It's clean. Clean, I say!!

I've been moaning for months about my desk at home being clotted with crap.

It is clotted no longer. It's clean. Clean enough to see the dust and pencil shavings and eraser phlegm (well, it was--I swept most of that into the trash along with 20 dead markers and a lot of catalogs and other papers). I now have a small pile of "must answer these" letters, a tidy heap of scratch paper, a large expanse of bare desk...JOY!

Found in the debris:

• $25 worth of Dining Dough and an unknown amount on an Oberweis gift card, both received for donating blood (I got a beach towel and backpack the last time I went, too...really, people, just donate if you can--it's a great deal!)
• my sister's guide to the London Eye, which Sparky was supposed to give back to her while he was in England....THAT didn't work, did it?
• the July schedule of classes at a nearby Archiver's where I should never ever be allowed to shop (cha-ching!)
• a page torn from the July 8 issue of Entertainment Weekly, because I wanted to remember to check their PopWatch site (and I haven't done so yet)
• something I tore out of the paper a couple of Sundays ago, from an article on carrying around things (backbacks, purses, etc.), about something called a T-String. It is designed to hold your cell phone/MP-3 player attached to your arm so your hands stay free, and you don't have that odd-looking lump on your hip. This is important to me since I never carry a purse, and my hips don't exactly need help looking lumpen
• a funny article from an even older Sunday paper about Dan Ho, described as "the Anti-Martha," and his magazine Rescue. He has a blog. I haven't read it, so someone tell me if it's worthwhile....
• two clipped Ann Landers columns, one from 2001 and one from ... before that judging by the yellowing. The older one is "sound advice" from Mother, the other is about being "pretty good."
• A printout I made yesterday of all the email addresses we have here at home. I need to transfer them all to our new email account, because the new place doesn't have a way to do it easily.

Now that I've typed all that, I need to get moving: Sparky and I are off to see "Peter Pan," this summer's youth play. He was in the production two years ago when they did "Oliver Twist" and we think we know at least a couple of the kids in the show. Hopefully the thunderstorms will hold off till after the play is over!

Have a great Sunday!!

A good change

For the first time in a very long time I have something relatively hopeful to post. Or, rather, I feel relatively hopeful for the first time in a long time.

Either way, it's a really nice feeling.

It may have to do with the walk Sparky and I took last night. He has discovered a way to the main road near us, a way that is unpassable by car, but he can now bike or walk to the nearest little market to our house without having to go a mile-and-a-half to get 4 blocks from our house. And it's legal and paved and goes past an empty field...not to mention past (some of) our Redneck neighbors, several of whom were outside their house swearing (quietly, for them) as we walked past.

That 50-foot stretch in front of their house confirmed what I've known for a few years now: I'm old. At least to society's eyes. I no longer register on the young punk-o-meter, therefore eliciting no rude comments, leers, or noises. Thank the good Lord. I can observe without being observed. woo hoo!

What else happened last night? Well, in true Cataloger form, I managed to slice open my left pointer finger. I was supposed to be chopping green onions for a really nice salad we had for dinner: pepper, lettuce, onion (with just a leeettle blood...hee), celery... The recipe calls for chopped egg, but The Beast doesn't 'do' egg, so I "grew up" the egg, instead tossing in the (chopped up) leftover chicken breast from Monday night. Then I made homemade dressing out of mayo, chili powder, brown sugar, garlic powder and grated Romano cheese. Even The Beast said it was pretty good.

I can cook when I have to. But it usually involves pain in some format or another. And, oh-by-the-way: I really hate squeezable mayo. Pointless. Just get the spoon out and attack the regular jar.

So, now I have a paper cut on my left pinky, on the top knuckle, and a slash through the top bit of my left pointer, including part of the cuticle. Good thing I'm a righty. I bled for quite awhile, replaced the bandaids at bedtime, and noticed this morning that I bled some more over night. This is going to hurt as it heals. Bummer.

The rest of the upside:

my mom called to check on The Beast last night. Two parts there: 1) She called us--that hasn't happened in eons; and 2) She's pulled her head out enough to think about someone besides herself.

we are leaving on vacation on Sunday, the kind of vacation where you just sit around. Golf is usually planned for this vacation, but not this year, so even MORE sitting around will be occurring. And it's a new rental house with a Game Room, so that could turn out to be entertaining.

