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The fuglies are gone, gone, gone! Thank god! I was mentally scanning every antidote I could think of, I was so fricken fed up with myself. Go to a pet store and cuddle kittens and puppies? Nope, I’d want to bring them home, and this place is plenty hairy enough. Eat an entire dark chocolate cheesecake? I’d feel sick to my stomach, and then fat and guilty — and then annoyed at myself for feeling fat and guilty when I have no reason to — so that was out. Shopping therapy? Meh, I’ve never been that girl.
So where did I find success? At the chiropractor and acupuncturist. Well, duh, when kittens and cheesecake and shopping won’t help, getting bones cracked and your body stuck with needles is the next logical thought, isn’t it?
Oh, right, you’re not in my head, sorry.
My shoulder, which has been feeling a wee bit uncomfortable and funky for some time now, started to feel more uncomfortable, and began making a distinct clunking sound whenever I moved it. Turns out it’s not supposed to do that – go figure.
So I’m now considering a theory that, since my body has longstanding short-circuit wiring issues, and typically doesn’t process pain like ‘normal’ people do, perhaps it resorts to other means of getting my attention. Heaven knows I can be stubborn and need a clue-by-four sometimes, but I had honestly thought I was better at this game by now.
I dunno, like I said, it’s just a theory. (Or is it a hypothesis? I can never keep those straight.) The improvement in my mood could just as easily be a placebo effect as anything else, but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, because I feel WAY BETTER and my version of normal again! Now the trick will be seeing if I remember to consider this the next time I feel fugly for no good-gawd-damned reason, or if I’ll be clueless and stubborn all over again.
I wouldn’t lay bets if I were you.
And more of the icky emotional residue broke away when I got, not one but two, awesome early birthday presents! First, a new iPod Nano from very dear, very generous, very stubborn and sneaky and I’ll get even with you buster friends. And then today my daughter gave me something that had tears rolling down my cheeks when she first gave it to me, and each of the five times I’ve read it since.
Mom,
I wanted your birthday to be special, but nothing I could think of worked out. So I figured, it may not be a party, and it hopefully won’t have a lot of people around, but I have booked a hot stone massage for you at [redacted]. It is at 10:45 Friday morning. Afterwards we can meet up for lunch somewhere downtown. I have attached a map of where you are going, as well as the gift certificate to pay for it all.
Please enjoy your birthday, and remember that from what I have seen, and from the things you have accomplished, even though there aren’t always balloons, or streamers, you have always seemed to live life like every day is a celebration, like every day has meaning and purpose, and I have always admired that in you. My only hope is that I can do the same.
Love you LOTS,
Jan
Jeezus, I need a Kleenex again just typing it out….
So it sounds like there will be a wedding next Easter. I’ll be surprised if they actually wait that long.
This will be my third mother-in-law.
I’ve already heard all the jokes about how I must be really hard on them.
The fugly, irritable mood continues. I’m getting pretty pissed off at feeling so bitchy for so long. It’s completely unproductive and uncomfortable, and nothing I’ve tried has offered much insight into what’s gotten my knickers into such a prolonged twist, nor how I can get them untwisted so I can feel my normal content self again. Navel-gazing has only offered these lame possibilities:
- the season. Cold weather threatens on the doorstep, taunting, but not stepping up and getting on with it. Winter’s coming but it’s not even started yet, which just means that we still have several months of craptastic drivers and cold white shit ahead of us. The driving aspect especially makes me want to hole up under a warm blankie and order-in until April.
- our eldest son. We’re gas and flame to each other, and I’ve had this imposing sense lately that I should be doing *something*, saying *something* as his mother, but I’m letting my own weariness and self-preservation make me shut up and walk away, for which I’m ashamed.
- the economy. I don’t feel panicked about it like many people I know are, which makes me start to feel scared about not feeling scared. Perfectly sane and logical, right? Sigh.
- still slurring my words and still not being able to chew properly. The Big Day that I thought I’d get months ago might well not happen until next year now. When I first got sick with RCD, I used to have speech problems that made me self-conscious, and I had to relearn, to some extent, how to speak. There’s a growing chance that I’ll have to try to do that all over again now, unless they can figure out a way to fix the slurring that the physical positioning of the prosthetics is causing.
- slugging through projects for work that are frustrating and I don’t much enjoy doing. But that’s mostly a cheap, lazy cop-out.
- maybe my upcoming birthday is affecting me more than I want to consider, even within myself? Doc wants to know if I want to do anything special for it. The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t want it to be an un-special birthday – I’ve had plenty of those and as much as I’m supposed to be a grown-up, they hurt. I want it to be acknowledged and celebrated, but I know what an inconvenience it is to try to do that. It’s on Hallowe’en, so people have other plans, or they don’t want to leave their homes to come for a birthday party, and trick-or-treaters come by and interrupt every five minutes, and our daughter and her boyfriend want to go on a pub crawl… really, there’s lots of good reasons why I can count the number of birthday parties I’ve had in my life on one hand, and why they’ve all been kinda sucky. It’s way easier to just give in to the day and let it be about Halloween, and abandon the birthday part.
