Holiday memories

Today, a thread on LSG brought up some Christmas memories, some of which I shall share.


When I was in 5th grade, we were robbed blind the first week of December or so. Christmas was going to suck balls that year. Tristan really wanted a pair of Adidas shoes for christmas, but those motherfuckers are expensive as hell but she was a tad self-dentered back then, so that didn't matter. She still demanded that she have $100+ Adidases.

She got the knockoff brand with like 5 stripes on the side.

Guess who still has the video tape of her crying about it.

THIS GAL

The video also contains my happy ass getting a Seal cassette tape. That was all I wanted that year, and that was basically all I got. I was so fucking happy.

Another year, Tristan was going through her baby fat stage (5th-6th grade) and that was the only time our biological father saw us in person until she got married at 18. So, every year after the pre-teen visit, he would send her a really large men’s sweater from Alaska (where he lives) to her as a present.

Bastard.

Finally, my parents bought me and Tristan (2 years my senior) the same makeup palette for christmas when I was 10 or so. I am 27 now. I tossed that shit out when I was 17 or so.

Just last year, I spotted Tristan STILL USING THAT SAME GODDAMN MAKEUP PALETTE.

I threw it away for her. I didn't want her eyeballs to rot out.

I should be a life coach

No, really. Even though I can't get my own shit together, I should be a life coach. I have a way about me that convinces others that I am right about... well... everything. Witchcraft!

Tonight I talked to a friend for three solid hours about things that others around him have been trying to tell him, but for whatever reason he didn't listen to them. Something about how I confronted (read: ambushed) him and put the fact out on the table made him see things for the way they were. Sorry I can't be more specific. At any rate, I got a sincere thanks (another thing I won't say unless I mean it) from said friend and hopefully a lifelong positive result with very few refresher ambushes in the future.

But for me? Let's see here. I slept for 14 hours straight on Sunday, I think. What day was that? At any rate, I read all of Portia de Rossi's memoir, Unbearable Lightness, in one sitting (about 3 hours). It was wonderful. My review of it is on goodreads. That's another thing I need to make lucrative for myself: reviewing books and getting paid for it. But anyway, I digress.

I stayed up until 3 am reading that damn book, then slept all day, unaided, and awoke only to have dinner prepped by Andy. Over the weekend, we finished painting the kitchen and I cleaned out the blue room a bit. We found the perfect couch and figured out it wouldn't fit into any part of the house, so we sadly passed it by. I cleaned the far corner of the library (I swept and picked up all the books! And I put the books where they BELONG!) and fussed at Andy about his... different... way of looking at cleaning up. My idea of cleaning up is putting things where they belong. His idea has become shoving things under other things. I was unhappy about that.

Here, I will apologise and admit fault. For the longest time, things had to be exactly how I wanted them. He learned long ago that moving anything in the house could potentially set off an avalanche of angry words and accusations. I guess I should have let Andy know that since we moved into the house, wherever he thinks something should go is where it should go. No more do we have to worry about hiding things away or stacking shit on top of more shit like we did in the apartments. We have more than enough room in the house. For that, I am eternally grateful. So yes, thank you Andy. And I'm sorry.

He knows my stance on those phrases.

Speaking of "should," I got to dish out some advice I myself was given a year or so ago to the aforementioned and unnamed friend. A knitting buddy, Paige, was listening to me grouse about the things I should be getting done. I should have been finding another job, cleaning the apartment, doing school work, blah blah blah.

Finally, she gave me her priceless advice: "Fuck should."

Just... fuck it. There is no should or should not. Kind of Yoda-esque. But at any rate, should is a state of mind, not a necessity. When you think about it, should is in the eye of the beholder, but much more often in the eye of the beholder's overlord.

Above mentioned friend kept saying he should do this and that and then gets sucked into the sneaky hate spiral, or at least the sneaky guilt spiral (we also discussed the difference between Jewish guilt and Catholic guilt-- guess what kind of guilt he was subjected to) and accomplishes nothing. He will admit that.

