I was all set to go dancing tonight which I love and which I will not be able to do for the rest of the summer, and even though I was exhausted to the point of barely standing up, I put on my dress and went forth for a salad (light enough to not get naseous while being swung.) While eating alone, I was reading (of course) and fireworks started going off in my head and I just sat there neglecting my salad writing furiously, acting upon some serious revelations:
1. I have to quit my job. It is not worthy of me and I don't deserve to so belittle myself.
2. I have to do it soon. Like in the next year.
3. It's Sharon's fault for giving me the book.
4. It is going to be hard for me to find another job since I will not be grateful to be employed; I will be looking for something worthy of my talents.
5. It is going to be next to impossible. Bring it on!
Showing posts with label Miscellanea: my daughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miscellanea: my daughter. Show all posts
16 June 2013
15 December 2012
El Guapo is dead
Not the fighter, Bas Rutten, but his name-sake the fighting fish. He had been dying for a while, not eating, then eating, lying on his side, then not lying on his side. He looked rather as if he had had a stroke except I really have no idea if fish can have strokes and if they can if they effect only one side etc. I kept feeling like I should be doing more for him. At one point I had decided he actually was dead just lying there on his side near the bottom, so I asked the Big Bad Bean, who came over and tapped the tank. I think it was rather like CPR for the little guy since he jumped up and was fine for a few days, then went back to his malingering.
Just to be sure, I left him there and kept feeding him until bits started falling off and drifting away. then I flushed his corpse. I'm not sure why I thought Deer Island was a better solution than being dug up and harried by the crazy neighborhood squirrels, but I did.
Humph.
Just to be sure, I left him there and kept feeding him until bits started falling off and drifting away. then I flushed his corpse. I'm not sure why I thought Deer Island was a better solution than being dug up and harried by the crazy neighborhood squirrels, but I did.
Humph.
21 March 2012
Muse
I am becoming utterly self-obsessed. It doesn't feel like self-obsession, it feels like being driven, but I can see that the sensation of wanting to push everyone and everything away and just focus on what's inside certainly looks like self obsession. In fact it is, but it's also described as in the grip of one's muse. I don't recall ever having it this bad before. I should ask the Big Bad Bean.
I dutifully took the Bumble Bean to the beach for his solar system adventure. Castle Island was full of police and people in silly green things, so we had to drive up to Revere which was mercifully full of nothing at all, not even much water as the tide was lower than I have ever seen it. Revere Beach on an eighty degree day two days before the start of spring at very low tide dimpled all over with sand dollars, not white, but somewhere between milk chocolate and rust, with dog tracks and people tracks and seagull tracks and what the Bean decided were ocean tracks, the hollows full of sloshing water and what I strongly suspect was clam poop but the Bean determined were worms, the ridges crushing under foot and full of clams, some with grass growing from them and some with sea weed. I pulled a few out for the Bean to see and he got very excited and silly about the "noses" being gulped and chewed right up with big teeth. He also pick several enormous bouquets of seaweed, some to set sail in his crocs, some to weight down with sand and other ooze, some to stomp, some to release into the ocean. It was fun and he was fun and I had fun, but I was really waiting to be alone with my...me? To write and draw and learn to draw and practice drawing and formulate Artemis Winter.
Today I went along so the String Bean could practice his driving. He drives like an asshole and this is good for me to observe because he doesn't drive this way because he is an asshole, just because driving around here makes no sense whatsoever and he is inexperienced. We passed a man who was getting dressed on the sidewalk. He pulled up his pants just as we approached him, but he pulled them up no higher than the bottom curve of his buttocks.
Dutifully, I will meet tomorrow with the childish lecher at work and go for coffee and talk with interest and intelligence on whatever he wants to discuss. Dutifully, I will meet with the angry mom on Friday, I will go to dance, I will go to science. Saturday, my duty will take me to lunch with ... someone who i don't feel able to describe. Sunday with the Bean again, then work again on Monday.
I will not design half a dozen dresses. I will not make much progress on my drawing or story. I will get almost no house work or home projects done or even started. Was waking up such a good idea?
I dutifully took the Bumble Bean to the beach for his solar system adventure. Castle Island was full of police and people in silly green things, so we had to drive up to Revere which was mercifully full of nothing at all, not even much water as the tide was lower than I have ever seen it. Revere Beach on an eighty degree day two days before the start of spring at very low tide dimpled all over with sand dollars, not white, but somewhere between milk chocolate and rust, with dog tracks and people tracks and seagull tracks and what the Bean decided were ocean tracks, the hollows full of sloshing water and what I strongly suspect was clam poop but the Bean determined were worms, the ridges crushing under foot and full of clams, some with grass growing from them and some with sea weed. I pulled a few out for the Bean to see and he got very excited and silly about the "noses" being gulped and chewed right up with big teeth. He also pick several enormous bouquets of seaweed, some to set sail in his crocs, some to weight down with sand and other ooze, some to stomp, some to release into the ocean. It was fun and he was fun and I had fun, but I was really waiting to be alone with my...me? To write and draw and learn to draw and practice drawing and formulate Artemis Winter.
Today I went along so the String Bean could practice his driving. He drives like an asshole and this is good for me to observe because he doesn't drive this way because he is an asshole, just because driving around here makes no sense whatsoever and he is inexperienced. We passed a man who was getting dressed on the sidewalk. He pulled up his pants just as we approached him, but he pulled them up no higher than the bottom curve of his buttocks.
Dutifully, I will meet tomorrow with the childish lecher at work and go for coffee and talk with interest and intelligence on whatever he wants to discuss. Dutifully, I will meet with the angry mom on Friday, I will go to dance, I will go to science. Saturday, my duty will take me to lunch with ... someone who i don't feel able to describe. Sunday with the Bean again, then work again on Monday.
I will not design half a dozen dresses. I will not make much progress on my drawing or story. I will get almost no house work or home projects done or even started. Was waking up such a good idea?
09 January 2012
Several cephalopods
Blogger dot com sucks when it comes to my spelling needs. Couldn't find cephalopod at all. Mind you, I had it very misspelled to start, but once I corrected it, this spell check insisted that I wanted sloped or scalloped or scalped. Is scalped really a more popular concept than octopi and squid? I suppose it is the scalping of tickets and not the forcible removal of the forelock with a tomahawk.
