pressing all the buttons at once never works

17 12 2009

Have you ever said that to someone?

You know what I mean – you’re watching someone get frustrated with a computer and they slam their hand down on the keyboard or randomly start pressing keys.  You know they aren’t going to magically make it better and THEY know they aren’t going to somehow fix things, but dammit, they’re putting the smack-down on it anyways.

If anything, it’s going to make the computer problem worse and it’s going to make things harder and now there’s a bruised hand in the deal.

People are much the same way as computers.  They have buttons.  When pressed correctly, functions that are useful but may take a bit of processing to run but the outcome is favorable.  Certain buttons cause a self-check.   Some let you look closer at the files and drivers, and some show you programming that’s running in the background.

Profound, isn’t it?

It’s also very true that if you push a person’s buttons all at once (or overplay your hand, if you like poker terminology) then not only are you going to end up with the same ole malfunction, but you’re going to have a bruised hand… and if you hit it too hard, it’s not going to work anymore.

I have a few buttons.  Quite a few.  I don’t react well to having someone slam my buttons because they’re frustrated.  For example…

1.  Call me a drug addict

This one will create instant and intense feedback.  You can accuse me of damn near anything and I’ll laugh it off.  Truth is, I’ve never done an illegal drug in my life and neither has Shaun.  Ever.  I don’t mix meds, I don’t get high, and I absolutely don’t put anything in my body that will endanger the people around me.

Now, I don’t care if you smoke dope or do whatever.  I’m not pushing my beliefs on anyone.  However, I do have children who were exposed to meth production and I’ve counseled many teens with drug problems.  I’ve seen some really shitty stuff while growing up.  One of my friends who lived near me had a step-dad who smoked and grew a lot of dope.  One day she comes home from school to find the front of his face blown off – I heard the scream from my house.  He was still alive, even after wedging a deer rifle up under his chin. I don’t feel too sorry for him – I feel really bad for HER.

This is not to say if you say “bitch, you must be high” in jest that I’m going to knock you down.  I won’t.  However, if you honestly accuse me of doing drugs, I will have some feedback for you.

2.  Tell me I make things up or that it’s all in my head

I can tell the difference between fiction and reality.  Promise.

I once had an entire set of people believing I was a boy, even though I had my gender in my profile and photos of myself online.  I can tell stories but they’re mostly see-through and hardly ever serious.

In my other life (my not a fiction author persona) I’m a good analyst and give you the data without any massaging or glossing.  Do you need a graph?  OK.  A diagram?  Got it.  Those facts aren’t changing just because they’re prettier.

And you better believe that if I’m paying YOU anything, I’m not telling you a lie.  It just makes the job harder and makes it take longer.  When I’M the client, I’m not looking for attention, for money, for fodder for my comedy act, or for whatever deal that we have to last any longer than it absolutely has to.  I want it fixed, I want it over.  I come prepared and I expect service and quality.

3.  Assume that I’m an idiot and/or assume I assume you’re an idiot

Most of the terribly smart people I know could pass as hare-brained, stupid-ass derelicts.  They do this on purpose so people won’t fuck with them like “quick, what’s 182 x 397?”  Bitch, I don’t know.  Go the fuck away – I’m trying to drink this latte and pretend I’m not trying to figure it out in my head.

This just means that I assume every random idiot I meet may just be the second coming of Albert Einstein.  That dude looked a little crazy, too.  If you’re an average, all-American stereotypical person, then good for you.  I’m going to assume you do a good job at your chosen profession because you CHOOSE to.  Doing a good job has not much to do with your IQ.  It has a lot to do with your attitude and your dedication.

In return, I like for people to assume that I’m good at what I do and that I’m not an idiot (even if they can’t tell by looking.)  I believe that I can know a little something about someone else’s profession and still not show disrespect to their skill or judgment.  It’s like I can tell when the wheel on my car is a little wobbly and I can tell you “it seems like a problem with the front driver-side wheel.”

That doesn’t mean I’m saying “I know everything about front driver-side wheel problems and I think you should take a look at the bearings, because this doesn’t sound like a brake problem.”  It also doesn’t mean that I expect you to just take my word for it and just disassemble it without driving it first.  I’m not saying “I just need a grunt to do the dirty work.”  I’m giving you my experience that I think is relevant, now it’s your turn to ask questions to discover information that you KNOW is relevant.

