More changes.

See ya when the dust settles.

——–

AUTHOR: mm
TITLE: Goodnight Sweetheart
STATUS: publish
DATE: 10/17/2004 10:10:38 PM
CATEGORY:
—–
BODY:
I just don’t feel like posting. I have this incredible need to learn, and I have trouble thinking about anything else when that happens. This blog will probably become a disaster zone for awhile.

Take care, and I’ll see ya when I see ya.

Yeah, still quit. Rough spell lasted a few days, but I feel stronger now. Haven’t used a patch in 3 days, but I’m keeping them around just in case. For awhile anyway. My mother has passed her one month mark as well. To see my mother without a smoke in her hand is absolutely amazing. Simply unreal. What about everyone else? How is everyone doing? Still quit?

Thanks to a cancellation, MB4’s evaluation will be November 4th. Finally.

Having a hard time just posting this update. My mind just isn’t into this shit right now, and it’s fighting me tooth and nail. Be back when it straightens up.

Spent the weekend setting up the new photo gallery. I was maintaining two – one for this site, and one for everyone else. Not doing that shit anymore. Too much work. It’d be different if I was posting boobie shots or something, but I’m not. Still not sure what I’m going to do with the main site, but at least the gallery section is up. Link is over there on the side —–> Says Gallery.

I didn’t spend a lot of time reloading the photos, so things might not be in the same order as before. No laughing or giggling at the old pics. Few new pics up as well from this weekend.

*Guess it would help to actually change the fucking sidebar. It’s there now.

Went for a drive while waiting for wee one’s prescription. Needed to clear my head, and I found myself at the cemetery. I don’t usually go alone, but I figured I could drive around and think while the little ones slept.

I thought about a job, about our bills, about school, about Christmas, about a house. I thought about how lucky we are, no matter what. About how things will work out somehow like they always do. I wondered why I still can’t relax knowing that they do.

Pink Floyd reached into my trance and said Hey You. I was rolling past Shawn’s grave, so I stopped and let him listen. I was given Shawn’s copy of Adam Heart Mother after he died. Devoted Floyd fan or not, it’s not my cup of tea. I’ll never part with it regardless.

I then rolled around and took a few pics when something caught my eye. Like the tombstone that bears the name Ready. I always mutter No! under my breath as I drive by. Just in case, ya know.

As I went to leave, a squirrel was darting in and out of the road. I was trying to avoid him, when I was blinded. I stopped and looked over, and saw a reflection of light on a headstone. Just happened to be our family headstone. My grandparents. The light sparkled off of it, and lit the whole thing up. I was glad I had my camera with me.

I left feeling clear. And just a wee bit freaked out. Pics in the gallery. Really starting to enjoy this picture taking shit. I know how overjoyed everyone must be.

Last night I hollered up at the spouse to wash those bits extra special, as I wanted to remind him that we had big plans that evening. We were going to play the married couple bebop a night early, as this woman has needs, ya know. However, when I saw the tall lanky fella steal into the room out of the corner of my eye wearing only a towel, I immediately warned him that the children were still awake, and his screams are a wee too loud for the lovin’ to commence just yet. I heard a wounded cry, and turned to find my oldest son, who had simply wandered down to unload his dirty laundry before his bath, pleading at me with tortured eyes and a gaping mouth to TakeItBack. To rewind time and take back the horrid mental image I had burned forever into his mind. To undo what could never be undone – the affirmation that his parents have sex. I could do nothing but beg forgiveness with my horribly twisted face, so full of fucking eww when I realized what I had done. And no, no bebop in this house last night.

Took wee one to the doc this morning for his congestion. Doc was talking about warm vapor baths. MG took this as the perfect time to interject that she also takes baths, and washes her butt and her v*gina. Doc replied that good hygiene is important. She then pressed on, letting him know that mommy has to wash her v*gina too, because there’s black dirt on it. I’ll give you a minute to figure that out. Same minute it took for the doc to mull over this newsflash. There is no way to back step out of that people. No way at all. You just shake your fucking head and wonder why you take her out in public.

