Prosemonkey

He may not be following me, but I'm following him ...

2011-07-25T00:21:34Z

This is probably the funniest thing I've read in a long time. Glinner, I'm so sorry if you got frustrated but this made for high comedy.

(obviously, meant to be read from the bottom up.)

Well, that was different ...

2011-07-22T00:48:18Z

The stress test today was interesting. It was my first, as I have never had any heart trouble, except for some bruises and the occasional heel print. It started an hour late, which was good and bad. The Good: it gave me time to read another hundred pages of my book, Game of Thrones (we'll talk about that another time) but The Bad: it also made me anxious that there wouldn't be enough time to finish my test. I was only able to have a small breakfast, nothing after 10 am, and my nervousness was burning up my protein shake pretty quickly. By the time they finally called me in, I was ready to jump out of my skin.

And then I sat and waited another half hour. Really? I totally forgot about the multi-stage waiting rooms the major doctors have and the cardiologist, well, that would be one of them. So when they called me from the second waiting room, I was running on empty and I hadn't even started.

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Anywhooo, visions of death aside, I got my IV in, got a bajillion monitor pads stuck to me, and then had the leads attached to those, along with a monitor strapped on. Once the doctor came in, I started walking. After a few minutes (of increasing speed), my heart finally reached the target of 147 BPM and a syringe of radioactive isotope was squirted into my IV ... this is where I expected the worse. Tech checked my BP ... no problems. No nausea, no dizziness, no pesky frothing at the mouth or writing in pain ... just a slight jump, which was what they were hoping to see. After 4 minutes of that, my BP was taken again as the treadmill was stopped. 4 minutes of resting, then BP again, and I get a "Looks great!" from the doctor.

I was put back in the waiting room, where I struck up a conversation with a nice older man who, oddly enough, will be one of my daughter's professors at ECU. I drink plenty of water because I'm suddenly parched and by the time they come get me again, I'm feeling pretty relaxed. Until I see the next phase.

I'm asked to climb up in a chair that looks like an ancient torture device and told to relax. And I'm actually able to relax a bit until the chair starts moving and my feet are no longer touching the footrest. Monitor lines are attached again and a bar is swung in front of my face. I'm told that I need to keep my arms raised over my head while they take pictures of my heart, that I can lean on the bar for 'comfort'. Then music starts, I'm told to be absolutely still, this will only last 11 minutes.

And for the next 11 minutes, I sit still, suspended, while I'm slowly rotated 180 degrees. The music helped pass the time (I requested punk and got The Cure? No worries, I loved it) but I had quite a bit of tingling in my fingertips by the time he let me put my arms down. And that was it, I got to leave for the day. I go back next Monday for MORE radioactive stuff and some sitting around and more picture taking but then this part is done.

And then the last thing I have is the Endoscopy next Thursday. And then we schedule the surgery.

10 days without caffeine and on low carbs. I haven't killed anyone yet. :)

Hurdle

2011-07-21T14:37:59Z

Facing one today, a stress test on my heart. Not sure why I'm so nervous, just know that getting shot with radioactive isotopes isn't my favorite pasttime. One step closer, though.

Meet Patio Cat

2011-07-04T21:44:28Z

This is Patio Cat. I was determined not to get attached when he showed up on our doorstep and immediately curled up on my feet. I swore I would harden my heart when he crawled up my leg to sit in my lap. But when he curled up around my neck and nuzzled my ear with his warm little nose, I caved.

His name might be Hobbes. I was back and forth on a couple of names. Pete (so I could call him Sweetie Petey). Frank (after my high school drama teacher, Father Frank Toste, who is in the hospital right now and used to give me that very same look when I flubbed a line). Calvin. And he may not even be a boy, y'all, so I son't know what to call him. BUT Tim has already said Hobbes and that he would be his NC cat. I say if Tim wants an NC cat, maybe he should move in with his NC girlfriend. But I digress.

Patio Cat. He's redonkulously cute. And I think he's ours. He seems awfully comfy.

And the journey begins ...