The liquor store that revels in having fun sayings on its sign as you drive north on 28 had its usual "Holidays mean family, we sell liquor" sign up until a few days ago when they replaced it with "and now without the octopus." I don't know what it means and I didn't notice until I walked out so I could ask (and yes I would have) but it reminded me that I have a new design idea for the Octopus Obsession and possibly the Magical Starfish. Also that I am without the squid that took up residence below my belly button. Maybe it was the swimming? Maybe I am not ready to relinquish swimming to the Big Bad and the Bumble Beans between them?
I should really get on with the next step of my toymaking career, but I think I need to rest a little first.
And possibly clean the house. It needs it and so do I.
The liquor store that revels in having fun sayings on its sign as you drive north on 28 had its usual "Holidays mean family, we sell liquor" sign up until a few days ago when they replaced it with "and now without the octopus." I don't know what it means and I didn't notice until I walked out so I could ask (and yes I would have) but it reminded me that I have a new design idea for the Octopus Obsession and possibly the Magical Starfish. Also that I am without the squid that took up residence below my belly button. Maybe it was the swimming? Maybe I am not ready to relinquish swimming to the Big Bad and the Bumble Beans between them?
I should really get on with the next step of my toymaking career, but I think I need to rest a little first.
And possibly clean the house. It needs it and so do I.
05 September 2011
Healing Traditions
This evening was an evening when I was off Bumble Bean duty, but I'm such a sucker that when he asked I stayed with him until he fell asleep...it's hard to feel bad about that. But, I had decided that once he fell asleep, I would do a variety of things on my ridiculously long to-do list for this 3 day weekend, then watch The Rock (the movie not the ex-wrestler) and take a shower before bed.
Usually when I make plans like this they founder on the to-do list, either because I get caught up in the to-do's or because I become overwhelmed and just play sudoku until I pass out, accomplishing nothing.
This time I got through two and a half items on my to-do list, fast-forwarded through The Rock and just as it was time to take a shower, I decided that tonight would be the night that I oiled myself all over. Two people have now recommended this to me for health and nice skin, so with no more knowledge than sesame oil and a hot shower (no soap) I took my bottle of cold pressed oil into the bathroom, routed the cat and proceeded to oil myself all over. This was a rather shocking experience, first because I rarely actually see my body anymore and when I do I'm in a hurry, showering, steam, no glasses, etc... The second reason it was shocking is simply because of what I found upon examination. I will not go into details since I know the Long Bean occasionally reads this and I don't want to embarrass him. It was however quite dis-heartening.
I quickly realized that I should perhaps have gone to the website that was recommended to me about this since I found I didn't know how much oil I was supposed to be using... Should I be slick or just glowing? I went for slick since I figured I was at an oil deficit and my hands were at this point to oily to go use the computer. I then took my oily self into the shower having decided to not oil my face or my hair since I didn't remember any guidance on those systems.
Upon entry into the shower, two things that I have always known came to the forefront of my mind. First, that I use my hands to wipe the water from my eyes and push the hair back so I can breathe, and, second, with hot watter, oil becomes impossible to contain. So with a greasy face and hair, smelling like nothing so much as a tin of tahini, I rubbed and rubbed at my healthily oiled body and came to yet another gap in my knowledge. Namely, how much of this stuff was I supposed to be trying to remove? I rubbed and rubbed at the body that I had come to be a stranger in and abruptly came against yet another truth that I know but had forgotten. Bath tubs are slippery when wet. They are ever more slippery when oiled and wet.
I have, in a healthy glowing way, strained one of my groin muscles. I don't actually know if it is a groin muscle since the only time I am ever aware of it is when the Big Bad Bean feels compelled to do this horrible hip-type set which feels remarkably like I've just been kicked in the groin... or, as it turns out, like I slipped in an oily bathtub.
Ah, well. I am out. I am clean-ish. My skin feels nice and not covered in an oily scum (noticeably unlike the bathtub) and the pain in my thigh has subsided to the point that I think I will be able to sleep.
Usually when I make plans like this they founder on the to-do list, either because I get caught up in the to-do's or because I become overwhelmed and just play sudoku until I pass out, accomplishing nothing.
This time I got through two and a half items on my to-do list, fast-forwarded through The Rock and just as it was time to take a shower, I decided that tonight would be the night that I oiled myself all over. Two people have now recommended this to me for health and nice skin, so with no more knowledge than sesame oil and a hot shower (no soap) I took my bottle of cold pressed oil into the bathroom, routed the cat and proceeded to oil myself all over. This was a rather shocking experience, first because I rarely actually see my body anymore and when I do I'm in a hurry, showering, steam, no glasses, etc... The second reason it was shocking is simply because of what I found upon examination. I will not go into details since I know the Long Bean occasionally reads this and I don't want to embarrass him. It was however quite dis-heartening.
I quickly realized that I should perhaps have gone to the website that was recommended to me about this since I found I didn't know how much oil I was supposed to be using... Should I be slick or just glowing? I went for slick since I figured I was at an oil deficit and my hands were at this point to oily to go use the computer. I then took my oily self into the shower having decided to not oil my face or my hair since I didn't remember any guidance on those systems.
Upon entry into the shower, two things that I have always known came to the forefront of my mind. First, that I use my hands to wipe the water from my eyes and push the hair back so I can breathe, and, second, with hot watter, oil becomes impossible to contain. So with a greasy face and hair, smelling like nothing so much as a tin of tahini, I rubbed and rubbed at my healthily oiled body and came to yet another gap in my knowledge. Namely, how much of this stuff was I supposed to be trying to remove? I rubbed and rubbed at the body that I had come to be a stranger in and abruptly came against yet another truth that I know but had forgotten. Bath tubs are slippery when wet. They are ever more slippery when oiled and wet.
I have, in a healthy glowing way, strained one of my groin muscles. I don't actually know if it is a groin muscle since the only time I am ever aware of it is when the Big Bad Bean feels compelled to do this horrible hip-type set which feels remarkably like I've just been kicked in the groin... or, as it turns out, like I slipped in an oily bathtub.
Ah, well. I am out. I am clean-ish. My skin feels nice and not covered in an oily scum (noticeably unlike the bathtub) and the pain in my thigh has subsided to the point that I think I will be able to sleep.