It’s even better when your wee one cries at the end of the visit, and the mama glands heed the call – unleashing the flood gates. Then your boobies get to fill up to max capacity, causing the frontal closure bra you stupidly wore because the nursing bra makes your nipples show in this particular shirt and you thought eh, what’s the worst that could happen? And then the worst does happen, and that clasp bursts, causing those bountiful puppies to boggle right on out there and bounce a howdy do to that same poor doc. The doc that now thinks you’re total white trash. Again, no way to bow out gracefully. That cabinet never falls over to crush you dead, no matter how many times you beg of it to.

Toying with the idea of getting a job again. We’re not starving, but I thought the house fund would be bigger by now. The hours just aren’t there at MD’s work. Then again, working outside of the home just brings up big messes of shit that neither of us can find solutions for. Bah

We hit 50 full days of no smoking in less than 7 hours. Save the applause for MD though. I haven’t slipped, but I sure the fuck want to. I had to jaunt over to mom’s and pick up those patches I had given her a few weeks ago. Haven’t worn one in over a week or so, but I need one right now. Don’t want to chance it so late in the game, so I put one on. I feel better. Sort of. Now I have the taste of failure to deal with. Bah

I had to get a new strand of the antibiotics. Still wasn’t feeling much relief in my chest or face. I can taste now, but it still hurts. And my chest is looser, but still not where it should have been 11 days into the meds. And par for the course, I now have a raging kidney infection that always seems to pop up after a round of antibiotics. I hope this new one kills it all. I want to feel normal again dammit. Whatever normal is. Bah

I painted half of the porch today, and left to run some errands. Came back to find that MrBat had shit on my fresh wet paint. Fucking rodent. Bah

I need more hours in the day. Seriously. Never enough.

Saw a new sign up at the soccer/baseball fields last night. Said that the city of hicksville wasn’t responsible for any deaths or injuries that occurr to the folks choosing to attend the events.

Guess I should hop off my son’s ass about not using common sense.
No one else seems to use it either.

Favorite email program please.

We’re having issues with MB1. Guess it could be worse. He could be into drugs or booze or stealing cars or blowing shit up. Our son simply doesn’t think. Or listen. Or give two shits about anydamnthing.

Seems pretty harmless laid out there like that. Compared to what we could be up against. But it doesn’t feel harmless. Doesn’t stop my brain from using this behavior as a model for what type of person he is growing up to be.

What do you do? What blunt object are you supposed to use to smack that mistaken entitlement expectation shit right out of their head? How did it get there? Why does he think he is above our law? Our rules? He doesn’t break them all, that would require fucking effort. He breaks rules with apathy. Way to do me proud.

He’s a sweet kid – when he’s not laying it on thick to lift his restriction. He’s a thoughtful child – when he’s not chasing a shrieking and terrified 3yo around the house with that fucking Scream mask. He’s a responsible teenager – when he’s not forgetting to wait for his brother after school.

Saturday evening, we left to drive MB3’s friend home, and left MB1 here. He wanted to chat with his friend online. He was here about an hour by himself. During that time, he downed an entire 2 liter of Coke. Straight from the bottle, while sitting upstairs in his room.

No one can understand why I’m upset about this. Why I am convinced my child is headed for the Kato school of losers someday. MD stood with me, but I don’t think he really understood wtf the big deal was. Am I just turning into an overzealous bitch?

No drinks upstairs. No food or drinks by the computer. Those are basic rules in this house. He broke them. Didn’t he? Broken rule is a broken rule.

Next, he drank that shit from the bottle. How fucking rude and pigbitch is that? I’m not raising a mule. He’s lucky I let him eat in the house Sunday.

He drank the entire fucking bottle. In an hour. Said he thought he could since he had won it at the carnival. Didn’t realize I had to create rules for every fucking instance of life with these kids. Thought that perhaps common sense would kick in at some point. Does with most children – not him. He knows better, just chooses to fake the fucking funk of stupidity. Gah

Other kids aren’t like this. They aren’t perfect, but their issues lie elsewhere. MB1 has always had this mentality about him, and I have no idea where he got it from. Damn sure wasn’t me.

But I know who’s going to help him get rid of it.