2011-06-28T00:30:01Z

I was up early this morning, first to get a THS bloodtest and second to meet with my outgoing principal at her new school. For both I had to come clean and admit something I didn't want to admit out loud. For both, I think I did a fairly good job, only shedding a few tears with my Principal, who has become more of a friend this year, which would explain why I allowed myself to tear up.

What was I admitting, you wonder? Had I robbed a bank in college? Had I killed a man? Nothing so dramatic. But it was big and dark and something that I have held on to for months now.
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I've talked to insurance strangers on the phone about it and I've asked hypothetical questions of others that have had surgery but telling someone face to face is different. The woman that took my blood this morning, bless her heart, was all business until she was just about to take my blood. She lowered her voice then and asked me, very quietly, whether I was getting the Lap Band. I told her probably not, because the thought of having a foreign object lodged in my body kind of ooked me out so I was leaning toward the gastric bypass. She frowned, looked at me with concern, and said "that's kind of extreme, isn't it? Surely you can do this yourself. You don't have that much to lose."

Bless her heart. If she only knew. I told her, no, this has been a struggle and an issue my entire life and I was in danger of getting some serious diseases if I didn't do something now. She backed down then, finished taking my blood and patted my arm, wishing me luck as I left.

Next, on to my Principal. She called me last week to offer me a job at her new school. Now, since getting turned down for a High School job a week ago, I had taken that as a sign that I was supposed to stay right where I was and take care of myself, for once. With my new library ready to go in August, I knew I could have surgery this summer without having to do any packing, lifting, moving or stressing at work. Her phone call, though, threw me for a loop.

Why she needed a new Media Coordinator is a story for another day, probably, but in short, her MC took another job and left behind a huge mess. Knowing that 1) I love a challenge, 2) I was prepared to move already and 3) we work well together, she called me to try to sweet talk me into taking it on. In my heart, I had already decided I was staying at my school but I told her I would come by, check it out and maybe give her some pointers on what needed to be done to get the place in shape.

It was good to talk to her. It was good to see the library because it made me appreciate my gorgeous place even more. It was actually good to tell her about the surgery because she was very sympathetic and supportive. I felt bad letting her down but we did strategize her next move in her search for a replacement MC.

All in all, it was a good experience actually telling people today. I think I can do this. And so it begins.

Time for a change

2011-06-25T18:29:29Z

A lot is going to be changing for me over this summer. Since I'm very connected to work and friends and family on Facebook, I'm going to be documenting the changes here. Only those that knows me best know about this place and the changes I'm making are not exactly for everyone to know about. Eventually, everyone will know, for it will be right there in their faces, but for now, I'm keeping some things under wraps.

Why? Let's just say I feel there are people who would not exactly wish me well on my journey. People that like me just the way (they think) I am ... a complacent, docile doormat. I have bitten my tongue for a long time, letting injustices and slights go unchallenged. I've taken an awful lot of toxic shit from family members, supposed friends, team-mates and exes, all in the name of taking the high road and allowing karma to drive. And it worked, to a point ... except for that toxic part.

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Yeah, you could say I'm pretty much *up to here* with self-loathing. Never in my life have I ever thought I was worth fighting for. My kids are. My school is. My boyfriend is. But me? Meh, not so much.

And that, my friends, is right where the changes are going to happen. Which will set off other changes in a domino effect that might shake a lot of people up.

Am I making sense at all?

No?

Sorry, but not really. Right now, I have more questions than answers and the next few weeks will bring about more disclosure ... when I'm ready to talk. Not quite there yet but I promised myself, I would get there.

'Tis the season

2010-12-05T08:42:00Z

A funny thing happened here in Eastern North Carolina yesterday. Snow. Just in time for the holidays, wet, sticky, pretty snow. It should have made me joyful and, I'll admit, at first I was pretty excited. Later, though, as I went to pick up my daughter from a friend's house, it turned into something much worse ... familiar and unbidden.

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Not unusual, as I was driving alone and without music, which is how I usually get into trouble. SIlence is a bad thing for my brain.