I'm caught up at work. I'm recataloging. That's been on my plate to do for so long that it's a huge relief to actually be doing it at last.

Speaking of work, I need to get going. That's it for me here today.

Gut Punch

Do You Even Know Me Anymore
by Mark Schultz, 2003

It's cold tonight, I heard her say
She was staring out the window as I came home late
She tried to smile, but looked away
Oh but I could see the tears were running down her face
She said you go to work, you pay the bills
I stay at home and I make the meals

But you don’t even know who I am anymore
You’re a million miles away though I see you everyday
And I’ve been waiting right here over all these years
And sometimes I get so lonely; I need to know you love me
But do you even know me anymore

I turned around to see my son
I remember his first birthday now he's twenty-one
I missed his life, I missed it all
Oh to him I was a man just living down the hall
He said I learned to live without you dad
But I’d give it all just to have you back

But you don’t even know who I am anymore
I used to wait all my games, but still you never came
And I’ve been waiting right here over all these years
For the time you said you'd owe me, I wanted you to show me
But do you even know me anymore

I watch my days turn into years
And now I’m wondering how I wound up here
I dreamed my dreams I made my plans
But all I’ve built here is an empty man

And I don’t even know who I am anymore
God I'm praying through the tears, let me make up for these years
So have I waited to long can I start again
To be the man you wanted of me, I’m beggin’ you to show me
But do you even know me anymore

Definitive statement

I don't like this new world in which we are living.

Or dying, as the case may be.

Feh

Word of the day: verboten \ver-BOH-tun\ adjective :

forbidden; especially : prohibited by dictate

Quote(s) of the day:

I have a rock garden. Last week three of them died. --Richard Diran

Life continues to be weird.

Miss W.'s father died yesterday; her nephew fell into a fire over the weekend and has third degree burns on his arms and face.

Insurance companies are the bane of the devil.

I've seen a couple of good movies lately ("Batman Begins" and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory") and read a couple of good books.

I've started another blog...well, really, I rehabbed the wedding schedule one I created for my family a couple of months ago...in hopes that I can focus my attention. That is, focus it on finding something good, or at least interesting, to say about every day. Right now, that's harder than it should be, harder than it usually is. Writing, which usually recharges me, is bringing me down.

I am constantly feeling as if I "really oughta be..." something:

cleaning the desks at home--actually cleaning ANYthing!

bringing in the stuff we brought home from Colordao

planning meals

watering the lawn

helping Sparky clean his room, which is dire...DIRE

calling my mom [Notice how that one is always on the list?]

entering receipts into our Money files

Then I realize that there are a lot of other things I'd like to do that I can't yet:

get The Beast's health back

figure out when to shampoo the rugs

pick paint colors and buy paint and start painting our ugly white walls

decide what to take on vacation next week

ask The Beast's help on multiple projects that pop into my head and then disappear like bubbles...

change doctors!

Yeah.

Frustration.

It's boiling just below the surface, but there's no place to dump it out. It's not even a matter of patience anymore for a change! There's nothing I can do to make anything happen. I hate not having control of the schedule!

And that, yes, THAT, is probably the point of this whole exercise: I shouldn't have control of the Schedule, eh?

Quotes and a break

• from a friend: "Other than telling us how to live, think, marry, pray, vote, invest, educate our children and, now, die, I think the Republicans have done a fine job of getting the government out of our personal lives." --Craig Carter

• from my usual source:

  "First there is a time when we believe everything, then for a little while we believe with discrimination, then we believe nothing whatever, and then we believe everything again - and, moreover, give reasons why we believe." --Georg Christoph Lichtenberg
  
  "Irrationally held truths may be more harmful than reasoned errors." --Thomas H. Huxley

and today's word: introspection \in-truh-SPEK-shuhn\, noun:

The act or process of self-examination; contemplation of one's own thoughts and feelings; a looking inward.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

All of which is to say that I'm taking a break. I'll be back, though I'm not sure when that will be, but certainly not until I've rediscovered my equilibrium and the silver linings in life.

I like dull

And today was dull. I...

