I’m going to tuck this away for later. Maybe I’ll remember to refer to it later, maybe I won’t. Maybe some kind soul will link to it and rub my own words in my face, maybe not. Worth a shot anyway.

I am happy right now. Happy with my life, my marriage, my kids, and my decision to take the medication. I’m not raging like a lunatic right now. I’m not constantly looking for a fight. I’m not pacing the floors like a wild tiger. I’m not angry at the world. I’m not eyeballing every single man in town. I don’t have this incredible urge to head to Wal*Mart for shit I don’t really need. I don’t have a migraine [ ?? curious about this one ]. I’m not pissed at Ja MD for playing volleyball. I may not be cleaning the house like a crazed lunatic, but I’m whistling as I work. I don’t feel the need to listen music at ear numbing levels for hours on end. I don’t question whether or not I’m bipolar. I know I am.

No, I’m not thrilled with the thought of taking the meds forever, but since there’s no cure, I don’t have a choice. Not if I want my life to remain as blessed as it is right now. And what’s the harm? I pop them twice a day and all is well. Small price to pay for peace.

No, I’m not thrilled with the loss of certain things. Being able to literally do 20 things at once. To think 20 steps ahead in the blink of an eye. To never need more than 4 hours of sleep, and able to function for days on an hour’s worth. But those abilities weren’t real. I may have been born with them, but they didn’t belong to me. It’s not healthy to go through life like that. At that speed. When you burn twice as fast, you burn out twice as fast. You can’t keep it together and you crash. Hard. Always. Then your stupid ass gets right back up and does it again.

No, I’m not thrilled with the loss of that fantastic sex drive. But again, it wasn’t real. It’s not normal to spend your entire day focused on sex. Not unless you’re a teenage boy. Unfortunately, the meds put even more of a damper on things, but regardless, this area of my life is still pretty damn good.

No, I’m not thrilled at all that I can no longer put together a website or a blog design to save my life. That part of me just doesn’t work anymore. Or was it even there to begin with? It’s not like I was some site guru or anything. It was enjoyable to me though, and I miss it. But tough shit.

I know now that by the time I am saying outloud that I might be ok without the pills, it’s already too late. I’ve already lost control of the ship to the demons, and I need to hold off on any decisions until I feel the tides shift – and I will.

I should just sit back, take my pills, and enjoy the ride. It will pass.

We see bloggers leave everyday for whatever reason and miss their presence but when one dies, we know that voice is silent forever with no hope of returning.

That’s the saddest shit I’ve ever read James.

——-

Wow, I just cannot believe how much this is affecting me. And it’s not just sadness, there’s a great deal of other emotions in there as well that I wasn’t prepared for. Internet relationships have created an entire new way of mourning – for me anyway.

I’m sad – beyond comprehension – for the loss. They’re simply gone. Just as quickly as their words entered my life, those words have stopped. The part of me that happened upon their blogs and initially read the words as an observer is still hungry for more, and it will take awhile for the bewilderment to pass that the story is over. The part of me that later read their words as a friend is devastated that Rob and Meg have grown silent.

Then there’s the confusion over how you can miss someone you’ve never actually seen with your own two eyes. Maybe even a might bit of sheepiness as well. Should I miss them this much? Is that healthy that I have become so involved in the lives of … strangers? online friends? bloggers? what’s the word? Are they friends just because I say they are? Just because I read them? Because I connected with them in some way at some time? Did I deserve that look I got yesterday when I told someone that I had lost two friends – two internet friends? Are we still that small of a community? Is it still so unbelievable that people actually meet people online that are who they say they are? Have we not moved passed that omg you’re probably talking to an axe murderer bullshit?

Lastly, I feel extremely cheated out of meeting these two wonderful people in person. Regardless of whether that was likely to happen or not, the opportunity is now gone forever.

——-

Perhaps there should be more blogger meets.
I have a spare axe I can bring if anyone needs it.

What the fuck?

Rob was honest and rude and real and I loved it. He made you think, whether you agreed with him or not. He reminds (ed) me of my dad. Same twisted sense of humor. Both love to stir up shit, kick back, and enjoy the show. I’ll miss the hell out of him.

Makes me afraid to read anymore blogs today….

Received an email from Stu this morning to let me know that Sweet Meg has passed. It’s amazing how quickly the tears came and how much my heart is hurting for this woman I’ve never met in person.

I’ve learned a lot from Meg over the years. About code. Friendships. About how to just shut up and accept kindness thrown your way – whether you deserve it or not. It was an honor to have a spot on her blogger quilt.

The silence from Mandarin Daily Design will be deafening.