NONE of these things should be affecting me this much, and I’m annoyed that I’m letting them, and not getting a handle on it. Dammit, I’m tired of feeling grouchy and unmotivated. I’ve got work to do and fun to have, so I need to shake this off – this is hanging on way too freakin’ long.
I will never, ever, understand how some people can enjoy being in a bad mood. God, it exhausts me.
On a completely separate note, we went to a bar last night for Jan’s boyfriend’s birthday, and I sang karaoke for the very first (and possibly last) time. Apparently hell does, occasionally, freeze over.
There was a federal government election in Canada today. Just before supper time, Doc and I made our way to a nearby public elementary school – our assigned polling station for casting our votes.
As we arrived at the school, we thought perhaps we had the wrong location because there were only three cars in the large parking lot. I mean, I know voter turnout is traditionally poor, but surely not that bad!
When we drove closer we noticed two signs: one confirming that it was, indeed, the voting station, and a second that said “No Entry: Teacher Parking Only”. Doc slowed and hesitated, but we reasoned that school hours were long over and any staff who were still there would already be parked, so we pulled into the lot and parked near the entrance.
As we got out, we noticed other people walking toward the school with voting cards in their hands. Their vehicles were all parked some distance away, on the side street.
Even though logic told us that there was absolutely no reason why we shouldn’t park our car close to the publicly owned building, a simple sign had made us question whether we were allowed. Whether it was proper. Whether we had the right to.
When we came back out after voting, our car was still there, not towed away, but no other vehicles had entered the lot. The side street was full and people were walking from around the corner.
Apparently everyone else there at the time didn’t question the sign – they just obeyed.
And then they voted.
This may be boring for others, but I would find it interesting on someone’s blog. I’ve written some pretty personal stuff over the years, but I wonder what you’d think about me, and what you’d think you may know about me, if I told you that these would be the first things I’d buy for myself if money were suddenly no object. Not jewellery, cars, or designer fashions. No, I drool over things that are a bit more obscure.
Custom-made corset (approx. $400)
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved corsets. I have one that I wear sometimes, but it’s a stock size and cheaply made. I’d love one (or more) that fits me properly and that I could wear all day. It’s like being constantly hugged.
Far Infrared Sauna (approx. $5000)
An awesome experience that I’d love to do every day. Plus, it would help me fit into the corset 
Secret Passageway (approx. $5000-$25000)
Oh, c’mon, admit it, you want one, too.
Sculptures (who knows)
I love sculptures. Art in general, but sculptures especially. Beautiful and intelligent creativity that you can live with, and have part of your daily life. Here are some pieces that I would love in mine.
Honestly, there aren’t many things I can think of that I strongly want (as opposed to “would be nice to have”), except maybe these. But since they’re outside a comfortable price range, for now they’re just dreams.
Thursday…
Quick, everyone come over to my place for coffee/beer and a visit! C’mon, you’re all invited. But the catch is that you have to come NOW. No, no, don’t bother combing your hair or anything – it has to be * right * now *.
I am fully stocked up on liquor and food, and I’ve spent the last three days cleaning the house to within an inch of its my life. It won’t look this clean again for months. So come right now, because with this stupid dog and cat, I have approximately 4.33 minutes left before it looks like I never did anyth…
Crap, too late. Hair everywhere. Opportunity lost.
Ach, well, it’s probably for the best. My parents, who planned to arrive tomorrow, should be here any minute now with their big dog, to stay for several days.
No point in all of us going nuts.
Friday…
IlovemyfatherIlovemyfatherIlovemyfatherIlovemyfather….
How many more days are they staying?
Sigh.
IlovemyfatherIlovemyfatherIlovemyfatherIlovemyfather….
Saturday…
And the winner of Outstanding Husband of the Year goes to (drumroll)…. Doc! For not only graciously never saying a word to his hypocritical father-in-law who thoughtlessly hogged the King of the Household’s throne armchair for the entire evening, leaving the rightful and deserving owner to watch an entire football game from a stiff-backed wooden monstrosity, but for also simultaneously calming his wife’s nerves so she doesn’t commit patricide and get blood everywhere.
Sunday…
To be determined. I don’t know how it happened, but there are at least thirteen people planning to be here for brunch, over half of which have never met each other before. If it doesn’t rain or snow, I can kick some outside onto the deck with a blanket and a “good luck”, otherwise we’ll all be sharing about 300 square feet with two large dogs who have been scrapping with each other and farting up a storm. To keep things interesting, a nephew may or may not abide by my request to leave his 80 pound Saint Bernard puppy at home. If I’m not back in a week, *don’t* send reinforcements. I’ll either be in lock-up, or hiding in the garage with a sleeping bag and a large stockpile of alcohol. Unless you’re married to me or I gave birth to you, good luck getting past the booby traps and alligator moat.