12 August 2011
Perhaps I am a Racontuer
I sit here doing incredibly boring things and find myself ranting in my head:
"Stupid, fucking thieves and home invaders!"
"Autistic spectrum, my lily-white ass!"
"Gamers (role playing) and people who engage in make believe S&M are still playing house with their friends and after about age 12 that's just boring and a little sick."
"First my hammock and now B&E you stupid f*^$ing, f%$&ers!"
I recently spent some time with a man who claimed to be the most offensive person he knew. So, in the interest of offending the greatest number of people I know (most of whom don't read this blog, but I don't care,) I have decided to rant about:
"Modern child-rearing theory and practice is a conspiracy to promote mindless consumerism"
And now I don't care about it so perhaps more later or perhaps not.
"Stupid, fucking thieves and home invaders!"
"Autistic spectrum, my lily-white ass!"
"Gamers (role playing) and people who engage in make believe S&M are still playing house with their friends and after about age 12 that's just boring and a little sick."
"First my hammock and now B&E you stupid f*^$ing, f%$&ers!"
I recently spent some time with a man who claimed to be the most offensive person he knew. So, in the interest of offending the greatest number of people I know (most of whom don't read this blog, but I don't care,) I have decided to rant about:
"Modern child-rearing theory and practice is a conspiracy to promote mindless consumerism"
And now I don't care about it so perhaps more later or perhaps not.
13 June 2011
Life has been too full to blog
and I haven't felt inclined. There has been a lot of life that seems like it could inspire a post but it doesn't inspire me to actually sit down and do it.
Six months descending into a pit of despair, hoping, trying to have faith- it worked. Everything is looking up. Except teaching law students. And various and sundry other parts of my job.
Tonight I attended my second in a series of public meetings concerning the Green Line Extension Project in Somerville. I'm actually really excited/intrigued/stimulated to be investigating my local government. I recently read that despite this country's foundational principal of rule by law, not many Americans believe much in law or government, inherently distrusting it. Hear, hear! I wonder if I could change that in my town?
Six months descending into a pit of despair, hoping, trying to have faith- it worked. Everything is looking up. Except teaching law students. And various and sundry other parts of my job.
Tonight I attended my second in a series of public meetings concerning the Green Line Extension Project in Somerville. I'm actually really excited/intrigued/stimulated to be investigating my local government. I recently read that despite this country's foundational principal of rule by law, not many Americans believe much in law or government, inherently distrusting it. Hear, hear! I wonder if I could change that in my town?
More boxer-ed butt...
this time right outside my window. Never saw the guy's face, don't know anything about height (he was on a ladder), weight, skin color, hair, etc... I'm guessing he was still fairly young since he did have a fairly nicely formed bottom and most middle aged male bottoms tend to migrate to the front to form a gut... sometimes the crack moves to the front as well which is rather horrifying.
14 April 2011
Do your pants hang low?
I'm working to close-of-library this evening and, since I was hungry, went forth for food after 6. I walked behind half a dozen people who were wearing their pants below their bottoms. I remember hearing about study that found that wearing high heeled shoes (more than 3 inches) meant that you were very unlikely to develop bad knees in old age. I wonder what such a study will say about under-bottom-pants-wearing? While your hips are permanently skewed, your knees are broken and your ankles give out, you don't experience chronic neck tension due to all anxiety being focussed on your behind?
29 March 2011
Lost it
I have now lost two pieces of writing that I was intending to reproduce in the blog. The first was the next chapter of Artemis Winter in which I wrote about being fed up; the second was the introduction and outline for my book, "How to learn anything." The problem with losing the second one is that it was on a co-pay receipt and had my name on it and I probably lost it at work and if anyone reads it it could really insult them and I could have an uncomfortable conversation looming somewhere in my future.
The sentence just prior made me happy. Partly because, though it is a run-on sentence, it is exactly how I talk (have therefore captured my "voice" in writing) and partly because I was engaging in a little recreational anxiety over it and then realized that there isn't anyone in the Law School that I have ever had a conversation with who could really make me uncomfortable. Being arrogant certainly has great advantages.
I sent my website off to Manhattan Toys a week ago. I will call today to follow up. http://www.laughingatus-design.com/ I'm not sure after all that it is impressive in anyway, so now that I have sent it, I will post it on Facebook and elicit the random and not-at-all helpful, thoughtful or critical sorts of comments that Facebook accrues (accretes?)
The sentence just prior made me happy. Partly because, though it is a run-on sentence, it is exactly how I talk (have therefore captured my "voice" in writing) and partly because I was engaging in a little recreational anxiety over it and then realized that there isn't anyone in the Law School that I have ever had a conversation with who could really make me uncomfortable. Being arrogant certainly has great advantages.
I sent my website off to Manhattan Toys a week ago. I will call today to follow up. http://www.laughingatus-design.com/ I'm not sure after all that it is impressive in anyway, so now that I have sent it, I will post it on Facebook and elicit the random and not-at-all helpful, thoughtful or critical sorts of comments that Facebook accrues (accretes?)
28 February 2011
Family means family. Where's the booze?
The Big Bad Bean wears his heart on his sleeve. I don't mind at all. I love being the wife of a man who is shamelessly, sappily in love with me.
The Big Bad Bean wears his heart on his sleeve. He has no tolerance for fools, liars or other unworthy characters and it shows.
As it turns out, he also has no tolerance for most of my family. It also shows. He graciously extends this to a hefty chunk of his family too, he's very equal opportunity in that way.
I can't say I blame him...about my family at least. I can't quite drum up the same depth of feeling for the untolerable parts of his family since by and large they don't communicate about anything important so the chance of them ever saying anything to damage the Bumble Bean is pretty low.
On the other hand, I am dreading my family reunion in July. Last February's visit for my brother's 40th birthday party was such a remarkably un-nurturing experience that it was anti-nurturing and I have no desire to repeat it. Even less desire to repeat it to the tune of over $1000.
The Big Bad Bean wears his heart on his sleeve. He has no tolerance for fools, liars or other unworthy characters and it shows.
As it turns out, he also has no tolerance for most of my family. It also shows. He graciously extends this to a hefty chunk of his family too, he's very equal opportunity in that way.