Life has been all kinds of crazy the past few days. MD’s team did make it to the semi-finals, and then lost by 4 points – two of which even *I* know they were screwed out of. But oh well.

Spent a small fortune on fireworks. MB1 didn’t go with us this year. He hardly goes anywhere with us. I even think he’s building up the nerve to go with his friend for the 4th. While I guess I should have seen it coming, it makes me very sad. Such a strange dynamic now … to still have little ones that deserve every bit of the excitement and fun of a family holiday, yet also having older ones who just don’t care that much anymore. I thought if we raised the kids ‘right’, they’d always feel that magical pull of a family gathering for the holidays. Either that was a tall order to fill, or I fucked up somewhere. Both, maybe.

Another friend’s dad died. Doesn’t seem to bode well for the fathers of our graduating class. Another chance for me to get stuck in one of the dresses I refuse to part with. Maybe I’ll fit now since I’ve dropped a few pounds. You’ll hear me cussing if I don’t.

MD is playing in a volleyball tourney all day. We drove out to watch, but it started to rain. Hard.

So now we get to sit in the house and go batshit crazy while MD is still there catching pneumonia.

Is it wrong to hope they lose today so he doesn’t have to go back out there tomorrow?

It’s amazing to see the rise and fall of my moods when I track them correctly.

Still taking the pills. No desire to stop. Guess the ride on the crazy train is over for now.

I wrote all my ‘why do I have to take these fucking pills‘ bitches on the back of my mood chart so I couldn’t hide them from the doctor when I became ‘normal’ again. It’s going to humiliate me to have her read this shit. A diatribe that makes perfect sense – if you’re looking for a 101 excuses of someone who desperately wants to be released from their cage to fly high and prowl the night. Not to say that I’m not still jacked at times, but I can feel myself slowly calming down a bit the past few days.

I found an interesting article that warned about an increased risk of mania during the summer months. Makes perfect sense when you think the reverse is true about depression. Light makes you feel good. So I finally force myself to use the pool pass this year and bravely take the 3 youngest to the pool myself a couple times a week, and this is my reward. Ain’t that something.

Not like I’m going to stop. The ride felt too damn good.

My punk rocker baby turns 14 today. Or is he goth? I don’t know. I’m not cool like that. He has more chains than most hicksville tires in winter. Black hair. Black nail polish. Black clothes with zippers and chains and shit all over them. His wallet has some weird ass markings on it – and it’s chained to his pants. Lots of cuffs – those are Guy Bracelets, for those of you thatJust Don’t Know – which included me until yesterday when he received a new one from a fellow decked-out darkly dressed friend.

But whatthefuck, I love all them there kids I shot out the old hoo-hah.
Happy Birthday, my freaky ass son!!

Hmmm…. wait. He refused to be escorted out in such fashion. Decided to press the call button instead and make the doc go in after his ass. I had to have my guts ripped open AFTER I spent all that unmedicated time trying to give him his own existence. Little shit. I knew right then that kid was going to do things his way in life. He didn’t disappoint.

Happy Birthday, my stubborn ass, unique-beyond-words son!!

——–

He’s been saving for a trip he’s taking next week with my very best friend. They’re headed over to Best Friends. She goes every year to volunteer for a few days, and since he works at the local animal rescue place in town, she’s been dying to take him with her. We finally agreed if he worked to raise some of the money needed to go. He’s been busting his ass for a few months now – taking odd jobs here and there. We’re chipping in the rest, and he wanted nothing but cash for his birthday, so he can have spending money while he’s out there. I wouldn’t give the other kids cash, as they’d have it spent on chips and mt dew the first time she stopped for gas – but I trust him. He’s an incredible tight wad.

So, as freaky as this kiddo of mine is, I’m in awe of him sometimes. Doesn’t give a hoot what anyone else thinks, already knows what he wants out of life, and hammers down on it until it’s within his reach. If he’s like this at 14, I can’t wait to see what he can do later.

MB4:I don’t think I belong on this world.
MM: …….[ chokes on drink ] …. what did you say?
MB4: I don’t belong here. Everyone’s mean to me.
MM: Honey, everyone isn’t mean to you.
MB4: It feels like it. They just don’t understand.
MM: Understand what?
MB4: Me.
MM: ……

Is this when I’m supposed to introduce him to the word Asperger’s?
He’s understanding more and more that he’s different.
I wish he’d learn to adjust that quickly.

MS had more tests ran last week. I bet she’s sick of that shit.
Anyhooo – all clear. Also had a colonoscopy – all clear.
She’s gained all her weight back. Feels great.

Dad’s feeling pretty good, all things considered. Nurse told him he was the picture of health the other day after running tests on his heart and such. Picture of health. I hope he didn’t say something cute about her unintentional irony. Some people don’t get his humor.