It furthermore doesn’t mean that because my profession line of your profile says “web related stuff” that I went to some Chevy-hater website and learned all I could about common fuck-ups.  I didn’t just look this up on the internet – if I did research its so I can get a feel for what information to present to you from MY experience in a less than idiotic manner.

Why?  Because I heard my dad say all the time I was growing up “and then she said it sounds like GRRRrrrrrRrrrSCRREEEEEAAAACH and then it felt like when the carnival ride is about to time out – you know how it gets real slow and exaggerated before it stops… then later it turned out she had a windshield wiper that didn’t work and a blown taillight.”  I don’t want to be dinner-time conversation and I don’t need everyone in the general area to look at me like I’ve grown a green spike out of my ass.

4.  Tell me that my facial expression is somehow disrespectful

Ok, you self-absorbed little shit, who are you to think my face has anything to do with YOU?  Most of the time this happens, I’ve got a migraine and I’m making the “do you smell that?  I think one of our kids just shat themselves” face.  I don’t know it because my face feels like it’s full of sand and I’m attempting to be part of normal society.

I’m not wrinkling my nose up because you walked by and I hate people who <insert characteristic you’re overly sensitive about.>  I don’t think you smell funny or that you have on stupid looking clothes or that you should rub some conditioner on your kids’ head.  Actually, I would probably think those things if I had it in me to NOTICE you. If you were walking by and you happened to be 700 lbs in hot pink spandex, I may notice you out of the group of people in the area.  I absolutely did not notice your ass who was 15 feet away from the 700 lb hot pink person but in the general line of site.  I don’t care if you were dressed in head to toe Coach patterned anything and had bright yellow cabbage patch hair done up in pig-tails – I swear I didn’t see you.

When in pain, here’s the way things are noticed:

1.  Anything in the epicenter of the pain.  If I have pain in between my shoulders, I’m not wearing a bra because it would damn near kill me.

2.  Anything that aggravates the pain.  If I have a migraine and you walk by smelling like you just bathed in a vat of peach candle scent, then I will notice you and I will vacate the area and leave you to clean up the vomit.

3.  Anything that is shoved into my face so that I’ll notice it.  That’s because people who know me know that when I get the “do you smell that?” face on know that they need to dress up in bright orange and do the chicken dance to get me to pay attention to them.

… and they have to be yelling “CYNDI, did you see that cabbage-patch headed bitch back there?”  Um, no, I didn’t.  What?  You want to take Alyssa to Babyland?  Ok.  Sounds good.  “No, I don’t mean I want to drive to Clermont – I mean did you see that girl with the yellow pig-tails?”  No… what?  Someone did that?

So, for your holiday season, just remember to be nice to your keyboard.  It doesn’t need your frustrated ass banging on it like cops on a screen door.

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flaming out

20 11 2009

I’m giving up on NaNo.  It may be that I’m pissed off there are only 10 days to go and I haven’t written a single word on my supposed NaNovel in the past 5 days.

I’m on day 11 or 12 of this migraine (because time is now irrelevant) and that means I flamed out around 6 or 7 days into it.  Also, there is something very honest about pain.  It makes you sort out priorities.

I love to read.  Love it, love it, love it.  Actually, I should say I love to read books that I like. Many of my favorite authors are still writing books and every so often when I’m caught up on their works, I peruse different authors.  They write plenty.  I read around 300 books a year.  We’re not at a loss for words here, people.  When I run out of books to read, I read them again.  Many of my favorite books have been read so many times that I have to replace them due to pages falling out.

In all my collection of books, from the classics and antiques to the MMP that I bought last week at the grocery store – I have only read and enjoyed ONE self-published author.  No, make that 2, because M. J. Rose has become somewhat of a legend.  Do I believe I’m talented enough to write and publish a novel through a mainstream publisher?  Yes.  Do I believe I have the attention span it would take to do it?  No.  I don’t. Do I have any wish to live a life of research and discomfort it would take to write an accurate novel?  No.  I live a life of homemade computers and down comforters with a ton of kids and animals and I like it that way. If I had to interview a single member of law enforcement on procedure or how life really is out there, I would probably wet myself and pass out before I even said my name.  (Which is very odd because I’ve never done anything remotely illegal… I guess I’d be more comfortable with policemen if I had more reason to interact with them.)

