Monday, May 26, 2008

Persuant to last entry

I was a little stressed.

OK, a lot stressed. So stressed, in fact, that what I was convinced was asthma or lung cancer was actually the muscles of my back and neck constricting my ribcage and therefore breathing. Which was kind of good news. Being nuts I can handle much better than being dying.

So, the doc ordered me to take a week off of work, not because my job is terribly stressful but because he wasn't able to give me a week off of parenting or housework. And he also suggested happy drugs, which I decided against, and massage, which I wholeheartedly agreed with and to.

And the process of the reminded me of the connections I have in my life, which I can choose to ignore or fail to value or whatever, or I can look to when I'm feeling isolated. Just a little reminder that the world has good people, which I struggle to believe sometimes.

Here it is: I got a (fucking amazing deep tissue plus cranial-sacral) massage from this lovely and wise Amazon, wife of this here fierce intellectual, and while at her apartment met the charming (read "naughty librarian") Ms. K, sister to badass mama Missuz J, none of whom I would have ever met had it not been for my buddy Beige the social facilitator, through whom I also met some fuckwad who fell backassward into a relationship with this foxy Cornish mama and her 'Lets, and whose sister (fuckwad's) is a brood mama with mad skillz.

And you are all really cool people, and the best thing about the advent of blogs as far as I can see. The connections are of different strengths, different types - it was a kick in the pants to meet Ms. K after reading her blog regularly as soon as a year ago, and the Hound has given we great intellectual wank-fests, and ~A~ is a great co-parent resource - but the important thing is just the existence of the connection itself.

It helps when one takes, as I do, life three-steps at a time for too long, just to know there are people out there who you know, and who know you, just in case you forget.

Not as fun as a rant, I s'pose, but I've passed enough venom into the world for now, methinks.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

The Joy. The Joy.

Except just sub in the word "horror" for "joy," and then we're money, on the same page, you're diggin' the vibe.

Yeah, I've been pretty friggin' miserable of late. Some is perfectly understandable, like yet another attempt at quitting smoking, though this will be a less noble and more successful attempt than previously. Why? Well, I can't barely breathe right anymore, so smoking has lost that "fun" aspect. I've always actually enjoyed smoking, but the oxygen deprivation is just a bit much.

Oh, and then there's the joy of home ownership. Missuz J, one of my two faithful readers when I can actually get it together enough to write, asked how we like the new place. I get that question a lot. I think its a little like asking someone if they like being a parent. It more just is. I'm glad we're building equity, but the mortgage makes us poor. I like having space, except it takes a lot more time and energy to clean it. And, this past weekend, the fridge died, spoiling a ton of food and leaving us with thawed beef blood on the floor. Sure wish I could have called a landlord and bitched about that,

Plus, with the quitting smoking, I'll probably put back the weight I lost with the move and the painting and all the cleaning across our four floors. So I can be crabby AND fat.

I'm not writing, I feel like crap, I hate my job and it pays fer shit.

But, I'm not going to leave you all with nothing but my pee for your cornflakes. I'm sure things will get better, and I did recently discover that Pedialyte clears up any booze-related gut issues like it was invented for the purpose, so I got that going for me, which is nice. No, I'll leave you with one Liv story that may make you smile.

She was playing by herself, imagining playing with a girl from preK, and from what I could hear they were calling each other a name. I heard "I'm a _______? You're a _______!" and finally had to ask her what she was saying, which of course she didn't want to do. She didn't want to tell me the new bad word she had made up.

The word, the bad name she was calling her imaginary friend and herself? Assfinger.

Heck, yeah. I've got a new favorite cuss-like name. Just don't tell Liv - I told her she can't use it anymore.