A block or two later, I turned into her friend's neighborhood, an older established upper-middle-class subdivision filled with 2-story homes, the type I realized quickly that I could never afford when I was house hunting, the type that I have only seen the inside of because I was working for the people that lived there. I had to drive slowly, being off the main drag and in their traffic controlled area, and this gave me a chance to lower my shoulders a bit and look at some of the light displays twinkling prettily in the fresh snow. Just about every house at least had a tree up in a window, many had decorated their porches and some the trees surrounding the house.

The thoughts started again. How do they do that? That seems like a lot of work. I wonder how much time that took. And money. Who has that kind of time and money? I know who does, they do. Those people that live in those houses, the houses I'm not invited into. They have time and money and husbands and families and joy and happiness and everything I've always wanted. Why would they spend so much time putting up decorations? It all seems so pointless. What a waste of time and money. I would rather just stay in bed and sleep the season away. God, how am I ever going to make it through this season?

And in the span of a block, it had happened. I slid full on into the depressive episode that has been threatening to swallow me whole for the past few weeks. By the time I got to the house where my daughter was happily waiting for me with her friend who has the perfect family, whose house is perfectly decorated, where she always goes to do anything fun or the least bit holiday related, I was full of resentment and sadness and futility, my throat had tightened and a wave of tears was threatening to drown me.

Happy Holidays, indeed.

I'm struggling ... but it's not often that I will admit it. That's a step in the right direction, right?

In an effort to fight this (starve a depression, feed an obsession, I always say), I am going to have to take action. Put up the tree. Clean. Something. I need to feel accomplished. Because frankly, this bed could become my home for the next month and I would be perfectly happy. But I have people depending on me and I can't let that happen, not right now.

Dammit.

Relief

2010-10-24T21:56:54Z

Ah, all posts restored and things can get back to normal around here.

Except for the look of it which, I have to say, isn't horrible but it doesn't feel like it's mine. I miss the old style. It was time for a change but I didn't have anything in mind to replace it with yet so this will have to do.

Guess I'll have to think about it.

Right now, I'm watching the F1 race from Korea and pondering work on the Delta Xi website. I will probably opt to browse through themes for MT and waste the evening. I've gotten very good at that.

Rebuilding

2010-10-17T19:26:31Z

Piece by piece, the best boyfriend in the world is rebuilding this site. I've been rereading the site has he rebuilds, unearthing posts from 2004, 2005 ... eons ago in recovery terms. I'm almost sure he missed them the first time through but I'm not sure I'll be so lucky this time and I'm almost embarrassed he's seeing all those raw emotions I've poured out.

So T, if you read something extremely mushy and squishy about how much I love you, try not to hold it against me. I meant every word of it ... and it goes double today.

Winding down...

2010-08-16T21:36:31Z

Today is the 'official' last day of my summer, although since I had a 'work obligation' last week, I could say last Thursday was my last day but it's not really 'official' unless I have to show up there every day and check my email obsessively every couple of hours. Yes, tomorrow, I 'officially' have to report to work again and from then on, I will no longer use 'quotes' when talking about work ... but I'm sure you will still be able to hear the 'sarcasm'.

Overall, it was an OK summer. It got much better once we had air conditioning but it was fairly uneventful. No trips to the emergency room, no surgery, no deaths but there were some near-death experiences. Have you ever taught a 16 year old how to drive? Yeah, there was that.

I've been sitting here organizing bookmarks and paying bills for the last half hour, hoping if I start out in order, I can get through the next few hectic weeks sane. Though that's questionable. We have a lot of new teachers I'll have to get straight, a lot of data to enter and, oh yeah, I have to straighten out the whole school's network since we are all in the middle of a construction zone.

I swear, if one person says to me that it must be nice having our library in the mobile building without as much traffic coming through, I am going to pop off. It's not nice, it means my circulation will be down, which means our reading scores will suffer which means it'll look like I'm not doing my job ... but mostly, it is a deviation from the norm and I don't handle change well. Just sayin'.

So I'm not really looking forward to tomorrow. Not the literal tomorrow, anyway. The Universal Tomorrow doesn't seem so bad but tomorrow, August 17th, is gonna suck hard.

At least I won't be the only miserable one there. Nothin' to it but to do it.

What dreams may come...