Kiddie carnival today. Ring toss and tractor rides. Kids had fun.

Wee one is trying like hell to crawl, and said mama tonight. His face lights up when he catches sight of me, and he will now take a few steps if you hold his hands. I love the shit outta my baby boy.

Took MB3’s friend home tonight, and took a few pics along the way. I love it out there. I think my house is there somewhere – up in a bluff. I’ve never felt more home. I wish I could take a decent picture. I snapped off a view shots of concrete things that catch my eye, but there’s no way to capture what catches my breath. I can’t anyway. Damn shame.

I saw this demon soar into the house today. At first I thought it was a bee. It didn’t fly – it steered around like it owned the place. I followed it into the kitchen, and it doubled back on me. I jumped to the side, and eyeballed the flyswatter on the wall, wondering if it was man enough to handle the job.

I grabbed it, and chased this damn beast all over the house. Let me rephrase. I grabbed the flyswatter, which in turn pissed off this winged hell spawn, and I proceeded to duck and cover from room to room as it mercilessly stalked me.

Look closely. That is not a horsefly. That is a housefly. A housefly of the killer variety. As big as a fucking nickel. I whacked it, but obviously MrKillerFly bench presses more than I do, and he zoomed off scoffing at me.

Eventually, he stopped for a moment to enjoy the view, and I slammed the window shut. I grabbed the Raid, opened the window, sprayed his gross ass, and slammed it shut again. He just shook his head, licked his lips, and grinned at me. MotherFucker.

I’ve decided that he is now my prisoner. He will never leave that window – not alive anyway. His sentence is to serve out the remainder of his nasty fucking life trapped with no food or water. I will watch him suffer. I will watch him die. I hope his tortured screams resonate throughout hicksville and warn all gargantuan houseflies that this is not a house to reckon with.

I wish I could punch him in the face for chasing me like that. Nasty puke.

Soccer, carnival, deck, porch, yard, sink, basement

It would seem another non-stop weekend is upon us. I must say that the deck is coming along nicely, albeit one board at a time. My porch project has hit a man-snag, but I expect to be up and running again very soon with the help of my friends bitch and harp.

I plan on spending my free time working on the new photo site. I want a nice place to humiliate myself with photofriday entries, as well as a better organized spot for our family pics. I just need to stop fucking around and get it done. Of course, that also requires an educational jaunt into the workings of Gallery, but I think I’ll be alright.

I am on day 5 of these antibiotics, and I still feel like shit. Still can’t smell. Still can’t taste. Still hear strange noises in my face which is extremely grody and gives me the creeps. I guess I will hang on and see if the meds start working soon. They’d better, as all but one person complained of a sore throat this morning. Might be a long ass weekend tending to the same people who expect stupid human tricks from me when I feel like ass. Welcome to Motherhood.

And now, I must finish scrubbing cabinets in the kitchen. I know I know. I can barely stand the excitement myself.

By the way – we’re still quit. Think it’s around 43-44 days. 6 weeks and some change. No patches for awhile now. Still one day at a time, but oh so much easier than it was. No promises, but we’re hopeful.

I still have 472 gmail invites.
Don’t be shy. Ask for one.
Or Four.

[472= slight exaggeration]

Update:

Ok, I asked nicely. I tried being gentle with you. I don’t care if you have an account already – have another one. I do. I have several. I don’t care if you don’t want one. Or if you don’t think you’ll ever use it. Or if you don’t know what the fuck it is. Ask me for a fucking gmail invite. Ask me.

I’ve waited months to be the GmailDisherOuter, and I will not be denied!

MG was sick all last night. I have a mountain of laundry as a result. Joy.

I still feel like ass. I’m hoping the antibiotics start to win this war soon.

Wee one seems to feel better. No fever.

MB4 has had a good week at school, and is starting to understand the concept of reading. I think he’ll do well at it, considering his anal-like ways and his sharp memory.

MB2 is doing really well in band. The teacher suggested the clarinet for him, given his natural ‘take’ to it. I hope he continues to take to it, considering the $706 price tag on the bitch. I’d actually pay any amount of money for my kiddos for band. I think band is important. Very important. I hope he enjoys it as much as I did.