Gah. Ok, enough stalling. Trying to bullshit my way out of stuffing over 100 sponsorship letters/envelopes for LTN. I wonder if some kids want to make some money……

Today’s mood is brought to you by letting my son choose the radio station. Thanks to Mr Urban, I received a nice smack in the face. Guess I should say thank you and Happy Nuptials.

Someday MD might get tired of living this crazy life with me and leave – and I won’t blame him. But if it’s me that hits the highway, I know it’s over. He’ll never take me back again.

So I dug around to refresh my memory of those days of hell I put the family through. Days I wondered what the hell was wrong with me. Now I know. Guess it’d be ignorant to go back to that shit on purpose. Then again, I’m pretty fucking stupid sometimes.

Someday I’m gonna run across your mind
Don’t worry, I’ll be fine
I’m gonna be alright
While you’re sleeping with your pride
Wishing I could hold you tight
I’ll be over you
And on with my life

Take your records, take your freedom
Take your memories, I dont need ‘em
Take your space and take your reasons
But you’ll think of me
And take your cat and leave my sweater
‘Cause we have nothing left to weather
In fact I’ll feel a whole lot better
But you’ll think of me, you’ll think of me

Until I decide whether or not I’m really insane, I’ll keep taking the pills. Do not say yay or give me a high five or way to go me, or I’ll flush them sumbitches straight away. I’m in one of those moods, and it’s because of that mood that I’m not doing anything just yet.

—–

MB2 was told by his friend that he couldn’t come over anymore because of his hair. This went on for about a week, and it really chapped my ass. MB2 didn’t seem to care, ’cause he’s just that way. Meh, screw ‘em then. Good for him, but I’m more the let’s go beat those fuckers up type of person. But I refrained. For his sake.

This week, these wonderful people allowed my son back into their home to spend the night. I told him no way in hell. He told me that he wasn’t going to punish his friend because his parents were idiots. I said fine, then let me help you get into full freak gear and introduce you to eyeliner as well. He laughed and said no – and removed the nail polish he had been wearing. Didn’t want to make trouble for his buddy. I am so glad he’s not like me.

I expected him to catch shit from strangers, but not from these people. They’ve been friends for 6 years. They know my son. They’ve told us many many times that he’s the most polite, caring, respectful friend their son has. They go to church together.

Assholes. They better hope I don’t skip a pill or two and pay them a visit.

———-

MD got his first salary paycheck. Not quite as bad as I thought. Still not great, but we can make it if we do not deviate AT ALL from the budget. Will make school supplies and school clothes and shoes and birthdays and holidays and Christmas and shit like that a little bit tricky, but it won’t last forever. I feel like I can breathe a little anyway.

———-

Mr Migraine obviously wants me to say uncle, so I’m saying it. Uncle. Aunt. I’m a wussy. Kill me now. Whatever it takes to stop the damn pain. Every day. Every day. I know the one that’s festering now has the potential to send me to the hospital. I’m medicated beyond belief, and it’s still standing behind the do not cross line. Just staring at me. Waiting for me to forget to take more meds before these wear off.

The headaches and the mood have to be related somehow.

Surviving as a Bipolar Person
…helpful advice from Fyreniyce (Australian website)

Section One
The Five Stages of Bipolar Grief

Denial
Many of us when first diagnosed are downright relieved to finally have a name for what ails us. But our relief soon turns to denial once the full implications of the illness become evident. What this means is that as we come to understand how much of our core personality is driven by this illness, and once we settle into the routine of drug-taking and doctor’s visits, the realization that life will never be the same as it was before begins to haunt and torment us into denying some, or all, of reality. This is a dangerous but necessary time for us all to pass through. Accept it for what it is, an essential stage of coming to terms with being bipolar. Just be aware that this and the next stage are the times when you will be most inclined to do something you may regret later on. Don’t drink heavily, don’t quit taking your medications, don’t quit seeing your psychiatrist and/or therapist, and if possible, keep some sort of safety net in place in terms of support. If you crash hard, let there be someone there who cares and can help you hold on till stability returns.

Anger
Hot on the heels of denial comes anger. You will be furious with life, yourself, the past, missed chances, screw-ups, your friends, your significant others and your physician. No one will escape totally unscathed from the sphere of the bipolar person who has yet to come to terms with his/her circumstances. Be Angry! You have a reason and a right to be. Anger in itself isn’t a bad thing so long as you use it to empower yourself rather than to disempower or to harm others or yourself. The crucial point is that you understand and acknowledge your anger. Own it, accept it, and make it yours to the extent necessary to get through it. Is this permission to wallow in it indefinitely? No way. But you cannot move onward unless you’ve dealt with this critical aspect of learning to survive with a brain chemistry that will betray you at the first opportunity. Be angry, it’s okay, and you need no one else’s permission to be so.

