in the middle of the night... and no, not like honeymoon fireworks, fireworks... pyrotechnics.)

Some I'm not up to talking about. Work comp thing drags on and on... not ready to write about it because it would require me to THINK about it and that always gets me simultaneously pissed off and angry and feeling helpless.

Argh.

Also, since I've been getting up at 5 or so for the last three years, my bladder thinks it's time to get up at 5 every day. ::sigh::

I'd rather sleep, because all the stuff that I think about is just sort of waiting next to the bed and when I get up and shuffle to the bathroom, it all just jumps up and attaches to my legs and the hem of my t shirt. And then swarms all over me when I lie back down.

And I have trouble getting back to sleep.

Today I woke a little before four, and couldn't get back to sleep. I really, really wanted to. I got up with Eric a little after five, figuring I'd go back to bed after he left for work. I did, too, about seven. And slept until 10, then had to get up and start getting ready for work.

I read a quote today that said, 'first i can't sleep, then i can't wake up'

That's me.

Our manager is moving to another state. They held a little going away party for her this evening. I had a prior engagement, but I did have time to stop by and take a gift for her and for her son. He enjoyed the Zentangle I showed him at our training back in June so much that I bought him a little kit. Some little notebooks, graphite pencils, pens with gel ink, an eraser and a couple blending sticks... this and that. Oh, and the book Zentangle for Kidz. It was kind of an expensive little going away gift, and I'm not sure why I did it, but there must be a reason... and I usually listen to that little voice of intuition. So whatever. 25 bucks or so.

I told him he has to draw me a few and send them to me, but you know, he's 8. I am not going to hold my breath.

Things have finally smoothed out at work. It's still hectic, but we're getting into a groove. Most of us have worked together for years and years, and know each other's strengths.

I won't talk about weaknesses. Counter productive and wouldn't be helpful to me personally, either. You never know who might be reading.

So that's it. Tired, going to bed by 10 is sort of weird on a weekend, but I don't care. I am not afraid to look weird, I work with children.

Are you bored seeing zentangle stuff yet? I have a few that I could post if you want to see them.

CONTACT!

So Lyssie is off visiting a friend in another state. I miss her. Think of her all day, stuff happens at work and I want to tell her about it, then I remember she won't be home when I get home to share.

I text her on occasion.

Today I texted her several times.

No answer.

I called her cell phone. No answer.

Now those of you who have read here more than a week or two know that I may, possibly have a teeny little problem with anxiety.

Which is why I take medication to help derail the crazy train on a daily basis, as well as having something in case I'm slammed with an anxiety attack.

This wasn't a medication situation, this was a DO NOT take anything, keep your head clear, oh god what happened to my DAUGHTER and why won't she call??

I won't even tell you where my mind went, but I had a whole scenario of what had probably happened and I already knew the police wouldn't listen to a panicky mother of an adult child who is old enough to travel on her own...

UGH.

So I texted the adult in the family she's staying with and asked her if she would please have Lyssa call me.

And just as I got to the meeting that I had to go to this evening, I finally heard from my girl.

HUGE sigh of relief!!!

I know that I will never stop worrying about my kids, that they grow up and do things here and there... but I don't like that helpless feeling I had for a couple hours this afternoon!!

All is well now. My baby is fine. I can sleep.
:)

Zzz Mental sit. Zzzz Mental fall asleep. ZZZ Mental ZZzzzz.

Woke up at 3:15. AM. That's before 4. And definitely before 5, which is my usual time.

Eric jumped out of bed and ran to the front door in his underwear because he heard something, or thought he did. Turned out there was nothing going on. So he wandered into the bathroom, then came back to bed.

And I knew that I would have to go to the bathroom TOO or I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.

So I carefully did not grab a flashlight. Didn't want to wake all the way up. No. No, no, no, no.....

I focused my mind on deep, soft blue sand in an unbroken expanse for miles around me in all directions.

And by the time I got back in bed, the little hamster who lives in my head had jumped on the wheel and started running.

"FUCK your blue sand!!" he screamed. "I'm here, I'm an asshole... GET USED TO IT!!!"

Little dickhead has more energy than good sense, that's for sure.
:::sigh:::

So now it's almost my regular bedtime and I'm pretty sure I know exactly how road kill feels.

And if I see that goddamned hamster, he's gonna know how road kill feels, too.

Planning as Self Defense

So when I dragged myself out of bed at the unholy hour of 4:45 yesterday morning, I had to snicker a little.