Blogs are interesting creatures because they’re more like conversations than memoirs.  Really, you probably spend more time pooping than you do reading blogs.  If it weren’t for Google reader, I would spend less time on blogs and more on pooping than I do.  However, I get an average of 30 hits a day because this blog lists most of the Sweet Valley books in order. It is my service to humanity.  I can’t very well go scouting yard sales and Goodwills (and the Potter’s House, and the Main Street Thrift Store) to liberate books from leaky ceilings and black mold when I’m spending all my time in front of the computer screen or laying flat on my back in the bed clutching a tube of chapstick and my cell phone with a pillow over my face.

So, sorry NaNo, I love you guys and all you NaNo Authors out there, but I’m flaming out.  Write me something worth reading, would you?

Secondary to my thoughts on personally flaming out are my thoughts on people who SHOULD flame out as a service to humanity.

There is a reason the English language includes the word cunt.  It’s because that’s the most accurate description of some people.

I’ve informed my kids that if they get suspended from school for punching a bully in the nose, then we’ll have a week of ice cream and Chuck E. Cheese.  People who think it’s fun or think it makes them look good to tease and taunt other people deserve a bloody nose.  (The other side of this is I also informed my kids that if they came home with a bloody nose because they were bullying someone, that they deserved it and they deserved every punishment the school could give them, and still come home and do chores until bedtime.  They may not fear other kids enough to not tease people but they respect me well enough to know when to STFU.  I’m very creative.)

I fully expect a call from a teacher when one of them quotes me (because the only thing kids remember verbatim are things you wouldn’t say in front of your pastor) and says “but Mommy told me to punch the little cunt in the nose, then they’d shut the hell up and probably would reconsider the effectiveness of that idea in the future.”

Then I’d get the calls from the angry parents who are all mad because my kid called their kid a cunt and I’d invite them over for a cunt waffle with some cunt syrup just so they wouldn’t call me anymore.  If they laughed, we’d probably end up being best friends and sending random poop mail to each other.  If they got upset, I’d have a thought that would impact my karma and go on with my life.

If they kept calling, I’d tell them that my kid had some new form of ghonnasyphillherpiles that was uber-contagious to children squeezed from cunts and that our children should probably never interact again.

And now I’m going to stop writing while you practice saying ghonnasyphillherpiles out loud.  It’s said gon-NA-sif-i-herp-i-leeeeees.  Now you try.





Multi-day migraine

18 11 2009

Here’s how it goes inside the thoughts of someone with migraines that last more than 24 hours.  My record is 65 days so please chime in if you made it 66 days without bursting into flames.  (Disclaimer:  if it’s the worst headache you’ve ever had or the first migraine you’ve ever had, you do need to go to the ER.  CT scans and MRIs exist for a reason.  The following is really bad advice.  Don’t take medical advice from crazy people or people in pain.  Or crazy people in pain.)

Day 1:  Dammit.  A migraine.  That’s exactly what today needed.  Where are my meds?  I hate my meds, they give me hiccups and make it painful to wear clothing.   Let’s try Advil and a nap.

Day 2:  Dammit.  A migraine.  Again.  I think I left my meds on my desk.

Day 3:  WTF?  Seriously? Fish out the Head On.  Wonder if people realize how badly hiccups hurt when you have a “headache.”  Joke about having to squeeze your head to keep your brain from falling out.

Day 4:  Did anything change recently to cause this?  Coffee?  No.  Caffeine intake?  Laundry detergent?  Scented candles?  Soap?  Bathtub cleaner?  Tobacco sensitivity?  Allergies?  Medication changes?  Toilet paper?  Does the Brita water filter need to be changed?  Did the weather change suddenly? No to all those.  Switch from Head On to the Bath & Body Works aromatherapy stuff.

Day 5:  Bad karma?  Voodoo hex? Spinal misalignment?  Time to try the old wives’ tales.  Soak a bandanna in vinegar and tie it around your head.  Gargle with hot sauce.  Drink a cup of straight apple cider vinegar.  (This doesn’t work so don’t try it – it just causes instant and painful vomiting.)  Leave out a small dish of sea salt to ward off evil spirits.  (Really, after 5 days of constant pain, this is not such a crazy idea.)  Contemplate a story a coworker told you about breaking your femur being the worst pain imaginable.  Wonder if that would take your mind off your head.