2010-07-16T21:35:53Z

Woke rather late this morning, still wrapped in a pretty disturbing dream. It took me a while to get my heart rate back down and sort the dream shards from reality. The reality is that I woke up alone, tearful and conflicted, needing to talk this through. And since the operative word in that last sentence is alone, I came here.

The gist of the dream was that Tim was here visiting ... we were taking day trips, going out to dinner, watching movies, having a wonderful time as a couple. Pretty much what we do when we are together. It was a good dream, probably why I was sleeping late. It's what I want in my waking life so it's no wonder I'd rather stay there. But that's another post, back to what was so upsetting in the dream ...

We were sitting together on a porch *somewhere*, just relaxing on a porch swing, when my phone rang. It was Tim. It didn't strike me as wrong when he was sitting right next to me, probably because they are almost 2 different people. Real Life Tim is warm, chatty, loving, silly, amazing to be with, I love RLTim. He's what I have always dreamed I would find in a partner. He is who I was canoodling with on the swing, the one I have allowed myself to love and open up to without reservations.

But the Tim that was on the phone was Long Distance Tim, the one that I am constantly connected to at a more intellectual and digital level. I have a strange love/hate relationship with him or, rather, with the distance. I LOVE that he and I keep connected when he isn't here but the fact remains that he isn't here. Our conversations are clipped into sentence chunks, carefully chosen for how much time is allotted. Many times, I'll start typing something and he has to leave or has something else going on so I let it go and it never gets said. Other times, I feel overwhelmed by the idea of having to type up everything I am thinking and, not wanting to create any more turmoil, I let it go. Most of the problems I have with LDTim are my own ... I have such issues with trusting that anyone can love a less than perfect me that I leave out a lot of details when I tell him what's going on in my life.

So there I was, with LDTim on the phone, interrupting a date with RLTim and LDTim started getting upset. He wanted me to choose between the two of them, as if they were different people and I was cheating on him with RLTim.

It struck me at that moment how much happier was with RLTim and maybe it was time to let LDTim know that but I was trapped, speechless as I often am with him, unable to say how I feel for fear of ruining things. And he was breaking up with me, saying hurtful things and I woke alone.

It's time for a change but I am trapped by my responsibilities, unable to move to VA to be closer to him. And I don't see anything changing anytime soon for me. I'm screwed.

... and then ...

2010-07-04T21:35:17Z

So what I have noticed it that between FaceySpace and Twitter, everyone I know and/or would talk about is privy to my every post so ... I need to use this more. Because no one comes here or cares what I have to say here. And maybe that's a good thing. Being too linked is bad for the creative process ... I find myself editing, sitting back, changing my words so that no one will be offended.

When did I start caring if I offended someone?

I know exactly when it was. When I realized that by speaking out, I had been black-balled.

I'm not going to change any of that here. It's been done. I'm not moving up here, no matter HOW much I achieve and I've accepted that. Those that have put me here will have to deal with the repercussions someday just as I have had to deal with them every single day of my life.

Karmageddon, bay-bee. Good luck with that.

Anywhooo ... I'm back. I think. Still trying to figure out where and how I fit. Still trying to raise my kids. Still having to remind myself to breathe. SSDD.

Recovery

2009-06-25T21:34:34Z

Well, hi there. I hope I haven't kept you waiting long? Pull up a chair, let me get you a beverage and we'll chat.

Sorry, I totally didn't realize how quiet it had gotten here. The last time my writing went quiet for a while I mentioned it to Tim, as I saw it as a problem and wasn't sure why I "couldn't" write anymore. After thinking about it, I realized that I wasn't writing as much because I no longer had a surplus of words and emotions trying to pour themselves off the ends of my fingers. Tim, my wonderful, supportive boyfriend of 5 years, actually allows me to speak my mind, even when I'm upset or frustrated. My kids, too, are older and we are able to communicate on levels that we couldn't before. I find I no longer have to rely on my writing for release and that is a wonderful, and terrifying, feeling.