I think I'm becoming a little more manly.

Last week we discussed a little blurring of gender roles here at my house... remember? I suggested that my hubby, who's suddenly very domestic (Hey... I think I'm going to can some pickles, Honey) may be a Lesbian. Doing dishes, cooks the majority of our meals, goes grocery shopping with me, has been known to fold laundry or run the dishwasher... All these girly* things plus he loves women. I can't think of many more obvious indicators, can you?

(*yes, I am aware those are not really girly things. Sarcasm, people, sarcasm.)

So anyway, back to me. Which is as it should be. :)

I don't move very fast when I get out of bed. My feet are a little arthritic. My knee (the one that there's nothing wrong with) hurts. I have to hold on to the back of the computer chair and the side of the bed until I get over to the dresser. Then I hobble to the end of that, and by the time I reach the bedroom door, I'm able to walk a little better.

It's official. I'm becoming more manly. I wake up stiff.

I wrote several posts ahead for my blog over the long weekend, 'shelved' them and will yank them out if necessary/I have nothing new to say this week.

I knew the first week of being back to work full time would be hectic and that I'd be tired and crabby and may not feel like sitting down in front of the computer to write.

I have this... compulsion now to post every day. When I don't have a post ready, or at least an idea about what I want to say for the day, it bugs me until I get started either writing or at least have a couple ideas about what I want to say. Sometimes, I go back through my posts and find one I've saved that I never published, pull it out and dust it off and cut a few corners and pad a few edges and toss it out there for my daily post.

I like being... ready. I don't like surprises.

I know I've mentioned that. Spontaneity is not something I do well, really. I like to have things planned, figured out to the smallest 'what could go wrong and what can I do about it?' degree.

This has caused admiration in the past from friends and acquaintances when they have attended a kid birthday party or Girl scout event I've planned. Because they always look impressive. Because I've driven myself insane for a week or a month or two months planning and trying to be ready for anything.

Notice I did not say family admiration? That's because my family isn't impressed with my list making and fretting skills. They know those lists aren't something to admire, but simply a tool for saving my sanity. A coping mechanism. A way of self regulating. And when you come to one of those events, you have no idea how stressed out I was when planning and implementing. Because it looks easy.

I'm nutty when planning for something. My lists have lists.

Rational? No. Of course not. Anxiety isn't a rational thing. It's not logical or easy or fun, either.

There was a time when I was a little more spontaneous, but something really awful happened to me that involved a huge amount of painful surprise and ongoing mental anguish and I've never really been the same since.

I have always had the anxiety, though. It's a lot like a barnacle. Attached so firmly that there's no way in hell that it's ever gonna come off on its own. I can't think of many things that have made it better, but can name literally hundreds of things that make it worse.

So a little thing like planning ahead for the sake of sanity isn't something to be admired.

Trust me on this.

Is my monster back?

Monster is such a mild word for such a complicated thing as the creature who sometimes controls me.

It will have to do until I come up with a better one. One that feels right.

For about a month I've been starting to feel anxious and have the up and down and up and down and up and down cycle thing again. Even with nightly narcotics (the knee that there is NOTHING WRONG WITH continues to wake me up at least 4 times a night despite said narcotics) and the occasional half xanax, I am waking up with anxiety in between pain flares.

I'm so tired that I don't even wake up to pee unless my hormones have added their cheerful chaos into the mix. But being tired doesn't stop the anxiety. It comes through in my dreams, and lately hounds me into wakefulness, things upsetting me hitting me first thing in the morning and just not leaving me alone all day long. No matter what else I handle during the day, that stuff is once again taking over my equilibrium.

I'm alternately tearful, feel hopeless, feel overwhelmed... up and down and up and down. Back on the crazy train, as it were. I do NOT LIKE the ride!!

Not a good place to be. It was not this bad a year ago when I decided it was time to get help, but I can feel it ramping up, and I'm starting to feel disarmed and helpless and scared again.

I'm now intimately familiar with the symptoms of anxiety/depression as they apply to me, and not willing to let it go and hope that things get better on their own.

I've learned not to do that. Finally.

So I actually tried to make an appointment with Dr. Dirtball when I first noticed it, but by this circumstance and that, wasn't able to get in to see her right away. Best I could do was this coming Tuesday. 1st appointment of the day.

Now the person who makes the appointments is supposed to find out exactly what I want to see the doctor for. I understand that's due to scheduling and time constraints.