Guilt
Of all the many things you will feel as you try to adjust to being officially bipolar, guilt is perhaps the most burdensome and difficult to get a grip on. There’s guilt over your past obnoxious behaviors and over sexual indiscretions, the way you’ve treated family and friends, the lack of attention or care you’ve given your children, the inability to maintain jobs or relationships and the nagging self-doubt about your own sense of worth. But despite all the foregoing, remember this, in fact, make it your personal motto: GUILT IS A WASTED EMOTION. It comes from an exaggerated sense of responsibility aimed at the wrong kinds of things and for all the wrong reasons. Sometimes it comes from all those do’s and don’ts you’ve had drilled into you by mom, dad, school and the church. Forget them, unless they were principles you personally chose after very careful thought, they don’t matter now and they never did. What matters now is the future you choose to follow. From this point on, the choice and the responsibility are all yours. That’s a little intimidating, but it’s also a very freeing kind of thought as well. Try it on for size, you might come to appreciate it. If nothing else, it unties that old guilt-knot in one’s stomach.

Resignation
Probably the most difficult and depressing aspect of this disorder is encountered after having passed through the tustle with denial and guilt – it’s the point when mere resignation settles on your shoulder like Poe’s black raven quoting its dirge of “Nevermore.” Nevermore the euphoric highs of hypomania. Nevermore the super bursts of creative energy. Nevermore the ability to do the work of ten others, stay up at the local bistro all night, and still write or paint until time for work the next morn. Nevermore the quick punning and life-of-the-party charisma. Nevermore – yes, for this we must (and do) mourn, for the drugs that stabilize us will exact a price in return and this is part of it. So do mourn for the parts of your personality that may become muted or disappear entirely. It’s okay to lay black roses at the feet of the drugs you must take. But then you must move on by accepting that, 1) you will experience a sense of resignation regarding your situation, 2) you will mourn and suffer severe depression at feeling forced into that resignation, 3) you will occasionally (or often even) entertain the notion of dumping your drugs down the toilet (and you may, but please think it through first) and finally, 4) you will expect life to get immediately better and you will be disappointed at the fact that it doesn’t. I can only urge you with all my heart to ride this tough time out. This coming to grips with a new you takes a very long time. Some things will improve very quickly, but others won’t, and new things will pop up to grieve you. We bipolars are not usually patient sorts, but for your life and well-being, please try to be patient with this process of adaptation.

Reconciliation
Okay, you’ve been very brave and you’ve made it through the 4 previous stages, now you can breathe a bit easier for the worst is definitely over. Hopefully, as you’ve reconciled your past with the rather scary present, you’ve learned a bit about yourself and discovered a well of strength within that will carry you through the ups and downs that most certainly will come your way in the future. During this last phase you will continue the process of adjusting your medications, settling in with a good doctor, and developing a strong support network.

This is also the period during which you’ll spend a great deal of time thinking about where you end and the drugs begin. Mixed in with these considerations will be an ongoing quest to find the real you underneath and/or cohabiting with the bipolar you. Sound peculiar? It should, but ask any bipolar of some standing and you will find that all have spent a good bit of time trying to figure out which of their cherished personality traits is due to their being bipolar and which is due to some unique, core “self.” I’ve always considered myself a bit of a loner and just plain dammed different from others. Now I wonder whether it wasn’t my bipolar self-protecting me from a world that was always just a bit too much. All of this questioning is an essential part of a process called acceptance. When you have accepted that there is no magic cure for what you have, and that you will have it forever, you can move on to making your life as fulfilling and stable as it can be. Not until you reach a point where you are both reconciled to your illness and accepting of the treatment it mandates can you really begin to grow and live a full life. The road is fraught with peril, but the destination is certainly worth the risk.

—————–

But it doesn’t matter that I cried and nodded through 99% of this.
I still have my doubts as to whether or not I’m one of those bipolar types.

You know, the crazy ones.

—

I shadowed many bipolar forums today searching for confirmation that I am indeed normal and that my actions were/are nowhere near as drastic as those who truly need medication. There is a huge part of me that thinks I can handle it this time.

So why does that bring a smile, and then a pair of worried eyebrows to my face? Have I somehow given up the driver’s seat without realizing it? Sharing the reigns? Who is trying to make this decision?

The sky isn’t blue or purple right now. It’s blank, and holy shit is that terrifying.