Day 6:  Fuck the pain meds.  Where’s the xanax?  If I’m going to be in pain I may as well not care.  Cuss out anyone who says it’s “just a bad headache” or that “they get them all the time and it barely affects their life.”  Pour the sea salt in the bathtub and take a long bath because you really stink, and what if the evil spirits are already inside you?

Day 7:  I may need to get medical attention.  No, that’s a bad idea.  I’d get to sit in a loud, brightly lit waiting room with 100 of my closest neighbors who all have the swine flu so the loving doctors and nurses could give me the same medication I have here after sticking me in a tube that plays Scottish war drums.  Alcohol – that’s the ticket.  Being hungover wouldn’t hurt as badly as this.

Day 8 – Day 10:  How do I explain to people that I’m just getting randomly angry at inanimate objects?  I’m currently mad at the mattress for not being molded to my butt and at the bathroom door for squeaking.  The TV is trying to kill me too – the volume is randomly increasing and decreasing.  What’s that smell?  Go tell the neighbors to stop putting on deodorant.  It’s searing my nose hairs!  Look longingly at the bottle of alcohol because you can’t even swallow enough of it to get buzzed without throwing up.   It’s only mildly interesting that I have a twitch in my left eyelid and I can hear my pulse in my left eardrum.

Day 11:  Air hurts.  I’m out of meds. The 1 – 10 pain scale no longer applies.  I printed out a figure of a woman and I’m coloring in the head with orange, red, and purple crayons.  Ya know, I heard a story once about people who throw themselves down stairs just to get pain meds to sell.  I wonder if they’re listed in the phone book.

Day 12 – 30:  Cry at random points in conversations with doctor’s offices, hospitals and insurance companies.  When someone says “you shouldn’t be in this much pain” yell “NO FUCKING KIDDING!”  Call back apologizing for the outburst. Tell people that you’ll consider quitting the pain meds when the pain goes away.   Go to the most recent doctor and take elaborate pleasure in lining up all 60 of the medications you’ve been prescribed over the last month on their desk.  Tell the next triage nurse at the next ER that you can’t use the 1-10 pain scale when the 10 is the worst pain YOU’VE ever been in.   Inform them that you need a statistical average of the people in your demographic.

Day 31 – 40:  Research on the internet how many pills it would take to kill you.  Vow to not go over 75% of that total.  Wonder if there’s a job market for people who can’t wear clothes due to sensory overload caused by triptans.  Wait for the meds that the doctor said would take about 2 weeks to build up enough to kick in.

Day 41-50:  Consider the wisdom of continuing to breathe.

Day 51+:  Congratulations!  You’ve passed the point of no one being surprised you’ve gone slap crazy.  Accuse random people of poisoning your medications and refuse to drink out of anything that you watched be washed.  Carry a pillow everywhere you go to wrap around your head.  Call the doctor and tell them gleefully that you haven’t barfed on anyone’s shoes today.  Lay down for a nap where ever the urge strikes.  Live on salt & vinegar chips, cherry coke, and sweet tarts because they distract your taste buds for a little while.

 

At the time of posting, it’s Day 10.  I have just learned that Imitrex apparently works by making the pain TWICE as bad as you’ve ever been in, but if you manage to keep it down for 30 minutes it will take away all sensation and emotion.   That’s ok.





NaNo Disco

2 11 2009

I signed up for NaNoWriMo yesterday and I think I may be able to pull it off this year.  I still don’t have a good plot line in my head, but I think I have an idea.  I should just start writing and see what happens.

First I have to clean off my desk because I’m barely reaching my keyboard.  My Circa, a stack of books and drawings, and a spool of packing tape are in the way at the moment.

I really hope my doctor gets her shit together figures out her voice mail system and gets my meds called in today.  For the last 5 days now I feel like I’ve had a disco ball for a brain.  Every time I stand up my vision pixelates like a poor quality youtube video and the crazy flashes of lights are just a little disconcerting.  I’ve been sick to my stomach and ill like a hornet and I can’t sleep worth a damn.  I’d go to the hospital, but I’d just come home with 2 more mutations of the swine flu and less money that could be spent on fun stuff – like my medications!