... grocery-shopped.
... gave blood.
... went to my friend's new bookstore (which opened on Saturday) and spent $40 on books.
... dropped off and picked up Sparky at band camp.
... heard more about hormones from him, and more about the trip too.
... reminded him four or five times that "hostel" is not pronounced "hawst-ell" or "hawst-eyl. It's "hawst'l."
... took him to tighten up his glasses and to turn over 6 rolls of film for developing.
... helped him unpack. He has 6 (or 7?) Eiffel Tower keyrings in various finishes, from gold to matte silver, a pirate-sword letter opener, a blunderbuss, a catapult/pencil sharpener, 6 other keyrings, a pirate's head bank, and a bow with two broken arrows. And a lot of weird stuff.
... did laundry.
... watered, probably futilely, the arbor vitae that we just replaced, which is dying of thirst.
... didn't freak out about the state of things in my house.
... called to reschedule haircuts for Sparky and me.
... called about The Beast's next epidural.

Dull is very good.

Sparky returns

Sounds like a horror movie, no? Well, ok, no.

He's home; he just hit the sheets about 10 minutes ago. I'm going to sleep pretty soon too. This has been an exhausting week. The Beast is wiped out from the drive to and from the airport, so he will be asleep inside the hour as well. Aren't we the exciting household!?

Best news, in my opinion, from Sparky's trip....the first thing he told us when we hit the car....he's in love. With a girl whose last name is the same as his. Really, seriously, in love. He was crying on the way out of the parking lot, telling us that he almost never got to sit by her or talk to her after the flight over when they sat together on the plane. He did write her a bunch of notes, two of which he actually gave her. She doesn't live too far away, so it wouldn't be impossible for them to keep in touch, if that's what they want.

There were some funny stories he told, too, about arrows and pea-catapulting. I was almost in hysterics at one point driving on the tollway.

His voice has dropped another notch. Hormones have kicked in earnestly, messing up his face and everything else. The fun has begun, his body has left anyone's control and is on autopilot.

He liked escargot and frog's legs (the latter "taste like chicken" but not very much chicken). Mussels were not a big hit, and the fish he had the first day was actually potatoes. (?) I think it was just really really cooked-to-death fish.

He brought home all the Euros he was sent with, along with more he got from an ATM.

He forgot to send any postcards, but he did buy stamps.

I love this kid.

Sunday? (I've lost track)

1. The Beast is home. We got home yesterday at about 1 p.m. He's on drugs, but generally feeling good, except his leg is still numb.
2. Sparky is in the air as I type. He should land (according to these guys) about 4:40 this afternoon, so only another 7 or so hours till I see him.
3. I had a really cool, coherent post created all ready to Publish, when my computer froze. Damn. Hadn't saved it anywhere. Oh, well.
4. My book blog is updated. Finally, four weeks after the last time I did anything there!
5. On the list for today:
• Finish Blogger stuff so Beastie can pay bills online
  
• Bake 'thank-you' cookies
• Decorate house/yard for Sparky's return
• Finish washing sheets and remake our bed
• Clean the guinea pig cage
• Finish watering the lawn where it didn't get soaked overnight (with the hose, not with rain...hah)
• Take a shower
  
• Pick up Sparky at the airport; the Beast is coming, probably well-drugged, because I can't stop him. sigh ;-)
  

So yeah, I need to get started on that stuff.

Life MAY be returning to normal. MAY. I hope.

It's 7:00 here. The Beast had his "procedure" this afternoon, and things were looking up for awhile. Then he ate dinner and/or got cocky, apparently, because now he's got pain again. Sigh.

So I wait. "They also serve who stand and wait," right? Only I'm sitting and waiting. Tonight I'm waiting for his primary doctor to show up on the off chance he tells The Beast to go home. [God forbid] I missed the doc's visit last night when he arrived about 8 p.m. I'll wait that long, but the nurse said she's seen him here as late as midnight. Holy shit.

I'm ... really really tired.

And I need to go home and do laundry and tidy up, because the man is probably coming home tomorrow and it would be nice to have clean sheets and a somewhat-clean living room.

Did I mention I'm realy tired?

Today

...was
...weird. Kind of like it must be to be on a small dose of LSD mixed with a lot of Percocet. Surreal in v-e-r-y slow motion.

I thought about taking photos of my notebook--purchased a couple of weeks ago so I could be like Amy--but I'm really too tired for that.