So maybe he doesn’t agree. Rather, I don’t agree to his terms. Why would I promise to get back on the pills if I derail again when they aren’t working now? Ok, so maybe they are working a little, on SOME things, but I’m fucking tired of living without the rest of me.

OMHell I’m getting angry.

But then again, what else could I promise to do to ‘fix’ things if I start flipping that nutty again? What do I want him to do when I slowly start pulling away? What should he say when I start shutting down? Not like I can go get a magic shot in the ass that will fix me up in 30 seconds.

I say, it’s ok, I know the sky is blue now. When it starts to turn purple, I’ll remember. He says, when it starts to turn purple again, you’ll start wondering why you ever believed us dumb ass blue-sky people.

There is a very good chance that he’s right.
I need to think. I’m confused again.

Not sure what is going on with me. Past few weeks I have been a raging monster. No wick on the bomb. A screaming hollering nasty foul ass person who is starting to remember how good it feels to throw shit and watch it explode into 50 million pieces.

Then I get an email from a friend. Her son – her very young son – has been raging too. Breaking shit and trying to release the fire the bipolar bastard lights inside of him. An inextinguishable fire. I wish I knew what to tell her. Wish I could do more than feel like an ass for doing the same thing to my family ~ as a grown woman. More than wipe away the tears for her and everyone else that have to deal with this shit.

——–

My doctor graduated and moved to Tampa. Thanks asshole. Now I have to start over with someone else. And gee, don’t I love that. I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking. And of course we have to assume that I am of sound mind because I take Medication That Gives Me The Brain I Was Supposed To Be Born With, that perhaps it’s time to go it alone. Try anyway. I’ve spent a year and a half doing it their way. Take this, take more, take less, add this, oh no stop taking that, increase please, give me some blood to make sure we’re not killing you, ok take more, no no no take less of this and more of that, oh yes that’s it, oh wait not quite right, let’s add this, yessssssssssssssss……..

But no, here I am, still breaking shit and wondering how it would be to hop in the car and just drive. Alone. Without looking back.

So it’s not working. Or it was and it stopped. Or I need An Adjustment. Or I became immune. Or I’m just having an extremely strong …. spell that would really be bad were it not for the meds, but thankfully they give me a ceiling and a floor so I can bounce safe and snug between the two when the episodes come, instead of free falling or shooting the moon. Yes, I was told that. Makes ya feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it?

I didn’t know I was bipolar before. When I would slip the track, friends and family would try to tell me, and I thought they were all crazy. It’d be different now. I’d KNOW it was me. On some level, anyway. I know the dynamics of the disorder would still allow for that kick into denial mode, but we would still all be aware of what the problem was.

I have that hey I’m nuts and if this this and this happens, these people are to act on my behalf paperwork somewhere. Maybe. If I can remember what it’s called, I’ll fill out another. And do all that legal mumbo jumbo to make everyone happy.

I just want to try.

phone……..

And MD agrees. Guess that’s that.

I think MD might be able to get a volleyball tournament together in time this summer to use to raise money for LTN. If he can, I would have t-shirts printed up to sell there to try and make a bit of money as well. But what to put on them? So far, the kids have come up with:

My Spike helped Light the Night
Spike For the Fight

Any others? Still have to talk to the tshirt gal here in town to see how much it would be.

Also, we’ve decided to sell the bracelets this year. The kids have, rather. They are putting together a couple of car washes as well. AND, they are trying to organize something through each of their youth groups. I’m very proud of them.

I’m thinking of selling these cute little teddy bears:

But maybe instead of actually giving them to the buyer, they allow us to donate them to the children’s cancer ward up here at the hospital? Do you think people would go for that? Might also have some for sale at the tournament.

Lots of places to call today. Sure with I was better at this shit. Bleh.

It’s been 6 years today since Shawn lost his fight with cancer. He was 29 years old. Nothing profound to say. I just miss him.

Walk with me. Form your own team. Donate. Help raise the funds needed to find a cure. Let researchers use your computer to figure out what makes cancer tick.

Do something.

These muthafucking headaches won’t leave me be. Spent another weekend on the gawd damn floor begging for death. MD carted my ass to the after hours clinic for yet another shot in the ass on Sunday. Just NOW – NOW NOW NOW – starting to feel human.

And I sure do loves me some bitches that dish out some stone cold pity all polite-like but you can sense that uppity snip in their tone – need a tylenol? No, I do not need a fucking Tylenol. Hello? Idiot? When someone is on the floor of the bathroom spewing the last of their yellowish guts into a washcloth because they can’t even lift their head up off the floor to hit the toilet – they’re going to need something a bit stronger than a FUCKING TYLENOL! Doesn’t that seem obvious? Word of advice: if you’ve never had a headache this bad – just stay the hell away. Those of us that deal with this shit have medicine that would render you braindead -er.