MB1 is heading to St Louis next month for a field trip. A weekend trip. A $250 trip for him to learn more about brains or some shit. It seems I do have money sprouting out of my ass, as that is the only explanation as to how we keep finding enough to pay for everything.

MB3 is in the dumps missing his friend that moved away. I am trying to throw extra attention on him, but he’s snippy. He’s not a snippy child. At all. I guess I need to send him out with MD for an afternoon or something. Some serious alone time with dad. Or me. Something.

Think it’s ice cream time. That heals most everything.

When I was younger, there were times when I wouldn’t see my dad for weeks. He’d drag in from work after I was asleep, and only the smell of his coffee would hint to his existence in the mornings. There were no holidays or sick days or even weekends most times. He worked construction, and that was just the way it was.

It was rare that dad was able to attend a school play or a track meet or a band recital – but he tried like hell to get there for us. He didn’t have a damn clue as to what was going on in our lives most of the time as we got older – but he tried like hell to be there for us. He never missed an opportunity to tell us that we were his world. We knew it. We felt it. Still do.

My husband now works for the same company. He’s gone before we get up in the morning, and not home until 5/6/7 o’clock at night. He and I exchange abbreviated days as he changes out of his work clothes the second he gets home. Then he washes the shop dirt from his face and hands, and grabs his coaching notebook. The boys are already bouncing around him with their shin guards and water bottles by this time, and they pile into the van after a 5 minute tug o war with the female child who cries big tears and promises to be good and not play in the mud this time and is finally allowed to go after an older brother caves and agrees to help watch her. I don’t see them again for 2 hours, and then it’s dinner/baths/bed at 9:30pm for everyone but me. Then we wake up and do it all over again.

MD coaches four of our kiddos on three teams, so this is our life M/W/F – practice nights. Tues and Thurs are game nights for MB3 and MB4, and the only difference is that I tag along to watch. Then Saturday mornings we all head out to watch MB1 & MB2 play in the competitive league in town.

This schedule doesn’t give MD much time to rest. Doesn’t give us the opportunity to be normal around here at night. Meals are crock pot specials. Baths are of the washwashwashgetout variety. Bed is something that catches them as they crash into a coma at the end of a very busy day.

But at least the kids will always remember these crazy times. Will always know they are the driving force in their dad’s life, just like I always did.

Normal is overrated anyhow.

I walked into the doc’s bitching about a face ache.
I walked out of the doc’s getting bitched at about the pneumonia she found.

Guess I quit smoking and started to breathe easier, so I didn’t feel the chest crushing pain that pneumonia usually delights me with. She said the sinus infection is only an after thought at this point, as she must focus on my neglected lungs. Loaded me up with antibiotics and cough syrup and a followup appt for next week to check my oxygen levels.

YeeeeaaYeeeeaaWhatever

That bitch better hope I can taste my milk duds soon. She obviously doesn’t understand about the important shit in life.

I have lost all sense of taste. Very strange. Food ain’t that great without it.
I have a headache that defies explanation. More like a face ache. It sucks.
I am actually in pain from this pressure around my cheeks/eyes/nose.

I couldn’t get into the doc’s Friday, so I have an appointment tomorrow. If this is still just a viral infection, they’re going to have to shoot me. I can’t take much more of this shit.

Another year has passed.
Another year of soccer games and science clubs. Of paying bills and barbeques. Of working and playing. Another year of business as usual.

But we still haven’t forgotten.

That I am writing this …
That you are reading this ….
That you and I are connected by this medium …

Means that no matter what side you find yourself slanting toward – you have to admit that what happened yesterday is pretty fucking amazing.

I couldn’t do much but watch with utter amazement as this new age was born. Slowly moving to where regular people are able to hold the media giants accountable to truth and responsible for their actions.

Finally.

I don’t want right news or left news – I want dead ass center news. I want the facts. Even it that means bad news for Bush. I would appreciate the opportunity to decide for myself based on the fair and balanced reporting of facts. The media should bring the goods to the table, back the fuck up, and let us have at it ourselves. Better yet, maybe they should just stay home.