I need to see if I can put the disco on hold for a minute while I get the kids breakfast and delivered to school.  If not, I’ll just have to find some techno music and go with the flow.





quick and in a hurry

6 08 2009

I had my OB/GYN appt yesterday and it went so unbelievably well!  I thought I’d have to talk the doctor into a hysterectomy instead of trying the months of things that were such a failure in my mom and sister.  I literally don’t think I’d survive hormone treatments, an ablation, or all that other stuff that led up to my family’s hysterectomies.  So I went to the same doctor and gave him the run-down of health problems related to bleeding and he did the exam.

He totally agreed that a hysterectomy would be the best idea and that it be done as soon as possible.  He said it felt like an adenoma in the uterine wall that was causing all the pain and bleeding. ThankyouJesus!  He asked what my pregnancy plans were and I gave him the wtf look.  I’ve got three kids and I totally don’t ovulate.  He laughed and said that’s probably good because a pregnancy for me would most likely be “not low risk.”  I’d be on my back or in the hospital for the entire 10 months, the migraines and heart issues would probably get worse, and the medication I’m on can cause birth defects.  Let’s see… um, no baby maker sounds good to me.

I really like this doctor – he’s funny and sweet and really gives a damn.  He also dealt with my sister successfully and is therefore a saint.  There were a few really funny moments yesterday.  He did the breast exam and said “aw, a rubber ducky!”  I told him that my chest was the bath toy section of tattoos and I thought his eyes were going to bug out of his head.  “W-w-what?”  I had to show him the other boob (he would have gotten there anyways) with the scuba diving turtle.   While he was doing the “down there” exam he said “my stomach says burrrrrrrito.”  LOL!  It’s nearly impossible to laugh when you’re getting a cervical swab though so I just grinned.

My sister is the master of inappropriate comments and I was with Amber during all her baby stuff and all the uterine crap afterwards, so Dr. B knew I’m ok with random shit.  He asked Amber if she really was comfortable with a hysterectomy and she told him “all my uterus does is bleed, cause pain, and produce bastard children. ”  See, I didn’t know this when he asked me the same thing and I said “it’s like 5 lbs of worthless flesh.  When can you go get it?”  Although, I’ll never have reason to tell him to reach on up there and grab the kid by the fro and get him OUT so he’s going to have an easier time with me.

We went through all the health stuff and he pronounced me a healthy 28 year old female, other than the problems with the heart and brain and uterus… lol.  I can’t wait to not have the uterus problem.  I feel trapped by the stupid body and once it’s able to actually heal instead of getting caught up from bleeding only to bleed again, I’ll feel so much better.

My sister and mom are so happy for me.  Shaun is too, but he’s worried about logistics.  He’s a PM, so that’s his natural state.  My dad said “no more grandbabies from my daughters…” I was like, Dad, I know where to get grandbabies!  There’s like 100million in foster care.  (Although, I told the doctor I bought my kids at Wal-Mart.  It’s my standard answer for “where did they come from?”  Wal-Mart.)

So, surgery is August 20th.  Before then, I need to get this house spotless and the kids’ schedules down pat so that the family doesn’t get totally manipulated by my youngsters.  I also need to coordinate who is going to help out on what days during what time.  I need to get my laptop configured and all my TV shows onto a flash drive so I won’t be totally bored during the hospital stay.  My cell is a wireless tether so I’ll have internet but cell coverage is spotty in the hospital.  I’m pretty sure I can unplug for a couple of days… but that may just make me crazy.

Today is open house and kiddos start school on Monday.  Most of A’s uniforms are washed, so I just need to get those separated into outfits.  All the school supplies are bought and packed up in backpacks and ready to go.  E’s the only one that will be home with me during the day, so most of the help I’ll need during the day will be with him and transporting the kiddos to and from school and making meals.  I may need to call the vet and ask for some puppy sedatives for Nola and Abbie.  Either that or duct tape a pillow to my tummy to ward off Nola hugs and just let Abbie do her over-protective “don’t come near my mommy” thing.

I’d better log off and start cleaning.  I’m going to sweep then give each kid a wet magic eraser and let em go at the floors.  They’re closer than I am.  🙂





So, the time out was useful

31 07 2009

I called my dad and he said “that’s what you get for using that fucked up carpet.”