But I'm not particularly interested in telling the person who answers the telephone all the details of my life/condition/ailments/monster. I have enough trouble telling those things to my doctor, who I've been seeing for 10 years. It's damned hard to sit down and tell her how I really, really feel.

I'm not accustomed to sharing those things with strangers on the other end of the telephone, ya know? It feels unfair. For example, I don't walk in and, seeing the person behind the desk, refer to a piece of paper and know she has cramps, may be pregnant, has a rash under her arms... those things aren't my business. And while she may have access to my records, my personal stuff isn't hers, either.

So I said,  "Well, I've been on the medication a year and it's time for a med check. How do you do appointments? 15 minute? Half hour?"

She said that for a med check they ordinarily allow 15 minutes.

Then I said, "Well I have some other things to discuss with her. A slight fungal infection in my ear, some skin changes etc... better make it half an hour."

And she said,"Well, so I can tell her what to expect, what should I write down?"

And, knowing you can hear a smile in someone's voice, I smiled GREAT BIG. Said, "You can write down that I was very mysterious and refused to tell you all the gory details, but that I was pretty sure I'd need at least a half hour."

She tried valiantly one more time, "Well, she does like to know what a person is coming in for so she can be prepared with certain supplies or... ?" and she let it trail off on an interrogatory note.

I used the big smiley voice again.

"Oh. Well good then, it's all cool, she won't need anything except her prescription pad and her ears. But thanks for asking!"

So I see her Tuesday morning at 8.
Hope we can derail the train.

Happy Anniversary

Skip this post if you don't want to watch me pitch a fit.
Seriously.
I shall whine. And vent. And gnash my teeth. And look crazily like my father as I do so. Or should I say look crazy like my father?
Hm.

Although I'd pretty much rather forget it, it was a year ago today that Dr. Slice and Dice replaced the ACL in my left knee.

I spent the night in the hospital, while they tried to get the pain under control. It was horrendous, monstrous, all-encompassing and nightmarish, despite the morphine, the lovely nurse who took such good care of me, and the semi-privacy of a room that was no bigger than a fart bucket, as my grandma used to say.

Had some fun with complete numbness in the leg, which scared me to death, no one had prepared me for that possibility.

When I read the surgeon's report later, I learned that the first step in my surgery was to cut off blood flow to my leg via a tourniquet on my upper thigh. For the entire surgery. So a simple explanation would have been greatly appreciated. Not that anyone gave a shit then or gives one now.

In a recovery that was just as painful and just as horrible as the rotator cuff surgery I'd had eight months earlier, I spent time watching an old television series, some documentaries and the inside of my eyelids. All perfect for the amount of attention span I had between the narcotics and the pain.

I went back to work in September when school started, still taking pain medication, still limping. Still wearing an immobilizing brace. Still hurting. It was goddamn hard to be there the requisite six hours a day, but the fear of having my insurance benefits taken away once again kept me there through the pain.

I'd love to say that a year later, I'm glad I had the knee fixed, but I don't know if I can honestly say that.

It didn't hurt until I tore it in the first place. I'd basically recovered from the meniscus surgery, and was doing well.

Now, a year after it's been 'fixed', it hurts.
Often.
I'm told I just need to buck up and learn to live with it. It's a 'chronic condition.'

I have a medical arbiter exam in a couple weeks to determine the extent of permanent disability. I'm sure that will be a lot of fun, considering how much general anxiety I have and how much medically-specific anxiety I have piled on top.

Got a lovely offer to settle last week, although we didn't discuss dollar amount, because a caveat was that I would need to resign from my job. Unless it's a million dollars, I won't consider that.

Really.

And then, if it were a million, I'd start my own child care center and do it right.
But I am sure it's a pittance... not that it matters. Since through all kinds of shit and pain and aggravation and stress I have done a damn fine job and plan to continue doing so as long as I can.

Up yours, Statesman and Philanthropist, LLC.

You don't know me. My work ethic. The fact that I have worked goddamn hard at my glorified babysitter job and I am very, very good at what I do. Fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

In case that's not clear, I'll come back to it later.

Now we get to discuss the right knee.

I fired my surgeon, although that's not really the right word. I just... switched doctors. He was not going to perform surgery, which suits me just fine, so had no reason to continue seeing me.

As he sat and looked at me while I talked, I got the feeling he was listening to about every third word. And dismissing me.


As in, "I've stopped listening. Why haven't you stopped talking?"

But the doctor I transferred my care to is not a specialist. And won't disagree verbally, let alone in writing that there is still something going on with my right knee. And has let me know that within a month or so, he'll be expecting to sign off on my case. Pressure from the comp insurer.