Can I still write? I don't know. Should I still call myself a writer? Hmm, another good question. Is an artist that doesn't paint still an artist? Looks like I might have to change my profile in a few places if not. I do know that I have the heart/soul/mind of an artist, even though I haven't picked up a brush in 7 years. I still see the emotions in colors, feel the resistance of the brush in every stroke, follow lines hoping to find the destination the artist wanted me to. So, yeah, I guess I'm still an artist if paintings speak to me. Am I still a writer though?

Yes, I suppose I am. I've just been spreading myself out a bit too much. Between Twitter and Facebook and here and my kids and my work and Tim, I only have so many words that I can put together before I start repeating myself and start feeling like I need to stop. Because, frankly, what really goes through my mind every time I start to write is "NOBODY CARES!" - amazingly echoed by one of my favorite crazy paralegals just today in a post that really touched home. It's almost as if I was being reminded to write, whether anyone else cares or not, becuase sometimes these things have to be said.

The thing about being an artist/writer/crazy person is that you see things a little differently than most people do - let's call them the "normals". When I'm with a group of normals, I have a hard time focusing on the conversation because, for most of the time, my senses are overloaded with the sounds, smells, emotions that are happening, crashing, clashing at any given second. I am constantly overwhelmed by the desire to capture every moment, whether in words, in a photograph, in a sketch or a painting ... and because of that, I am sure I appear distant or aloof from people and situations. What is happening, though, is I HAVE to emotionally take a step back or I will surely get lost.

So what's with that, hunh? Artistic Autism? Anything I can do for that? I'm thinking the super power Invisibility would help me a lot. It would make socializing so much less stressful.

~~~

In the NEWS ...

Since school has ended, I am in FULL VACATION MODE. Almost. Kinda. Ok, I only check my work email ONCE a day and I've only been out to the school ... ummm ... twice? I KNOW!!! I know. Stay away. *sigh*

I'm heading to Virginia tomorrow to see the IRL race with Tim on Saturday. Will miss his dad at the race, though. It'll be just us kids. OH, how I love Love LOVE this weekend.

Uncle Ritchie is on his way down from Massachusetts. Last I heard he was in St. Louis, playing poker with friends. He'll be traveling through to Texas and then coming back up the East Coast on his way home. I love Love LOVE Uncle Ritchie.

We are planning to paint a mural in Jasmyn's room this summer. We'll be painting her favorite painting on one whole wall ...

and the rest of her room will be painted a deep purple/blue. As you read above, I have not picked up a paintbrush in a long time so this should be interesting. We're in the planning phase, my favorite phase. It's not until the actual execution phase that I start having doubts. Oh, how I love Love LOVE the planning phase.

ANYWHOOOO ... I know there was more news but now that I've absorbed the fact that both Farrah Fawcett AND Michael Jackson died today and I've watched the Real Housewives of New JErsey Reunion AND So You Think You Can Dance, my brain has turned to mush. I'm going back to my tweeting and IMing and packing while my laundry tumbles and the butterflies gather in my belly about making a 300 mile drive alone tomorrow. I know I'll be fine its just a long trip and I need Need NEED to see Tim now Now NOW. Unfortunately, there's a little matter of that 300 miles between us. *sigh*

I'm scheduled to come back Sunday and I'm sure I'll have more news to share with you then. We'll see.

Shut off the lights when you're done, would you? That's a dear reader.

A call to ... not panic?

2009-04-28T21:33:50Z

Listening to ... Fiona Apple

2009-04-15T21:33:09Z

Final editing to my National Board entry, packing my box soon, but this song hit me full in the chest.

"On The Bound"

All my life is on me now, hail the pages turning
And the future is on the bound, hell don't know my fury

You're all I need, you're all I need, you're all I need
You're all I need, You're all I need, you're all I need
Youre all I need - and maybe some faith would
Do me good.

I don't know what I'm doing, don't know should I
Change my mind, I can't decide, there's too many
Variations to consider
No thing I do don't do no thing but bring me
More to do, It's true, I do imbue my blue unto myself,
I make it bitter

Baby, lay your head on my lap one more time
Tell me you belong to me
Baby say that it's all gonna be alright
I believe that it isn't.

You're all I need, you're all I need, you're all I need
You're all I need, You're all I need, you're all I need
Youre all I need - and maybe some faith would
Do me good.

Ok, back to work.