He means this stuff.  We put in Legato tiles before the kids moved in for two reasons – I’m allergic to carpet padding and this stuff is really really nice.  We did both kids rooms for less than $500 and it’s PLUSH.  Also, if it stains, you just jerk it up and put down a new tile.  With 3 large dogs, 3 kids, and 2 cats – this is very useful.  Poop and barf are daily events in our house.  (This is also why all our furniture is leather and the rest of the house is done in laminate wood flooring.)

However, it also means that it only took me 10 minutes to repair the entire room – all by myself.  Once Dad calmed me down, I talked to the girl child about money.  If she’s going to tear stuff up, I’m not going to have any money to buy her pretty clothes or cool toys.  I let her know that if she keeps tearing up the house, I will take her existing toys down to the kids’ only second-hand store and sell them until I had enough to pay for repairs.  On one income, we don’t have enough to cover her tantrums.

She seemed sobered up by that, so we went out to do our errands.  We were going to take Dad to lunch but he was covered up at work and this migraine was already starting.  It’s one of those “everything touching my skin hurts” kinds so I’m not laying down for now.  Once the pain meds kick in, I may be able to.

We did, however, stop and see Dad at his shop.  Even with his hands covered in grease he saw what I had and snatched it up.  I made him a clock out of an obsolete Bigfoot hard drive and a hammered metal picture frame.  As I’m yelling “don’t scratch the drive!” he’s showing his buddies at work.  I told the kids to stay put (they don’t know shop etiquette yet) and caught up to him as he’s telling the other mechanics “look what Cyndi made – it’s a hard drive!”  I didn’t even get to get a picture of it before he ran off with it!

We hugged and he informed me that he would start taking apart his old hard drives for me to make stuff out of.  Two weeks ago, I had to practically STEAL the hard drives from him to make this batch of clocks.  We had the “if it’s got less memory than a flash stick, is it considered ‘good'” conversation.  He even gave me two nice torque drivers to take apart the ones from last time.  He apparently approves of their new functionality.

Bigfoot drives come in two discs, so the other one is on Shaun’s workbench.  I accidentally scratched it while adding some detailing, so I’m going to have to figure out what to do with it.  I’m thinking I’ll lightly sand all of it in a swirl pattern to give it a brushed metal look, then coat it with acrylic sealant.  I really hope it works because the metal detailing on it is beautiful. If need be, though, I’ll paint it.  The shape is nice enough to keep, even if I ruined the face.

The AC guy should be here soon.  If the central air did die, we’re just going to put in a couple of window units until our next tax return.  Dad has one he said he’d give me and we can afford another window unit.  The main part of our house is only 1100 square feet, so that should keep us from melting until we have a more secure income.

There was a conversation on Etsy about a week ago that is sticking with me.  It was about whether to give stuff to family or to make them go through the business.  I was on the 100% free for family side but it shocked me how many people said “if I were a retail store, I wouldn’t give them anything.  Why should I now?”  I just think that’s sad.  I know a lot of families aren’t as close as my immediate clan is, and I can understand that some people’s families are little more than genetically bonded.  I just know that if I didn’t have my family, I would be up shit creek without a paddle.  We support each other and if any single one of us is doing without, the rest of us are there chipping in.  It’s like a commune except for the whole living under one roof part – we have 4 roofs in a 15 mile radius.  We did only have two, but then Mom’s family decided to leave paradise to join the commune.  We do huge family gatherings every other Sunday and two days from now, even Dad’s mom is coming.  My family is the reason that me and my sister can stay at home with our kids.  It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.  To me, if Mom and Dad asked for everything I’ve ever made, I’d give it to them and call it a fair trade.

Family isn’t about whose blood you have.  It’s about who you care about.  ~ South Park





Lots of work to do, no money to be found

19 07 2009

I know that on Sundays you aren’t supposed to worry about work.  Let it all wait until Monday and just take some time to relax.  Right…

I’d been joking for a few months about going to work at Hooters to get a little extra cash flow.  When the adoption went through, we lost about $1k a month in income because we didn’t want to wait for the special needs waiver to go through on A.  It would have put the adoption off for another 8 months or so and from experience we’ve learned that a lot can go wrong in 8 months.  LJ’s had gotten approved two days before we signed intent to adopt but being A is younger, we didn’t have enough documentation to get the rubber stamp.  It was better to just get the adoption finalized even without getting the special needs care she qualifies for.  We did, however, get federal Medicaid on all the kids until they’re 19 or out of high school.  It covers mental health treatments and that’s what we needed to ensure.