But what he SHOULD do is nothing. Should is gray. What he wants and needs is so much more important. Yeah, he NEEDS to get some of his shit together. He WANTS to get his shit together. Thus, he WILL get his shit together. The should feeds the apathy and the guilt. Should is a bad word in my philosophical worldview.

I SHOULD go to sleep. I took two sleeping pills 2 hours ago. I WILL finish this blzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Funk and Bond Girls

5 years ago today, something very bad happened to my family. I don't want to talk about it. In fact, I never talk about it. Let's move on.

Today I woke up in a bit of a funk. Maybe it's memories, subconsciously weighing on my brain and ringing my eardrums like triangles. Maybe it's low blood sugar. Maybe it's too much sleep. It's actually probably all three.

I'm shaking and my head feels like it's about 5 lbs heavier than it should be. I feel a manic cycle starting. Or ending. Or something. I feel frenzied, like my nerves are dancing relentlessly through my body and not staying put where they belong. Wandering around at all hours. Just generally being dicks.

I can't decide. I've started two new knitting projects today (hexapuffs and some handspun mitts). Pictures will come up later. I'm too hot. The A/C is on as are all the fans in the house. I have a tank top on. I don't like how my arms feel naked. Therefore, I put on a long-sleeved shirt over my tank. But it's open-buttoned and only half sleeved. Were I not writing right now, I would go upstairs and put on yet another shirt over the others. It makes too much sense to just wear one layer.

There is a Bond film in which some babe is all painted gold. Don't fuss at me for not knowing anything more specific than that- I've never seen a Bond film, nor have I had the desire to. At any rate, she complained of her body temperature going up during filming due to the gold paint trapping her heat against her body. Even though she was mostly naked, she was boiling in her own skin. Mythbusters did their take on it and determined it to be a valid claim.

I think that the same can be said of contacts. I sleep with mine in regularly, and it seems that the longer I have them in, the worse my head feels. Not just pressure on the eyes or sinuses or even brain pain, but just an overwhelming feeling of crappiness. After Basic Training, I once kept the same pair of contacts in for a year and 3 months straight. No, really. I didn't take them out to wash them, sanitize them, wiggle them around, they never popped out, nothing. At just about the one year mark, I started to have what I call "brain zaps." Kind of that sudden rush of vertigo and rushing sound in your ears that is related to pre-syncope. It happened to me several times a day. My only explanation was that my contacts were making me feel like shit.

So maybe I need to go take my contacts out. I feel awful today regardless, but I'd like something to lessen the suffering. Things need to slow up a little, I think.

It's work(ing) again.

I'm trying really hard to get into "American Gods" by Neil Gaiman. I'm on page 63, and it's really really odd for me not to just devour any book that is put in front of me.  I've been trying for 3 days now, and it's just not grabbing me. What's this business with the man getting sucked into that chick's vagina? I mean... really. And the dead wife? Suddenly I'm like on a Nordic ship or something? Tell me it will even out and make sense because right now, I'm about to give up.

Today I cleaned Steven's house for the first time. It's so nice to move about in a fully air-conditioned house. Frank kept trying to eat (no, really, BITING) the vacuum cleaner. Aside from that, there were no hangups or anything. We are also boarding Frank and Herma this weekend since Steven will be camping. I really really wanted to go, as I haven't been properly camping since that awful week in Florida the month I turned 20. Ugh. But really, I love camping. However, I have to work.

Speaking of work, the adjuncts got a nice nasty email from the new Dean, who my students are calling "The Trunchbull," but I am starting to refer to as "Umbridge." One, no letting class out early. Like I do that anyway. Any of my students will tell you that I am super strict, down to the second, about what time I let them go. Second, no talking about suicide, death, or drugs in class. : / I'm pretty sure I can avoid the subjects, as I'm really just doing composition, but it's still kind of annoying being told what I can and cannot do. Three, even though classes are only 11 weeks, I am expected to keep my students for the full 3 hours during week 12 (finals week). I had something in the back of my mind trying to stretch out the time, but I really cannot guarantee that they will stay the whole time. They are adults, for fuck's sake. If they feel like they are done, they are done. And as it's the last "class" of the semester, they ARE done. Finally, something about failure advising. This one gets my goat more than the rest combined.