I can't say I blame him...about my family at least. I can't quite drum up the same depth of feeling for the untolerable parts of his family since by and large they don't communicate about anything important so the chance of them ever saying anything to damage the Bumble Bean is pretty low.
On the other hand, I am dreading my family reunion in July. Last February's visit for my brother's 40th birthday party was such a remarkably un-nurturing experience that it was anti-nurturing and I have no desire to repeat it. Even less desire to repeat it to the tune of over $1000.
19 February 2011
Picking my nose in the late night kitchen
Tonight was book club and I still have a cheesecake to make for tomorrow's party at the in-laws. It is late and I am in the kitchen, not however picking my nose. I have considered it, since we had determined in some fantastic and incomprehensible tangent that is fairly signature for book club, that picking one's nose in the kitchen was not OK, except perhaps for very late at night. I have decided that I am in fact not in the mood to pick my nose. It is fragile now and would probably bleed were I to use it in such a fashion.
Tonight's topics were supposed to be balls (I missed this discussion due to saying goodnight to Samir), weird occurrences and money. I don't believe that we talked about money at all. We talked about zombies, their attraction and apocalypses (apocalypsi?) and winter camping, survival and vegetarianism as it relates to cruelty v.s survival. I think the only conclusions we came to are that bivalves are incapable of feeling pain and that pizza would be the greatest loss to humanity assuming any of us survived an apocalypse. We also discussed celebrities, specifically that it is a terrible fate to befall a human being, that Harrison Ford is an Indiana Jones of wild animal welfare and that Tom Cruise, or perhaps Katie Holmes (who may or may not be from a family of Scientologists, Catholics or Masons or all of the above) is being investigated by the FBI for slavery. I actually knew about the FBI investigation since I went to a normal-ish grocery store yesterday and read the headlines of all the rags.
In other news the Dragon Daisy was a big hit but the monkey ball, which had such great promise in my head, turned out to look more like a pig, though the Bumble Bean suggested that it looked more like a bird to him. I can't really see it but the ears are rather fly-away. Photo to be published (once I take it) on http://www.laughingatus-design.com/.
I'm not particularly looking forward to tomorrow. I'm not really sure why. Perhaps I'm just tired and know I will be tomorrow as well.
Tonight's topics were supposed to be balls (I missed this discussion due to saying goodnight to Samir), weird occurrences and money. I don't believe that we talked about money at all. We talked about zombies, their attraction and apocalypses (apocalypsi?) and winter camping, survival and vegetarianism as it relates to cruelty v.s survival. I think the only conclusions we came to are that bivalves are incapable of feeling pain and that pizza would be the greatest loss to humanity assuming any of us survived an apocalypse. We also discussed celebrities, specifically that it is a terrible fate to befall a human being, that Harrison Ford is an Indiana Jones of wild animal welfare and that Tom Cruise, or perhaps Katie Holmes (who may or may not be from a family of Scientologists, Catholics or Masons or all of the above) is being investigated by the FBI for slavery. I actually knew about the FBI investigation since I went to a normal-ish grocery store yesterday and read the headlines of all the rags.
In other news the Dragon Daisy was a big hit but the monkey ball, which had such great promise in my head, turned out to look more like a pig, though the Bumble Bean suggested that it looked more like a bird to him. I can't really see it but the ears are rather fly-away. Photo to be published (once I take it) on http://www.laughingatus-design.com/.
I'm not particularly looking forward to tomorrow. I'm not really sure why. Perhaps I'm just tired and know I will be tomorrow as well.
04 February 2011
I do so use Wikipedia...
but only when appropriate and I always cross check. I don't remember what I decided to look up in Wikipedia that caused this post to blossom in my head, but there it is. I use Google too. It's a great place to start.
Wikipedia will infer for you that coconut oil and coconut butter are the same thing. Google will seem to confirm that. However, if you try shopping for coconut butter on Amazon, you find that several manufacturers insist that there is a difference. I would agree since I now own both coconut oil and coconut butter. Hands down, I'm using the butter when I start making ice cream, but the oil is key for lightly sauteed snow peas with ginger and sesame.
Also, I fully intend to use Wikipedia to further my promotion/distribution of the Peking Duck Style once I get it edited. I got the raw footage captured last night so I'm further ahead than I was!
Wikipedia will infer for you that coconut oil and coconut butter are the same thing. Google will seem to confirm that. However, if you try shopping for coconut butter on Amazon, you find that several manufacturers insist that there is a difference. I would agree since I now own both coconut oil and coconut butter. Hands down, I'm using the butter when I start making ice cream, but the oil is key for lightly sauteed snow peas with ginger and sesame.
Also, I fully intend to use Wikipedia to further my promotion/distribution of the Peking Duck Style once I get it edited. I got the raw footage captured last night so I'm further ahead than I was!
Bacon, eggs and juggling
There are quite a few things in cooking in which you simply can't take short cuts if you are interested in a particular outcome. Eggs over easy with a runny yolk but no snotty white MUST be cooked over low heat with some kind of fat (I prefer butter.) Bacon to be crispy all the way through but not burnt must be cooked over medium to low heat and turned frequently once it starts to crisp.
Just now, as I was making my bacon and patiently waiting for it to be what I wanted it to be, I picked up the juggling book that I bought in early January and started reading the introductory matter. It went through the original edition from 1979, the encyclopedic edition, the current edition and then mentioned that if you started to have mystical experiences with your juggling you can always pick up The Zen of Juggling and delve deeper into this amazing art. At this point I had to put it down due to the frequent turning of my bacon, but I kept thinking and what I thought was, "wow, people are amazing! They can find depth of meaning in anything." Followed immediately by, "wow, you can make money with pretty much any sort of nonsense!"
Just now, as I was making my bacon and patiently waiting for it to be what I wanted it to be, I picked up the juggling book that I bought in early January and started reading the introductory matter. It went through the original edition from 1979, the encyclopedic edition, the current edition and then mentioned that if you started to have mystical experiences with your juggling you can always pick up The Zen of Juggling and delve deeper into this amazing art. At this point I had to put it down due to the frequent turning of my bacon, but I kept thinking and what I thought was, "wow, people are amazing! They can find depth of meaning in anything." Followed immediately by, "wow, you can make money with pretty much any sort of nonsense!"