——-

MD is a nice prick to be around lately. Lovely job this is. Yeah, he loves it. Yeah, it will take a year to get shit straightened out. I’m already about to sew his lips together.

——-

I need to get out, but I’m afraid to be in the sun just yet. Got us living in the bat cave for a few more days, just in case.

——-

I’m still really bitchy. Feeling really violent. You can’t tell? Yeah, I hide it well.

——-

I’ve made my weight loss goal. Passed it, actually. Down 34lbs from my heaviest last year, and down 18lbs from the start of this year. Booyah. Except now my pants are falling off and I don’t have anything to wear. Always a reason to bitch, eh? Now to firm up this jello so I can win a bet with MD. He told me to toss out my bikinis, as I would never have the balls to wear them again. Think again, assmunch.

MD wasn’t supposed to switch jobs until the start of July. They needed him to try and bust his ass as much as he could for a few weeks to get them a bit ahead of schedule – ’cause gawd knows they are going to be hating life when he heads upstairs. Plus, it gave us a few extra weeks to soak up as much OT as we could.

But it happened yesterday, because life (and this company) likes to keep you hoppin’. Fired the guy in the position now, informed another slob ass office dweller who is supposed to handle ……. well, no one really knows as he’s sort of just been there for years and seems to think he really gets paid to play solitaire ….. that not only is his company truck is being yanked away, but that he is now basically MD’s personal bitch, and they informed the shop that the boss is being replaced as well. MD likes the guy who is taking over – a lot. He really knows his shit.

So, they told MD to stay as late as he needs to yesterday, today, and Sunday – because salary starts Monday. Barf. He’s playing in the company volleyball tourney on Saturday. And no, no truck. From now on, no one gets a company truck unless they actually work out of town – as it should be. Nothing like watching some worthless prick waste, in essence, what could be raises for everyone if that guy wasn’t toodling around in a truck he doesn’t need.

He said he had to wade through 7 piles of invoices on the floor alone. He found booze in the desk drawer. Venders called on his new company phone, and about fell over from shock when he answered – ’cause they always get voice mail as this shithead didn’t want to deal with them. Probably because he wasn’t getting their bills paid. And it’s not like this company can’t pay the bills. You just gotta get them in the system and them send them on over to the main office. I am in awe of just how lazy some people are.

Guess we’ll enjoy this last paycheck before Operation Holy Shit kicks off. I hope this volleyball gig pans out, although how can he be available for that if he’ll be putting in extra hours initially trying to sort through the mess at work? Ok, let’s not think about that. We’ll be good for a month or so anyway without worry. Ok, I’ll worry, but it will be needlessly.

But damn, it’s hard not to smile when he talks about it.
His face ….. kid at Christmas.

I died MB2’s hair jet black last night – at his request. We have another highlighting kit standing by to use in a few days that clearly states on the box – for the experimental. It’s red. Crayon red. Fire red. And I allowed my son to buy it. My son. My sweet, no I’m not goth mom son who is spending his money on studded leather cuffs and wallets with chains on them and …. black nail polish. And I’m letting him wear it. MD is about to have a large farm animal over it. So is MB1. So are all of MB1’s friends, who use this house much like one would use a filling station.

But do I tell him no? He pulled up his grades, he’s never in trouble, he helps me a lot around the house, he tells me everything…. does it really matter how he chooses to decorate himself? Now, I ain’t about to let him start poking holes in his titties or eyebrows or shit like that, but nothing he wants to do (so far) is permanent.

MD looked at me as if I had truly lost my mind last night, but shouldn’t we be thankful that he follows his own path? That he doesn’t give a shit about the stares or whispers? That he has NEVER been influenced by those around him? That he is so firmly rooted in who he is that I honest to gawd never worry about him doing anything wrong? Never. Ok, yeah, he fights with MB1. But he’ll never smoke, he’ll never do drugs, he’ll never drink, he will always treat women with respect – I don’t know how I know this about him, but you can just tell. Much like MB3.

Shouldn’t a kid like that be allowed to get a little freaky?

MB1 & MB2 fight.
MG: Stop your fighting or I’m going to whip your asses and send you to mom.
MB1 & MB2 howl with laughter.
MM sighs and explains why that isn’t appropriate for little ladies to say.
Then turns around and tells the boys to stop fighting or I’m going to whip their asses.

Few days later…..

MM: Which cereal do you want?
MG: Cookie Crisp
MM: Fresh out kiddo.
MG: Why does everyone always have to eat my damn cereal?
MM: ……
MM sighs and explains why that isn’t appropriate for little ladies to say.
MG: Maybe you should make me a list.
MM: ……
MM: ……
MM: Here, have a Nutty Bar and go pretend you’re four.