I need to tell a handful of students that they are failing and advise them as to what to do about it. I'm getting fussed at constantly about not doing this and not documenting it in our system. Guys. What can I do? How do I tell a student he/she is failing if I never see them? Call them? Leave a message since none are answering? Email? Fuck if I know. What it really bothering me here I think is that no one told me that this was something I needed to do. Apparently it was a mid-term thing, and we are going into week 9 now I think. How can I do what I'm supposed to do if I don't know that I am supposed to do it?

Things are starting to look a little up. I sincerely look forward to Radford starting. I will be so busy this semester, but I think it's for the best. It's less time for me to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I'm quite curious about how many classes I will be getting at ITT. If I get something similar to this quarter, September-December will look as such:

M: (RU) 11am-4pm (ITT) 6-10:30
T: (RU) 5-6:15 pm
W: (RU) 11am-4pm
R: Steven 10-12 (RU) 5-6:15 pm
F: (RU) 11-4 (ITT) 6-10:30
Sa: (ITT) 9am-1pm
Su: Dead.

It's worth it though. I work best when I am obligated and busy. I haven't missed a day at ITT because I know how important it is that I be there. There have been days that I could have called in; should have called in. See also: my fucked up face from eczema. I'm going to make sure all my shit is in order for Radford. Last semester I was plagued with a terrible classroom (fucking trailers) and electronics that were constantly out of order. This semester, I'm going to make sure all of my stuff is up on D2L early and that my students are sure of every single thing that's going on. I will answer my emails as best I can. I will probably stay in my office hours longer than I advertise. I will grade things as soon as they come across my desk. I am going to do all these things because I must, and I want to.

That's all I've got now.

Fuck my body

And not in the literal sense.

The pompholyx is taking over my entire body. I'd put up pictures, but I'm not sure I'm ready to share them yet. They are quite disgusting. I don't know why I keep taking said pictures, but I've got a camera-roll's worth of them on my phone.

Andy got paid today, so we could go grocery shopping. Groceries consisted of milk, bread, and about 20 packages of ramen. It's a good thing that Andy and I both like ramen. And frozen pizza. Does anyone else remember when Totino's pizza were $.98? Those bastards are $1.25 now. Too expensive for us these days. However, Mr. P's makes an acceptable 98 cent pizza, which we stock up on every time we get paid.

Unfortunately, we're overdrafted about $150. I had to go to the Dr. today because my fucking arms and face and neck, chest, legs, tummy, etc are itching like motherfuckers and becoming a bit of a concern. That's $40. $40 to have my nurse practitioner tell me she didn't know what it was so she would treat it like contact dermatitis (allergies basically) and prescribed some bastard ass pills I have to take 6 times a day for the first 4 days, then on some crazy fucking cycle adding up to 48 pills over 12 days. Also, some cream that is supposed to help with the itching.. oh and cost $40 more. Awesome. Plus I needed a refill on my zoloft, bringing our grand total for the day (including groceries) to roughly $175.

Andy's paycheck is mostly gone, then. I get paid tomorrow, but we have a mortgage payment to take care of before we get paid again, so we'll have about $200 for bills until 2 weeks from now. Too bad our bills due within the next 14 days are roughly $600-700. Hoo boy. Creative problem solving at it's best. What can go? What can we be late on? How long are the grace periods for each individual biller? I would start selling body parts/organs but I'm tainted with ebola aids apparently, so who wants that?

On a slightly brighter note, I might have a cleaning lady gig coming my way. I am excellent at cleaning other people's homes. Need someone to clean up for you? Fuck yeah, I'll do it! At this point I would accept payment in the form of food. Need your laundry done? That'll cost you a couple of potatoes. Dishes? No problem. Give me some cheese. Nothing fancy either really, just the yellow kind would do. Fuck, even American processed cheese product would work.