01 February 2011
More snow...WTF!
I know this is not a very original post title, but it is very expressive of how I'm feeling about all of this.
At my last head examination, Dr. B. said that if there was still no change in the shrinking of my brain arteries and as long as the vascular reserve was still good, we would drop from a head examination every 6 months and go to every 9 months. Huzzah, Huzzay! Gooey, neck-breaking, eye-popping ultra sound only once a year (roughly, I'm optimistic.) However, I got a call yesterday about my scheduled MRI. Grrr. I didn't realize the ultimate check would be an MRI. I thought it would be more of the above mentioned horrible gooeiness.
I hate MRIs. They never end. Well, they do end but it takes a long time. They squeeze you in a tiny tube so you can barely see your toes way down there obstructing the light at the end of the tunnel. Then they tell you it will be loud, keep very still, breathe normally, and then pump you full of toxic chemicals that make you sick for a week or more and also make you feel nauseatingly hot and like you just wet your pants. Last time they were halfway through and stopped to accuse me of having a secret hair pin in my 1 inch long hair, dragged me out of the tube, felt my head and neck all over, and finally discovered that someone had woven a straightened paperclip into the neck of the johnie. They looked at me like I might have done it, then clearly some form of logic cut in and they thought "why would anyone do that?" My question exactly. So it started all over again and I got a double dose of the toxic nasty pants wetting stuff.
Now that I'm done with my rant, I would like to say that when they first gave me the stuff and warned me that it would feel like I had just wet myself, I did wonder how you could have that sensation without, ya know, wet-ness. But sure enough, just like they said, that is exactly what it felt like. And no, I did not actually wet myself, I checked afterwards. It does lead one to wonder if MRI techs, what with all the radiation and loud popping and straightened paperclips, inject themselves with that stuff as a form of entertainment? Perhaps when they have been drinking profusely and haven't peed as a sort of contest of endurance? A special rite of passage for MRI techs?
At my last head examination, Dr. B. said that if there was still no change in the shrinking of my brain arteries and as long as the vascular reserve was still good, we would drop from a head examination every 6 months and go to every 9 months. Huzzah, Huzzay! Gooey, neck-breaking, eye-popping ultra sound only once a year (roughly, I'm optimistic.) However, I got a call yesterday about my scheduled MRI. Grrr. I didn't realize the ultimate check would be an MRI. I thought it would be more of the above mentioned horrible gooeiness.
I hate MRIs. They never end. Well, they do end but it takes a long time. They squeeze you in a tiny tube so you can barely see your toes way down there obstructing the light at the end of the tunnel. Then they tell you it will be loud, keep very still, breathe normally, and then pump you full of toxic chemicals that make you sick for a week or more and also make you feel nauseatingly hot and like you just wet your pants. Last time they were halfway through and stopped to accuse me of having a secret hair pin in my 1 inch long hair, dragged me out of the tube, felt my head and neck all over, and finally discovered that someone had woven a straightened paperclip into the neck of the johnie. They looked at me like I might have done it, then clearly some form of logic cut in and they thought "why would anyone do that?" My question exactly. So it started all over again and I got a double dose of the toxic nasty pants wetting stuff.
Now that I'm done with my rant, I would like to say that when they first gave me the stuff and warned me that it would feel like I had just wet myself, I did wonder how you could have that sensation without, ya know, wet-ness. But sure enough, just like they said, that is exactly what it felt like. And no, I did not actually wet myself, I checked afterwards. It does lead one to wonder if MRI techs, what with all the radiation and loud popping and straightened paperclips, inject themselves with that stuff as a form of entertainment? Perhaps when they have been drinking profusely and haven't peed as a sort of contest of endurance? A special rite of passage for MRI techs?
13 December 2010
Bleeding and covered in paint
It is 10 o'clock and I am bound for bed so I can get up at the crack of dawn (actually well before dawn even thinks of cracking) and put in a few hours of work so I can spend the remainder of the day with the Bumble Bean. This evening I tried very hard to get through my list of all the things I need to do to be ready for Christmas. I tried very hard to give a damn about Christmas and my list.
I added "taste test Lemon Drop Martini recipes" so I could cross it off the list because I was going to do that while I "made shopping list for Christmas food." While attempting to open the nip of Limoncello, I cut up my hand, but no matter, the alcohol content of the martini soon made everything better.
I decided to cross off the entry for "wrap Christmas presents" because the Big Bad Bean is right that it is a shameful waste of resources...including my time. The Bumble Bean's presents are in plastic grocery bags inside a huge box. Works for me. And I know he won't care.
Then, even though it wasn't on the list and I was too lazy to add it just to cross it off again, I decided that I would paint the little wooden hinged snake I got the Bumble "just because" not for Christmas. With two tiny tiny containers of paint and a brush the size of a toothpick, I managed to get it all over my hands and some on face. Some spark of brilliance, possibly due to the taste testing, led me to paint both the top and the bottom of the snake. I'm hoping it will not permanently adhere to the table as it dries.
"Send Christmas email invitation" will have to wait for tomorrow so my recent insanity paired with the dutiful recipe-tasting doesn't cause me to make some incredibly stupid and embarrassing error in the email, like the wrong date for Christmas or the wrong address. Considering the frequency with which I make these kinds of mistakes, you'd think I wouldn't bother to feel embarrassed any more. Perhaps I'll add that to the list so I can keep crossing it off: "practice not feeling embarrassed when doing stupid things."
I added "taste test Lemon Drop Martini recipes" so I could cross it off the list because I was going to do that while I "made shopping list for Christmas food." While attempting to open the nip of Limoncello, I cut up my hand, but no matter, the alcohol content of the martini soon made everything better.
I decided to cross off the entry for "wrap Christmas presents" because the Big Bad Bean is right that it is a shameful waste of resources...including my time. The Bumble Bean's presents are in plastic grocery bags inside a huge box. Works for me. And I know he won't care.
Then, even though it wasn't on the list and I was too lazy to add it just to cross it off again, I decided that I would paint the little wooden hinged snake I got the Bumble "just because" not for Christmas. With two tiny tiny containers of paint and a brush the size of a toothpick, I managed to get it all over my hands and some on face. Some spark of brilliance, possibly due to the taste testing, led me to paint both the top and the bottom of the snake. I'm hoping it will not permanently adhere to the table as it dries.