[More]

The more this is debated, the more interesting it becomes.

To me, the real issue isn’t whether or not the documents are forged, it’s the real power that the ‘new’ media is showing itself to have.

It really is amazing. I just hope both sides can see past the disagreement to appreciate it.

Flu wins. I quit. Now someone tell it to leave me the fuck alone. I cannot believe I’ll be headed to the doc’s tomorrow over this shit. Two weeks is about all I can take. No signs of it getting any better either. Wee one has a fever now as well. Just what I needed.

Aside from feeling like shit…

We’ve hit 5 weeks, although I still prefer 35 days. Or is it 36 now? The fact that I’m losing track says something – I think.

Let’s all hope that Ivan fizzles – and fast. Me thinks MotherNature is trying to reclaim Florida as her own.

Lots of interesting news in the world of politics. I’m not trying to stay away from it on purpose, just no energy to discuss it right now. Still meaning to get to Susan’s response on the discussion post, and I’d like some answers on a few other questions I have as well.

But first, I must find a mallet.

Crushing my stuffy raw nose into my skull seems like the only option left.

MB4’s marker was moved to yellow today. Again. You know, the universal kindergarten behavior assessment system. Green – Yellow – Red – Whatever.

He was in yellow one day last week for not keeping his knees quiet during story time. He kept banging them into the cubby he was sitting next to. Said he tried to stop when she said quiet knees, but he just couldn’t stop them. He seemed mortally wounded that his marker was moved, and promised to obey the rules from now on.

Obviously that meant until Douglas stepped on his toes 10 times mom. Because MB4 then had to step on his toes back – two times. Teacher placed them both in yellow, as I would have done. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get it. He has no clue why he’s in trouble, as he wasn’t the one who broke the rule. To him, Douglas did. I didn’t hurt him mom, he hurt me. I have been trying the past thirty minutes to explain how he was wrong as well, but his eyes are blank and blinking.

Same look I usually get when I try to tell him how we don’t take matters into our own hands. Like when MG zings a toy at his head. Or when MB1 gives him a wet willy.

MB4 doesn’t understand all that shit. He’s an eye for an eye kind of guy. He hates it when others break the rules, and thinks it’s his job to help teach correction – or to hand out punishment. Back to that whole misconception of boss bullshit.

The honeymoon period we’ve had with him the past couple of months or so seems to be drawing to an end. I noticed it this weekend. He’s back to not sitting still. Back to making those weird ass noises when I try to talk to him. Back to acting first and listening second.

Back to my stomach being in knots over school and hoping the teacher is as understanding as she claims to be.

I would like a cigarette.

MG has been telling us since Sunday that her new family is coming to take her home. She has a new mommy, a new daddy, and a new baby brother named Michael. They drive a pink car. How nice for them.

It was cute for about 3 seconds. Then we tried different ways to get her to stop or see the light or whatever. Sadness that she was leaving didn’t work. Chatting happily about her new family did nothing but excite her. Ignoring it seemed best, since we were headed to my parent’s house anyway. We asked her if she was going to continue to wait for them, or if she was coming with us. She had said they would be here in ‘5 mibutes’. She chose to come with us, and seemed to forget about it for awhile.

She mentioned them again yesterday, but we just sort of ignored it again.

She has just informed me that I am to drive her to her new home. They are waiting for her. I hate to admit this, but this shit is hurting my feelings. I’m trying to resist the urge to trash talk this new mommy. Gee, what a grown-up I am.

I know Wee One has changed her life. I know school starting recently has screwed with her head. I am really trying to give her mommy time during the day whenever I can, and I thought I was doing a good job of it. Guess not.

I have no idea how to handle this. Maturely.

Weekend was good. Deck is almost done. Spent time with my parents and their fur babies. I would love to have a few animals – just not now. Need a bigger house and 4 more arms. My dad’s birthday is tomorrow. Already. A week into September already. Boggles the mind at how fast this year is cruisin.