To make that even nicer, when I called for a refill on the goddamn pain meds, I was treated to a mini lecture from the doctor that came via Lena*. That I need to discuss starting to taper off. That anti inflammatory and pain medications aren't a long term solution.

Awesome. I've heard from this person and that person and the other person that they can't help me, that there's nothing really wrong besides I'm a twin to Jabba the Hutt
(thanks for the giggle you left in my comments a couple weeks ago,  Fern dear ) and that I have arthritis.

Yes to both. HOWthefuckEVER... I know the difference between the mild grinding and discomfort of ordinary wear and tear aka arthritis and the FUCKING RIP in my FUCKING RIGHT KNEE.

So now, I get to use my own medical insurance. And go to another orthopedic doctor. And the frame of mind I'm currently in? I hope he's not offended by profanity.

Hm. Maybe I should print this post out and be ready to hand it to him on my way out if he turns out to be an arrogant asshole who graduated from the same, "I have stopped listening, why haven't you stopped talking?" school of medicine.

Okay. So medicating the pain isn't a long term solution.

What the fuck is???? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I resent having to buy a goddamn advocate. I resent ALL of this shit!!!

encapsulated bits

Making decorations for the summer program at work this week and next.
I'll post some pictures this weekend.
If I get them taken.

Had an anxiety attack on Thursday morning.
No, I don't know why.
No, the traffic wasn't bad on my way to my physical therapy appointment.
No near misses. No near hits, either. Found a place to park that wasn't too far away.
I spent the first 45 minutes of my appointment wanting to leave.
OUT OUT OUT. Ready to cry. Scared. When you're riding the crazy train, there isn't any logic involved.

::shrug::

One of my kids is sort of snotty. Or snooty. Or both.
The family, at least the extended family, has money.
Grandma came to pick up on Wednesday afternoon. Told him to HURRY, time for swimming. Liam* asked where he takes lessons, since Liam is taking lessons and it's like the most exciting part of his life.

She SNIFFED at him and said, "Drew* takes PRIVATE lessons in Clackamas."
It was truly her being snotty, too. Attitude sticking out all over the place.
Bag.
Liam didn't notice how rude she was, he just sort of shrugged and said bye to Drew.

We're doing at least two if not three crafty sorts of projects a week now. Reading is over. We have extra time. And gee, surprise... the kids love it. They're starved for stuff like that. I'm glad I have so much stuff in the back room. I could do a project a day for three months. Seriously.
Eric cut Maggie's toenails on Wednesday night and got the quick on one of her back ones. It bled and bled and bled. And then it bled. What a mess. I thought it would never stop.

I'm so tired of stupid hormones. My cycles are closer together, PMS is worse but the actual messy celebration is shorter and easier every month. However. I am 50 years old. What the hell is the deal with the adolescent skin? There was a huge fucking thing behind my left ear that I didn't even know was there until I touched it. And it exploded all over the goddamn place. It was AUDIBLE. Jesus.

Been reading the synopsis of the faith healing trial here each evening. I won't comment further on what I think, you all know. But I'm a little confused about why it's so important to me. Why I'm so affected by it. I don't know these people. Not likely to. We move in different circles. I doubt I'll attend church with them. I know for sure they're not coming over here for dinner. Why is it so important to me?

I do not know. But that poor baby is on my mind. As well as the other kids who are prisoners of the cult.

Okay.
Tired.
Panic thing today made me a little more weary than usual, I think.

And then I had acupuncture. Which made me feel better physically, but also leaves me quite relaxed and wishing for a nap.

It's Friday. I had a short week. I'm glad. Hope you have a good day free of hormones, adolescent skin, panic attacks, and haughty old women who have been arrogant so long they probably don't even have any idea how they're perceived.

On my mind today...

Adhesives.

There are occasions for good, strong adhesives. But I hate it when labels, stickers and other items leave residue upon removal.

A few years ago, we picked up a filing cabinet at a warehouse store downtown. It's a great cabinet, VERY sturdy and old. It was once owned by Meier and Frank, a famous department store, at least famous in this area. I had plans to paint it, but after trying to get all the adhesive off the front where the label used to be, I sort of tabled the idea indefinitely.