"Send Christmas email invitation" will have to wait for tomorrow so my recent insanity paired with the dutiful recipe-tasting doesn't cause me to make some incredibly stupid and embarrassing error in the email, like the wrong date for Christmas or the wrong address. Considering the frequency with which I make these kinds of mistakes, you'd think I wouldn't bother to feel embarrassed any more. Perhaps I'll add that to the list so I can keep crossing it off: "practice not feeling embarrassed when doing stupid things."
09 December 2010
Felix the Fractal Faced Bug
A friend of mine, who I don't know nearly as well as I would like to, recently wrote to tell me that she is away on an extended basis because her mother has been diagnosed with cancer. I don't know how to respond to that. Do I tell her that my Mom died of cancer? Do I tell her how I felt when my Mom was diagnosed? I wanted to fight...absolutely everyone...and though I like to think I have grown since then, I still feel my fists curling and rage welling and tears spilling, wanting to punch the doctors and nurses and social workers and second husband who just handed in their dicks at the door and gave up since it was cancer and there was nothing left to do really except to make sure that whatever time she had left was as unpleasant and humiliating as possible.
Somehow that doesn't seem terribly supportive.
On the other hand, I would feel like a fraud if I were to say something along the lines that it's great that they caught it early! It's great that it's post menopause breast cancer, the best cancer to have after prostate (which she isn't qualified for) and colon! Because of course it's cancer and cancer kills. Unless you die of something else first.
So this is what I have instead:
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a beetle named Felix. Felix was a very special sort of beetle because he had a very special mouth: it was infinitely large. This is not a nice way of saying that Felix was loud, because he wasn't loud. He was very quiet. He was very quiet because he did not dare to open his mouth. When your mouth is infinitely large, you must be very careful to make sure you don't swallow the world. Poor Felix.
Somehow that doesn't seem terribly supportive.
On the other hand, I would feel like a fraud if I were to say something along the lines that it's great that they caught it early! It's great that it's post menopause breast cancer, the best cancer to have after prostate (which she isn't qualified for) and colon! Because of course it's cancer and cancer kills. Unless you die of something else first.
So this is what I have instead:
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a beetle named Felix. Felix was a very special sort of beetle because he had a very special mouth: it was infinitely large. This is not a nice way of saying that Felix was loud, because he wasn't loud. He was very quiet. He was very quiet because he did not dare to open his mouth. When your mouth is infinitely large, you must be very careful to make sure you don't swallow the world. Poor Felix.
06 December 2010
Berg, the non-epitaph
The Berg kitty almost died this morning. While he was trying very hard to choke himself to death on a piece of plastic pilfered from the trash, I realized that while I can't ever define what exactly it is that he adds to our lives, I would be sorry if he died. It would be appropriate if he died due to his own plastic munching stupidity. I wouldn't be sorry to lose the vomiting or the tripping me up to get more food once he has hurled on the Bean's toys or even the truly aggravating way he has of attacking my feet when I have any kind of Traditional Chinese Medicine on them. I wouldn't miss him drooling on me or "petting" me with all claws extended. I wouldn't miss him darting through any door that opens (this includes the oven!) or the way he eats any plastic we leave around, including the shower curtain.
Hmm. What would I miss? I would miss his fuzzy goofy soppiness and his habit of sitting on the crack of the freezer door so he falls out when I go to get ice. I would miss him carrying the bean's toys around in his mouth and singing at great volume. I would miss booting him from the changing table when it's time to change the Bean. I would miss the way he chews on his feet when he has been around catnip. He actually is quite a nice lap kitty if you can convince him to settle down, not be all wiggly and ecstatic, and not drool on you. He'd be an even nicer lap kitty if he would groom himself from time to time.
Anyhoo, what ever he adds to my life I would miss it if he died, so I'm glad he didn't choke to death this morning before I had even had my coffee. Now I just hope that the bloody groove he made in his esophagus doesn't get infected.
Hmm. What would I miss? I would miss his fuzzy goofy soppiness and his habit of sitting on the crack of the freezer door so he falls out when I go to get ice. I would miss him carrying the bean's toys around in his mouth and singing at great volume. I would miss booting him from the changing table when it's time to change the Bean. I would miss the way he chews on his feet when he has been around catnip. He actually is quite a nice lap kitty if you can convince him to settle down, not be all wiggly and ecstatic, and not drool on you. He'd be an even nicer lap kitty if he would groom himself from time to time.
Anyhoo, what ever he adds to my life I would miss it if he died, so I'm glad he didn't choke to death this morning before I had even had my coffee. Now I just hope that the bloody groove he made in his esophagus doesn't get infected.
27 November 2010
Insomnia and no heat
It's 4 a.m. What am I doing awake? I got up at two, half asleep, to pee. I crawled back into bed all warm and cozy and became progressively more and more awake. The Bumble Bean came to snuggle and sleeping Bean snuggles usually have a hugely somnolent effect. Not this morning! Bing! I am not only wide awake but thinking about work. What a waste this insomnia is.
Also, I am cold. Our heat is not working again. This time it is not because I blew up the boiler in a pregnancy induced haze of bad judgement. This time it because of something called a Limit Control Switch which may be a valve rather than a switch and which needs a plumber to do something about. We finally discovered this after having the heating guy come (who by the way should have been a plumber) and giving the Big Bad Bean a ridiculous song and dance about the boiler being fine (I'll accept that) but the problem with system actually being the air pressure release valve on one radiator in the kitchen. Pshaw! However, radiators are not the province of the Big Bad Bean (who is actually in charge of Zombie Destruction) and he dutifully recorded this and told me later.
So, if the radiator is fine, it must be the thermostat. I don't know much about thermostats. Quick, look it up. Hmm. Electrical. Not good. Electrical in our house is a disaster. Big Bad and I changed a light fixture when we first moved in and found that the old one was attached to 7 wires, all of them brown. We did actually manage to figure out which ones were supposed to do what and dutifully re-wired the new fixture. Turned on the breaker, threw the switch, started a fire, blew the switch out of the wall, turned off the breaker, called electrician.