Still not feeling well. Must stay pumped full of cold meds and motrin in order to breathe and remain fever-free. About tired of this bullshit. For someone who’s been relatively healthy all her life, I’ve sure been a sickly bitch the past few years.

Not wearing a patch today. I forgot about the last one I had on, and it stayed on for almost 3 days. So I’m guessing I shouldn’t have too much trouble going without one at all. I’ll put one on if I feel the brain itchies, but MD hasn’t worn one in a week now. I think at this point, if we fail – it will simply be because we choose to fail.

I just find all of this so damn interesting for some reason. Maybe it’s the cold meds. This damn flu will not leave me be.

When was the very first time you felt a pull from one party/affiliation or another? How old were you? Was it centered around an event in your life? Some political figure? Discussions/beliefs of your parents? Has it changed since that day? Evolved for whatever reason? What were the reasons if so?

I was pretty young when I first declared myself. Combine Ronald Reagan and Alex P Keaton, and there was no escape – I was an 11 year old Republican. Although I don’t align with the party on every issue, my views haven’t changed all that much over the years.

I know when Michelle and I were discussing this earlier, she stated that her stance has shifted a bit since starting a family. Issues have entered her life that have caused her to pause and rethink certain things.

Just curious to see how others came to be at the political point they are today.

I won’t allow others to dictate the direction of this blog, just as I wouldn’t expect pulled punches on the blogs of others. This space is mine. To do so as I wish. A place for my thoughts. Those thoughts are centered around the election right now. I will not apologize for that, nor should I have to.

I didn’t start this anyfuckingway. I have not personally attacked Kerry, nor anyone who supports him. That’s your business. I don’t talk trash on ABB blogs, and I expect the same consideration here. At my house. It’s called respect, and unless we all get a handle on that concept – whether we agree or not – this country is fucking doomed.

If you don’t like what you read – click the x.
If I offend you with my words – click the x.
If your skin isn’t tough enough to deal with the comments here – click the x.
If you came here looking for unicorns, fairys, or relic shampoo – click the x.
If you don’t care for me personally – big fucking deal and kiss my ass.

With that said – I’m off. Going to enjoy the real world for awhile. Maybe a long while given the mood I’m in. If I stick around here, my quit’ll be up in smoke.

Up front, I’m going to warn you to grab a cooler and fill it up with the beverage of your choice. This might get long.

I realize now that I didn’t mean to use the word debate. To me, a typical debate is simply a banter of persuasive arguments, to which there is no clear winner. They are rarely based on fact. Not cut and dry facts anyway. More of the skewed and screwed variety. Since it’s all subjective, the more suggestive of the two is seen as the victor.

But at the heart of this debate is our country, and it worries me that these battles are driving the political wedge right down the center of it. I’m worried that we are going to rip ourselves apart, and the vultures of the world are biding their time waiting for that to happen.

So I won’t get nasty and debate these issues that never get anyone anywhere. I will not circle around and play she said/she said game and further weaken this country.

What I would like to discuss though, are the why’s behind these opinions of ours. I want to know why intelligent people can differ so greatly on their views like this. It’s as interesting as it is frustrating.

Neither does this mean I am going to puss out and avoid commenting. I will do my best to give my why’s to Sarah’s questions. To try and show why I feel like I do – because that’s all I can really do anyway. No one is ever 100% right or 100% wrong. And it’s painfully obvious that not a damn one of us are going to change our minds about this. BUT – that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate and try to understand the other side. We are family, dammit. We are not enemies. We have enough of those already.

Bottom line – this is not a personal matter. I’ve let this issue get to me before. I let it work me into a frenzy, and it got me nowhere. Maybe I’m older now. Whatever. I just don’t wish to fight about this shit anymore.

Discuss? Yes.
Fight? No.
(more…)

Box of milk duds has the same fever-breaking ability as two motrins, right?

Thought so.

You will not piss me off by calling our President names. I’d much rather you sit awhile so that we could discuss it like adults, but I won’t lose sleep tonight over your opinion of Bush.

That’s not to say I understand it, because I don’t. Then again, I don’t understand a lot of things. Like why they even bother teaching advanced math in high school, or bell bottoms, or why the fuck anyone thinks tuna is edible.