I hated the adhesive on the steri-strips from my recent surgery wounds. Was picking it off for days. Ditto the November shoulder surgery... they put this weird stuff on me that resembled marshmallow. A thick, gooey white pad to protect and cushion the wound. Great until I had to take it off. What a pain in the butt! I was pulling chunks of that stuff off for more than a week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of pain in the butt. Another thing on my mind that's driving me insane... when will underwear manufacturers come up with panties that don't grab a person's delicate hairs and twist them all up in the leg bands? I HATE that... especially when I'm in a hurry to pee and go in and pull my pants down only to yank out a hair or two. SURPRISE!!!!
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rude neighbors are on my mind, too. Remember my neighbor's Chihuahua? Well, Thursday night none of them were home, so they left the little shit outside until after eleven. Where it yapped and yapped and yapped and yapped. Which sucks when it's night and really, you just want to go to sleep.

Eric volunteered to go shoot it. He was willing to go across the street in his underwear and take care of the problem. It was hard for me to say no. Really hard. I thought it was a great idea, actually. But I was afraid he'd get caught. If we can think of a way he could get away with it without anyone finding out... well, never mind.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The heat. I hate the heat. It's not horribly hot in the house, for which I am grateful. But forget going anywhere. Makes me feel like shit to get out and about when it's hot like this.

Too humid. When I am in Eastern Oregon and it's hot, it doesn't bother me much. Too dry. But seriously... when it's over 90 here, it physically makes me ill to be out in it.

As I write, it's nearing 9:00 pm. We're going to go do our grocery shopping here in just a bit. I'll have to wear my leg brace, which will not help with temperature control.

Ugh.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Razor burn.
No matter what kind of shaving foam or gel I have tried, no matter what kind of razor I use, I always get razor burn under my arms. Occasionally I get it on my legs, too.
This is not fair.
And I want it to stop.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whiskers.
My own.
Certain times of the month seem to help them grow. And I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, strongest reading glasses on my face, pair of tweezers in my hand pulling them out. And when I can feel one and can't quite get enough of it to pull, I gouge it until it submits.
I don't like having a hairy face.
I am not a monkey.
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Fathood.
A lifetime of fathood.
Lost and gained and lost and gained the same 30 lbs over and over. And over and over.
Fuck.

Fuck.
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Driving. Specifically, Miss Lyssa. We need to get her behind the wheel and driving, much as I hate the idea.
It just about killed me to get Matt driving. I have no reason to think it will be any easier to let go of my baby and have her out driving around.
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Blogging.
I have posted every day for almost three years.
At the end of those three years I am going to stop.


Not forever. Just not going to blog daily unless I feel like it.
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Work.
Gearing up for Fall. First week crunch. Looking forward to meeting my new kids. Reconnecting with the ones who are returning. Love my job. I have to get out to the school sometime between the 23rd and 27th to meet the new principal. At least I'm familiar to the school staff and have established that I'm reliable and not flaky, and that I'm running a good program. Hope I get along with this principal as well as I did with the one who retired this year.
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Religion.
I am fine with everyone's beliefs as long as those beliefs don't cause harm to others.
But don't knock on my door and offer me 'good news' or pamphlets or to invite me to church. And when I point out the no soliciting sign, don't be stupid and obtuse and tell me that since you're not selling anything, it doesn't apply to you.
Yes you are.
Yes it does.
Go away.
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So that's what's on my mind today.
Along with showers and housework and knee pain. Elderly dogs, fish tanks with one inhabitant, dirty floors, papers to shred, craft supplies to gather, tie dye supplies to have ready (gonna help kids dye shirts on Monday) and sleep... which I did not get enough of last night due to hormones, knee pain, hormones, and knee pain. As well as a little knee pain. And hormones.

What's on your mind today?  

It was going to be a busy week anyway....

But I definitely added to the stress level by sticking an almost last minute mini vacation to the end of it.

• Monday. Work, Costco, no time for a nap, work.
• Tuesday. Work, physical therapy, short nap*, work.
• Wednesday. Work, very short nap, early work.
• Thursday. Work, physical therapy, short nap, work.
• Friday. Work. Leave. Relax at the coast.

But you know I'll stress and obsess about everything between now and then, too. I'll lose sleep.
Packing... don't want to forget anything.
The drive to the coast... I'm always apprehensive when heading out and away from the kids, what if something happens to both of us?
I will wake up at night and write stuff on the list I keep next to the bed.

I know it's silly to obsess. I don't like doing it. But I don't seem to be able to stop it, either.

Why was I thinking this was a good idea?
Hmm.

*Naps are always optional, and sometimes I just don't have time for the option. But I take them when I can. They make me feel better.