Since we fired that electrician, I wandered through the Yelp reviews and called a new one. He came out and said the thermostat was fine but that the Limit Control Switch needs to be replaced. Apparently this switch, or valve, translates the thermostat setting in conjunction with the thermostat's temperature reading and tells the boiler when to fire. I had never realized there was an intermediate step that did that. I assumed it was the job of the thermostat itself. Middle management is really getting out of control when it invades your heating system.
No help for 5 more hours until the plumber comes. I love this plumber. He replaced our hot water heater in August because it stopped working. Hot water heaters are also in my responsibility range rather than the Big Bad Bean's. I traced the water line from the street to make sure I had the right one, entirely missing the giant number 2 written on the side which told me I had the wrong one. I couldn't trouble shoot the problem (because I had the wrong the bloody water heater) so Yelped a plumber.
He was also confused, but given the age of the water heater we decided between us that it should be replaced. Fortunately, when he came with the replacement, he noticed that the one we were talking about replacing had hot water in it, became more confused, traced the water line more accurately than I did, and discovered that I had been trouble shooting the wrong one. He was very gracious about it and replaced the actually broken one (ooh nice hot water) and fixed my water pressure problem that I hadn't even told him about.
The Big Bad Bean was home when the electrician came and wrote down what the thing was called and that we needed a plumber. On Wednesday evening when the heat stopped working again, I asked him if he had called the plumber and before he could answer, the Bumble Bean said, "of course not." Hilarity ensued. Anyway, I wasn't going to call the plumber on Thanksgiving when it was our own damn fault we hadn't called him more proactively. So I called the day after Thanksgiving. When I gave him the address, he said, "Oh, I remember you."
I wonder what that means. Does he remember the idiocy of my wrong hot water heater diagnosis? The side saddle next the hot water heaters? The basement full of miscellaneous weaponry? Is he going to be laughing at me when he comes tomorrow? Oh well. As long I get heat again, I think I can stand to be laughed at a little. It's not like it doesn't happen all the time as it is.
Also, I am cold. Our heat is not working again. This time it is not because I blew up the boiler in a pregnancy induced haze of bad judgement. This time it because of something called a Limit Control Switch which may be a valve rather than a switch and which needs a plumber to do something about. We finally discovered this after having the heating guy come (who by the way should have been a plumber) and giving the Big Bad Bean a ridiculous song and dance about the boiler being fine (I'll accept that) but the problem with system actually being the air pressure release valve on one radiator in the kitchen. Pshaw! However, radiators are not the province of the Big Bad Bean (who is actually in charge of Zombie Destruction) and he dutifully recorded this and told me later.
So, if the radiator is fine, it must be the thermostat. I don't know much about thermostats. Quick, look it up. Hmm. Electrical. Not good. Electrical in our house is a disaster. Big Bad and I changed a light fixture when we first moved in and found that the old one was attached to 7 wires, all of them brown. We did actually manage to figure out which ones were supposed to do what and dutifully re-wired the new fixture. Turned on the breaker, threw the switch, started a fire, blew the switch out of the wall, turned off the breaker, called electrician.
Since we fired that electrician, I wandered through the Yelp reviews and called a new one. He came out and said the thermostat was fine but that the Limit Control Switch needs to be replaced. Apparently this switch, or valve, translates the thermostat setting in conjunction with the thermostat's temperature reading and tells the boiler when to fire. I had never realized there was an intermediate step that did that. I assumed it was the job of the thermostat itself. Middle management is really getting out of control when it invades your heating system.
No help for 5 more hours until the plumber comes. I love this plumber. He replaced our hot water heater in August because it stopped working. Hot water heaters are also in my responsibility range rather than the Big Bad Bean's. I traced the water line from the street to make sure I had the right one, entirely missing the giant number 2 written on the side which told me I had the wrong one. I couldn't trouble shoot the problem (because I had the wrong the bloody water heater) so Yelped a plumber.
He was also confused, but given the age of the water heater we decided between us that it should be replaced. Fortunately, when he came with the replacement, he noticed that the one we were talking about replacing had hot water in it, became more confused, traced the water line more accurately than I did, and discovered that I had been trouble shooting the wrong one. He was very gracious about it and replaced the actually broken one (ooh nice hot water) and fixed my water pressure problem that I hadn't even told him about.
The Big Bad Bean was home when the electrician came and wrote down what the thing was called and that we needed a plumber. On Wednesday evening when the heat stopped working again, I asked him if he had called the plumber and before he could answer, the Bumble Bean said, "of course not." Hilarity ensued. Anyway, I wasn't going to call the plumber on Thanksgiving when it was our own damn fault we hadn't called him more proactively. So I called the day after Thanksgiving. When I gave him the address, he said, "Oh, I remember you."
I wonder what that means. Does he remember the idiocy of my wrong hot water heater diagnosis? The side saddle next the hot water heaters? The basement full of miscellaneous weaponry? Is he going to be laughing at me when he comes tomorrow? Oh well. As long I get heat again, I think I can stand to be laughed at a little. It's not like it doesn't happen all the time as it is.
22 November 2010
Loving life, loving the holidays...why am I not in Bermuda?
I think my sense of humor has been ruined by too much time spent with college children. Yes, children. They are shallow and self absorbed and don't know anything and haven't done anything and think they are interesting enough to be tracking their every move on social networks and insecure about everything. Mind you, I'm talking about college kids I actually like. Smart humor is lost on them. Puns are unintelligible. The games they play are mind numbing and they don't think about anything at all. Except of course how insecure they are and how they can't ever let anyone know that they are not exactly as good and smart and secure as they perceive everyone else to be. It's exhausting.
My Reference teacher in Library School told us that everyone gets only 3 exclamation points at birth, so use them wisely. I wonder if the excessive use of exclamation points to soften the essential flatness of electronic communication has dulled the excitement sensors of our current time and it is more noticeable in the young either because they have used email and texting for a greater percentage of their lives or because they have had fewer actual experiences to offset the hectic happy-face-ness of it or if those are the same thing.
Poor Bumble Bean. On the one hand he has a speech delay compared to normal children his age in this country. On the other hand his parents actively reject most of the normal experiences that define other normal children. There really never was any chance that he was going to be normal.
He taught himself to read when he was three. That's not normal. But not something that needs intervention.