But I do realize that people aren’t built the same way. Aren’t raised the same way. Aren’t exposed to the same things growing up. As much as I value the right to have my own opinion, I value your right to have yours.

What’s more, I enjoy discussing these differences. Even if it gets heated – because it can get passionate without getting personal. And then it’s loads of fun. To me anyway, but I’m a twisted fuck sometimes.

In other words, go ahead.
Post a pussified hit and run.
Makes no difference to me.

MB3 is always the odd man out. Poor kid. Just happens that way, unfortunately.

He’s not quite old enough to pal around with his two older brothers, and not young enough to still appreciate the wonders of Veggie Tales with the younger three.

As a result, he has a pretty close bond with a friend of his. Same little guy who used to never leave my house because his mother’s boyfriend was at home. Same little guy whose brother may or may not have taken the kids’ snack money at the pool last year. Yeah, I still let this him come around. I can’t help it. He seems to need MB3 as much as MB3 needs him. Besides, it was only $5, and nothing has turned up missing since.

Little guy had to move last week. Just crushed MB3. Now instead of living down the street, he lives in the country about 15 minutes from here. MD and I knew he was depressed about it, so we offered to go pick him up this past weekend.

His new house is gorgeous. Big and beautiful. And for sale.

It’s his uncle’s house, and they get to live there until he sells it. He doesn’t know where they will go once that happens. He tries not to think about that part, and is just enjoying the big purdy house.

I can’t imagine what that must be like. For any of them. Makes me thankful for what we have – family mainly. Family that would never let us be homeless – no matter what. Not sure how you hide something like this from your kiddos, but I sure wish her 9 year old didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders.

MB3 is just sick about this – we all are. I don’t know what to tell him either. Standard it’ll be ok bullshit just doesn’t cut it sometimes. Winning the lottery would help tremendously.

Four weeks, 2 minutes and 8 seconds

Just wanted to see how it looked.

Ole Zel’s speech will stay with me for a long long time.

Honest, ballsy, and brilliant.

As Tink pointed out, it’s pretty damn close to four weeks now…

Three weeks, six days, 18 hours, 39 minutes and 7 seconds. Most of the urges are gone now. Just a few wants smacking me in the face every so often. MD hasn’t worn his patch in a few days, and I haven’t been putting much thought into them either. Still don’t have one on for today, although now that I’ve said that out loud, I better go slap one on to ward off the demons.

And go jump for joy with Tink. She’s passed her 3 week mark, and her hubby will be home for a visit in a few days. I’m terribly excited for her. Enjoy that reunion lovin’ lady. Ain’t nothing like it on Earth.

And Lynne is also into her third week as well. She must be doing wonderful, as she rarely even mentions smoking anymore.

And my mother – AKA ChainSmoker – is getting ready to hit her one week mark.

Do a little happy dance with me.

Feeling out of sorts. Like I’m drowning in decisions. I’m avoiding errands today as paper or plastic might send me over the edge. I can’t think. I can’t not think. Thoughts of school and work and computers and writing and friends and politics and what is the answer? I need the answer, but I don’t know the question.

Why is it that I’m never satisfied? Can never just pick a course and stick to it? Must always find the perfect fit. The perfect answer. The perfect path. But perfect is a crock of shit.

Maybe that’s why I never went to college. Maybe that’s why I jumped into the military on a dare – to avoid the indecision I felt about my life. Pick for me Uncle Sam – and he did.

I want to do too much, I think. I want to learn and try and try and learn and sometimes you just have to piss or get off the pot. In my efforts to avoid throwing myself into a world that I’m not happy with, I’m keeping myself from doing anything at all. Is that better? To always wonder what could be?

Maybe it’s the guilt. Not sure where it comes from, but it’s strong. It’s the voice that demands to know what gives me the right to sit here like a spoiled fucking school girl, mooning and moaning about what I want to be when I grow up, when my husband and millions upon millions of others are out busting their asses in whateverthefuck kind of job they can get their hands on.

Maybe it’s fear.
Maybe this patch contains LSD.
Maybe I should refrain from posting until my mind is clear.