Note to potential adoptive parents:  make sure you get the adoption assistance.  It’s wounding to the pride, but you’re gonna need it and use it.

Back to Hooters.  I found out today that I can’t work there because I don’t meet protocol – tattoos are out of dress code.  Damn, that means I may have to find work where I use my IQ instead of my T&A.

Unless I find somewhere I can flex-work or work part time, work just isn’t a viable option yet.  I say yet, but the truth of it is that I’ll probably never be “cured.”  Shaun has intermittent FMLA leave enacted in his job because the next migraine could literally kill me.  Reading that on paper scared the crap out of me, even though I knew it.  The MVP puts me at a higher risk of stroke, syncope, and fatal arrythmias.  Being the migraines are severe enough to take out my vision and I often can’t keep anything down, dehydration is a major risk.  Not enough blood running through the heart equals regurgitation and syncope.

I want to just scream that it’s not fair.  I’m 28!  I’m one of the smartest, most talented people in the workforce (mathmatically speaking,) I have the will and want to work – but I can’t.  I can’t even lift my head some days.  When I feel like that though, I verbally tell myself to shut up.  One of the kids I went to school with just died from cancer this past week.  He wasn’t one of my friends, but we ran with the same crowd.  Well, as much as a socially-impared art geek can run with a crowd. I’m blessed beyond belief.

I think I’m just feeling older than my age.  Wednesday, I have an appt with the OBGYN to start talking about a hysterectomy.  Friday is Shaun’s and my 10 year anniversary.  September is the 10 year high-school reunion.  I have three kids, ages 9, 5, and 4.  Two of them have PTSD and the laundry list of abuse related and drug-exposure related mental illnesses.  The last one is trying his hand at tantrums, but doesn’t have the stamina to keep up the 4 hour fits his sister is capable of.

The kids keep bringing up in therapy that they’re scared because I’m sick and they don’t want to lose another mom.  I can tell them again and again that it’s just a headache, but they know.  Kids are really good at not accepting bullshit and I’m really terrible at lying.  I don’t believe I’m going to die but I do believe that I’ll probably battle this well into my 90s. I grew up taking care of my mom through the same thing and I’m a productive member of society.

Some days are great and I feel like I did before I got sick… or until the sickness that I was born with caught up with me enough to take me down.  I have energy.  I laugh and smile.  My grammar doesn’t suck.  I have patience and want to conquer the world. I think about another child.

Yesterday was one of those days.  We went out with the kids to thrift stores and antique stores.  We picked up some pipes for Shaun to restore.  I got some $3 keyboards at Goodwill to modify and some clock parts.  We spent the kids’ Toys’r’Us gift card and their McDonalds gift card.  It was beautiful and sunny and great.

This morning was the same way, but a bad night’s sleep and too much caffeine caught up with me around 4 pm.  I got out and cleaned the wheels and chrome on my Durango now that the local road work is done.  I started teaching A how to work the shower since she’s going to start school in 3 weeks.  I took apart one of the keyboards and started cleaning it and sanitizing it.  We had pizza with the big family at Mom’s and the cousins all got to play and we made hand puppets out of paper bags.  I finally gave the digital picture frames back to my dad (one we couldn’t set up without an SD card port… blah) and set up the one for my mom.  I sorted through jewelry with my sister and stole some of her stuff.  The stupid gate at the family’s place was deactivated so we didn’t have to wait to be buzzed in.

Around the time Mom went to church with Grandma, I was a snippy bitch.  I even snapped at my mom.  I snapped at the kids for singing Spongebob’s “idiot friends” song.  I came home and took a bath, finished a stupid book, and tried to steady myself with working on fixing a flatbed scanner.  What I should have done is taken a shot of Zomig.

Now I’m going to attempt to sleep it off after I get Cali cleaned up.  Nola got pissy and and started a fight.  It looks like Cali lost a toenail.  Shaun’s putting the kids in bed and I’ve got the cameras charging so I can download the photos in the morning.

I don’t know who is harder to raise: children or German Shepherds.  They’re all too damn smart for their own good.