He is over four feet tall and not yet five years old. That's not normal. Also something that requires no intervention. (If this changes, I wonder if we would be encouraged to starve him or shave off his toes or make him sleep in a box? For his own good you understand. He needs to be average.)
He is happy and a boy and four years old. That's not normal. Interesting and should only be tampered with to make him like other children. Not really intervention, just pruning.
He enjoys himself and does not show any signs of experiencing himself as flawed. That's not normal. Every kid needs to experience himself as flawed. How else will he develop the really acute crisis of self assurance when he gets to college? How will he ever learn the crucial skill of sitting through boring lectures at school? He needs that skill to endure a life of meaningless and self-unfulling work so he can have whatever the fashionable mid-life crisis is.
See what I mean about my sense of humor?
Holidays are coming up and that means family. Not so much that family will be around as that family will intrude and tetchiness will ensue. There's the whole question of gifts and travel. There's the whole question of getting together and enduring each other's company. The early part of this month marks the beginning of the 3rd year of family rupture. First there was the hugely hubristic, overbearing and frankly not very intelligent husband of the cousin who started a fiasco based upon his credentials as an Occupational Therapist. Occupational Therapists are not qualified to hold opinions about diagnosis. No therapist ever is allowed to treat someone without consent. He did. See the not-very-intelligent bit above.
Close on the heels of that, the Big Bad Bean, the Bumble Bean and I went to spend the first ever holiday with my siblings and their families. Hmm. Not so bad for me or the Bumble, but excruciating for Big Bad. Then Christmas with recriminations and the Big Bad Bean expected to be the grown-up and make everything right with the cousin's husband (even though no part of it was Big Bad's doing) since no one had high expectations of the cousin's husband: his intelligence, his ability to be decent human being, his ability to be rational, his ability to shut the f__k up to protect life and limb.
Ringing in the new year with the aunts nagging and worrying and giving advice. Summer came and went, no family. Another holiday season, gifts exchanged, no attendance necessary. More lines drawn in the sand. Family members taking sides without talking. It turns out the sand was wet concrete. The lines are now step-on-a-crack, break-your-mother's-back.
My brother's 40th birthday. The Big Bad Bean stays away. After that party a family meeting is convened without me. Concerns are aired. A memo is drafted. I get a letter. I assume they are concerned about the Bumble Bean's other-than-normal development. Not true. It turns out they think he's fine. They think we are lousy parents. My sister asks if this offends me. As I write this, I think "strange but true, it doesn't."
As a life-long holder of less-than-flattering opinions of most of the people in the world and judging them for those same opinions, I am relieved. If I give myself leave to behave this way in my head, then I can be generous and permit them the same privilege. In return, I think "Duh. Obviously our goals for the Bumble don't include him sleeping with us in diapers when he gets to college age."
Though if he does that may catch him up with his normal peers in terms of crippling self doubt and anxiety.
My Reference teacher in Library School told us that everyone gets only 3 exclamation points at birth, so use them wisely. I wonder if the excessive use of exclamation points to soften the essential flatness of electronic communication has dulled the excitement sensors of our current time and it is more noticeable in the young either because they have used email and texting for a greater percentage of their lives or because they have had fewer actual experiences to offset the hectic happy-face-ness of it or if those are the same thing.
Poor Bumble Bean. On the one hand he has a speech delay compared to normal children his age in this country. On the other hand his parents actively reject most of the normal experiences that define other normal children. There really never was any chance that he was going to be normal.
He taught himself to read when he was three. That's not normal. But not something that needs intervention.
He is over four feet tall and not yet five years old. That's not normal. Also something that requires no intervention. (If this changes, I wonder if we would be encouraged to starve him or shave off his toes or make him sleep in a box? For his own good you understand. He needs to be average.)
He is happy and a boy and four years old. That's not normal. Interesting and should only be tampered with to make him like other children. Not really intervention, just pruning.
He enjoys himself and does not show any signs of experiencing himself as flawed. That's not normal. Every kid needs to experience himself as flawed. How else will he develop the really acute crisis of self assurance when he gets to college? How will he ever learn the crucial skill of sitting through boring lectures at school? He needs that skill to endure a life of meaningless and self-unfulling work so he can have whatever the fashionable mid-life crisis is.
See what I mean about my sense of humor?
Holidays are coming up and that means family. Not so much that family will be around as that family will intrude and tetchiness will ensue. There's the whole question of gifts and travel. There's the whole question of getting together and enduring each other's company. The early part of this month marks the beginning of the 3rd year of family rupture. First there was the hugely hubristic, overbearing and frankly not very intelligent husband of the cousin who started a fiasco based upon his credentials as an Occupational Therapist. Occupational Therapists are not qualified to hold opinions about diagnosis. No therapist ever is allowed to treat someone without consent. He did. See the not-very-intelligent bit above.
Close on the heels of that, the Big Bad Bean, the Bumble Bean and I went to spend the first ever holiday with my siblings and their families. Hmm. Not so bad for me or the Bumble, but excruciating for Big Bad. Then Christmas with recriminations and the Big Bad Bean expected to be the grown-up and make everything right with the cousin's husband (even though no part of it was Big Bad's doing) since no one had high expectations of the cousin's husband: his intelligence, his ability to be decent human being, his ability to be rational, his ability to shut the f__k up to protect life and limb.
Ringing in the new year with the aunts nagging and worrying and giving advice. Summer came and went, no family. Another holiday season, gifts exchanged, no attendance necessary. More lines drawn in the sand. Family members taking sides without talking. It turns out the sand was wet concrete. The lines are now step-on-a-crack, break-your-mother's-back.
My brother's 40th birthday. The Big Bad Bean stays away. After that party a family meeting is convened without me. Concerns are aired. A memo is drafted. I get a letter. I assume they are concerned about the Bumble Bean's other-than-normal development. Not true. It turns out they think he's fine. They think we are lousy parents. My sister asks if this offends me. As I write this, I think "strange but true, it doesn't."
As a life-long holder of less-than-flattering opinions of most of the people in the world and judging them for those same opinions, I am relieved. If I give myself leave to behave this way in my head, then I can be generous and permit them the same privilege. In return, I think "Duh. Obviously our goals for the Bumble don't include him sleeping with us in diapers when he gets to college age."
Though if he does that may catch him up with his normal peers in terms of crippling self doubt and anxiety.
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