——-

Someday she’s gonna look at me and whisper…..
There can only be One.

Had to have blood drawn the other day to check my levels, and they were updating their files. Asked 101 questions about this and that, and then she softly asked how my sister was doing. I smiled and told her that so far, so good, and that her scans looked great. She brightened up and said she was glad it seemed like a fluke mishap, rather than a genetic nightmare. Then she lowered her head and jotted a few things down on my file. I realized that I had to tell her about dad – out loud -, and I suddenly felt like I was trying to talk through mud. I have told other people, but it just isn’t getting any easier.

So I spit out that it probably is a genetic thing as dad was dx’ed with Stage IV colon cancer just a few months ago, and I saw her eyes close. Real tight. Her head lowered just a bit and her shoulders hunched and I prayed to God she didn’t look me in the eyes right then. Not sure I could have handled it. Thankfully, she started “furiously” writing again, and that took awhile. When she looked up a few seconds later, I was no longer in danger of bursting into tears. She told me she was very sorry, but was sure he would beat it as well. Then she asked his age, and I told her 55. I was then treated to those wonderful Pools of Pity in her eyeballs. I am going to start bringing a fork with me to take care of eyes like that. You’ve been warned.

——-

Pdoc appt was yesterday. Mom goes with me to watch Brat Girl and Brat Boy. Still don’t trust the boys to watch those two for extended periods of time, and these appts take awhile since the hospital is an hour away.

I was waiting for her in the van, and Dad came out to tell me she’d be right down. He crawled in to play with the kids, and I asked how he was. He’s in the middle of his third treatment. He said he’s not sick, just real tired. Told me he’s taking the anti-depressants they gave him because he is having trouble with this whole dying thing. My brain was exploding over and over listening to him talk like that.

I told him that he was going to beat this thing soon and we all could get back to normal. So he rubs MG’s hair and tells me that at his appt he was basically told he has a blank script – whatever pain meds he wants, he gets. When Dad said he didn’t want an addiction when this was all over, the doctor said… let’s not worry about that right now. Dad said he knows that our family members were given open -ended prescriptions like that when it no longer mattered what they put into their bodies – because they were dying soon anyway. To that, I didn’t say a word. I was too busy willing my mother to get her ass to the van and save me from hearing anymore.

No such luck.

So then he tells me about a doctor at the Chemo Palace on Tuesday. They started talking about how Dad is handling the treatments and this and that, and somehow it got around to whether the bad outweighs the good regarding chemo. Personal decision, yes, but it helps to have medical input. Doc was really upbeat and saying how chemo can really make that bastard prognosis (read: how long one was given to live) fade away. Dad laughed and said he didn’t even know what figure he was fighting against, because the doc couldn’t give him one. This is when Mr Happy Bullshit With Patients Doctor stopped skipping around the room and painted a huge puzzled masterpiece all over his face and asked Dad who his oncologist was. Dad tells him, and this guy says – you sure? Given the name is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y hard to pronounce (read: not exactly the most common fucking name out there, ya know?), Dad said uhh, yeah. So Mr Joy proceeds to say how odd that is. And of course, then he needed to split. Like, right then.

So I was stuck in a van with a man who ages 20 years every time I see him who used to be my kick ass hard ass vibrant dad who is now looking to me for ? …….. I don’t even know. Perhaps he was preparing me? Gawd knows Mom isn’t someone he can talk to. And I know he won’t talk to my sister – no one wants her stressed ……..(’cause we all know stress causes cancer – say that in your best crusty old great aunt voice). I know Dad. He wouldn’t tell me these things to hurt me. Never.
I saw a change in his eyes. Not like he’s given up, but more like fear. I haven’t see that before. Is it just now starting to sink in that this is terminal? Is the not knowing exactly how bad it is bothering him more than just finding out and coming to peace with it? Is he trying to tell me something? I don’t know if I can be the support he needs. I don’t know if the Daddy’s Little Girl in me can be pushed to the side to make room for someone strong enough for him to lean against. I don’t know how to exhaust these tears once and for all so I can do what needs to be done.

And I don’t know how in the fuck I keep picking these fantastic movies. Family Stone, anyone?

——–

I’m still doing great though. No med changes except to add something as needed for sleep. I think it’s understandable that I have trouble shutting my mind down at night lately, especially since I’ve never been one to sleep anyway. They are very pleased with me.

Isn’t that special.