Andy's job opportunity seems to be slipping away. I'm at the point where I feel like I am drowning. He was told when he had his interview 2 weeks ago that they would call him last week. They didn't call. he called them, the guy he interviewed with specifically said he would call Andy on Monday (the 1st) and set up a follow-up interview. Andy heard nothing until he called them AGAIN today and the guy on the phone said some other governing body set up the second interviews and he should hear something next week.

For fuck's sake.

Edited to add: the 6-a-day meds I am on have the following side effects:

"Difficulty sleeping; feeling of a whirling motion; increased appetite; increased sweating; indigestion; mood changes; nervousness."


That's like every day of my life. Maybe my body naturally produces it and I'm a medical miracle.

The Waydown

I'm friggin tired. I've been tired all day. I bled from my nose for several hours. My #2 is iffy at best, explosive at worst. I have the donkey cough. I've barely been able to eat. I'm out of miiiiiiilk gah! I'm still awake because I am a.) unable to sleep and b.) waiting for my crops to mature for harvest. DONT JUDGE ME! I joined a co-op and I wold feel like an asshole if I didn't at least try...

My knitting will never get done. I finally got to 73 on weatherfield. I read all of "The Absolutely True Diary of a part-time Indian" today in about an hour or so. I wanted to cry when i was done. I actually got some research done, but of course it's all about Sherman Alexie. Surely Tim understands that he dominates the field of not just funny Native American literature, but  Native American literature in general.

My cats all snore. Andy snores. I don't think I snore, but my nose and throat are so dry lately that it wouldn't surprise me.

I have a week left, then I graduate. Then I have to procure a real job. My annoyance level is rising at an alarming rate. I'm definitely taking it out on the wrong people, because I am too chickenshit to say anything to the right people. I just want to lay low until the 7th and let grad school become a distant "well that was interesting" memory/life lesson.

I don't think I was properly equipped or prepared to go to grad school. Undergrad wasn't difficult even in the slightest for me. Grad school, to be frank, was only difficult because I have shitty organization and prioritizing skills. Not to say that the work wasn't difficult... it kind of was, mostly just because of the quantity. At any rate, about a million things have fallen to the wayside, including my marriage. That's definitely the worst part.

I haven't worn my wedding ring in a week. I'm pretty sure I haven't kissed Andy in just as long, if not longer. I haven't told him I love him in a while either. I'm an asshole; I've been assured of this from outside sources. I have poor prioritizing skills, remember?  I should be sleeping, curled up next to him, but I'm an asshole. I'm a selfish jerk. I'm a proud bitch. I'm just a confused 25 year old little girl that can;t get her head on straight. I am a chronic life ruiner.

No, no, I'm not asking for pity. Nor am I asking for more people to assure me of what a dick I am. Trust me, I get that shit daily. I'm just writing stuff down.

Andy asked me a few weeks back what I would ideally do if I could. I immediately responded that I wish I could make a living off of writing. I don't think I am the most well spoken or the most interesting person in the world, but christ if Laura Fuckin Bush can get her shitty book published (and I mean, come on, what the hell is so interesting about her other than her remarkable ability to put up with a moron 5 year old for a husband?), why can't I get anything published?

Because I haven't tried is why.

Without being too dramatic, that really is the story of my life.

I've gotten through this far without stretching myself out too far, without going out on a limb, without taking risks. I'm safe. I know that's not the foremost adjective that comes to mind when someone ponders my being, but in all honesty, I'm a pretty safe gal. I don't do a goddamn thing that makes me uncomfortable (because it's pretty hard to do that), I don't make myself do anything too difficult (I like to say I know my limits), and I definitely don't deliberately make things harder on myself.

Unlike some people I know...

At any rate, I'm fucking tired. I want to try and eat something and keep it down. I'm cold. I can' bring myself to knit anymore tonight, nor write anymore.