*Dad doesn’t seem to know he has cancer. Says he feels better every day. He’s bouncing off the walls, demanding to get back to work. The doctors all said to go for it, but given the few hours every other week he needs for chemo, work ain’t too keen on taking him back. He is usually an out of town supervisor. He can’t go back to that job, but there are several others that he is more than qualified for – positions that he used to occupy. Trying to get it settled nicely, but they ain’t budging and FML is ticking away. Can you say big problem? Do you remember where MD works? Not sure my nerves can take much more.

*On the other hand, MD has never been more relaxed. He is really looking forward to cleaning up the parts department. Man damn near drools when he thinks about how he is going to organize shit. I know. I hope things work out ok with this company. He really wants this.

*MD got a really part time job last night at the place where he plays volleyball. He can ref when he’s not playing, and she said she could give him a few more nights if he wants. Few hours a night, making up the difference in our budget – I feel a teensy bit better.

*Except I really don’t feel better right now. I feel like shit. Somehow I got strep, and I’m miserable. I just want to lay down and sleep.

Things are looking up today. Did we find a solution? Nah, but that sunburn I got on my left arm the other day has decided to tan up instead of peel. Big thrill you say? For someone who emerged from Florida five years later still ass blinding white as the day she shot from her mama’s hoohaa, this is thrilling news indeed.

More importantly, there is a very valuable lesson to be learned here:
I have one tan arm. If that’s possible, anyfuckingthing is.

MD was given a promotion yesterday. Yay.

FUCK.

It’s not that I’m not happy for him. It’s the job he’s wanted since he started there. It means less hours, better benefits, on and on. Also means he won’t have to wear 28 million different ‘hats’ since they depend on his ass for everyfuckingthing around there. But it also means that the pay structure changes. Although he will be technically making more than his base pay now – we lose the 20 hours of OT a week.

FUCK.

I’m trying not to panic. There really isn’t a choice in the matter. Even if he didn’t want it, you know how this shit works. You take it or they find a way to phase you out. We’ve tried really hard not to count on those OT hours, but after 4 years, it’s hard not to assume they’ll always be there – at least a portion of them anyway. And I don’t need them all. That’s the bitch of it. We’re only talking about being a few hundred dollars short. That’s it.

FUCK.

So, last night I’m went into think mode. Get one of these little local part time jobs that caters to moms that have to leave sometimes to pick up sick kiddos? Like the library helpers and shit? Work all fucking week to turn around and give damn near the whole check to daycare so I can LITERALLY have a couple hundred dollars to contribute each month? Or do I try not to cry while jumping back into the world of restaurant management? I’d have to head to KC though, ’cause I’ll be damned if I go back to killing myself for magic beans. It’s corporate pay or nothing. But at least then I’d be making more than enough for day care and the extra gas/car expenses/etc. But both ideas pissed MD off. He said he’d figure out something. Both of us working was a nightmare before. Double the amount of kids/activities, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like now.

FUCK.

So I took another look at the bills. Guess what? We don’t have any. Well, not many. Mostly living expenses. And the house and the car. Told him that we could ditch the cell phones and the cable and this site/the server – but that’s it of our ‘extras’. Thank gawd. Well, I guess the monthly movie thing, but damn, what is that? $15? But I can’t trim anymore than that, and I’m not even sure if that’s be enough to do it. Probably, but it’d be ugly making it work.

FUCK.

So, yay. Let’s all be happy for MD’s new job. I’m going to go work on my smile now, because I really am happy for him. Happy for us, in terms of having him home more often and all that jazz. Just gotta try and ignore the ~20k hit we’re taking for it.

FUCK.

The only thing worse than taking care of sick kids for a week and then being sick yourself for a week is cleaning up the filthy fucking house when shit gets back to normal. Oh my good gawd. This place is so nasty I can barely stand it. The pills must be working. Then again, I’m still sitting here just looking at the disaster, so maybe they aren’t.

MB4 was put on a slightly higher dose of Depakote. Still very mild, but she added a tid bit in the morning to see if we can get a handle on this ….. whoa nelly shit he’s got going on. I tell ya though, the longer he’s on these meds, the more …… I don’t want to say normal, but well… the more normal he seems. The more he talks to me like a person and not a servant. That’s not exactly an accurate description, but it’s hard to articulate. Usually he only interacts with people when he needs something. He’s now actually talking to us to talk. Imagine that. He’s laughing more. Raging less. He’s also lying more – little shithead. What’s more, he’s getting good at it. Any other kid I’d be riding that ass, and I do – but secretly I’m smiling as I listen to his tall tale.

MB5 has learned a new word. Why. So now when you tell him no – why. When you tell him to pick up his toys – why. When you ask him to bring you a diaper – why. Very cute, actually. In an annoying sort of way.

Ok. Enough screwing around. Time to clean this bitch.