Morning:

• a list of phone numbers I might need today, scribbled on one page before leaving home, and added to over the day: hospital phone and Beastie's room number, Librarian H at work, the pool--don't ask--Jen's cell, my in-laws' phone
• a page of notes on the London news conference held at 3:15 GMT:

1) which was held, moment-for-moment at the exact same time as Daley's local news conference
2) The London Underground is run by an American??!
3) http://www.travel.state.gov/ / 1-888-407-4747
4) Why do I recognize the names of a couple of these guys doing the briefing?
5) "'Islamic' and 'terrorist' are words that do not go together" (Brian Paddick, Metropolitan Police Commander)

Afternoon:

• cortisone shot (epidural) tom. /disc damage, not sure how many, prob. 1 /we'll know after epid how bad disc is (?) / need some p.t. afterwards (Greg?)
• The head nurse is running for cover when she sees me walking to the nurse's station. Too bad; she's nice and has been wonderful to [Beast]
• [a really awful drawing of some guy]
• Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry / Don't cry

The Beast will not likely be home until Saturday at the earliest, and more likely Sunday, assuming everyone goes well tomorrow. If it doesn't, well, we aren't going there until we have to.

I pitched a fit at about 5 this afternoon after spending the day listening to the roommate's friends and relatives, and Gastro Man himself. The nurse finally got through to the first set of visitors (the lawyer left at 2 or so) at 4:15 and they left....after five hours. Less than ten minutes later, reinforcements showed up to talk to Gastro Man. The Beast got no sleep whatsoever today. he told me at about this time that the wife hadn't left the hospital room last night until after 10, because they watched a movie together, undoubtedly talking all the way through it.

Anyway, at 5:00 I found the nursing supervisor and he (Wonderful Wayne) authorized moving the Beast to a newly-cleared room down the hall. It's a private room, so I had to make sure that wasn't going to cause trouble with our insurance. He said the hospital would pick it up. By then, Beastie was so tense from trying not to scream at Gastro Man that his legs had started to cramp again, and the Dilantin wasn't working anymore.

Eventually, he relaxed enough that he could sit up and eat, after which I left so he could sleep. All night. With no interruptions except for hospital business.

I was home less than 10 minutes tonight when the call finally came through that Sparky and his group are fine: they know the bones of what happened in London, and they went to the Louvre today. They are due home Sunday evening. Again, we aren't dealing with the logistics of that until we have to, although I'm virtually certain Beast won't be at the airport!

I stopped at the store for food (we hadn't been for over a week, well before we left town for the weekend). I'm reduced tonight to eating a Betty Crocker Bowl Appetit, lemon-frosted cookies, and (ugh--) flat diet Mountain Dew laced with vodka. And probably about four Tums before actually getting to sleep. Not to mention at least one Tylenol PM. To mitigate the whole nervy/sugar/caffeine situation, I'm going off for a bath now.

Query

Three words that you'd think someone with digestive problems wouldn't want to hear:

Hotdog. Eating. Contest.

You'd be wrong.

Apparently, there's nothing better to watch on at 3 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon on hospital TV with one's relatives. And certainly nothing better to discuss, especially the concept of post-contest regurgitation.

Hospitals

You know, when you're sick and/or in pain, sharing a room with a putz and his family of putzes is nigh on murder-inducing.

The Beast's roommate has issues (some of which are gross, so skip if you're queasy):

1. He has an obstruction in his esophagus that's blocking both air intake and food intake. He can eat, but it doesn't all stay down. Much of it comes back up as saliva-etc. It's bad enough to consider having the condition: listening to it is pretty appetite-suppressing.
2. He has the loudest voice in the world. I think part of the problem is that he's hard of hearing and/or doesn't realize how loud he's talking. Whatever: he talks loud. When Beast's mom called this morning, he finally had to hang up--he couldn't hear her over the discussion about recent movies going on across the curtain.
3. His wife is younger than me; he is at least 55, probably closer to 65. In recent discussions we overheard with their friends, it appears that they just got married. Some honeymoon! And he is occasionally being 'cute' about their personal stuff. Ish ish ish, ick. I don't even mind the age difference, and she seems pretty nice, but I don't need to know about their personal life. Really. At all.
4. Their friends? Also loud. On top of being obnoxious and rude. One is an attorney: need I say that he's the worst? [sorry Amy--you know what I mean... I hope] Any more discussion of water rights and land deals and I will be actively searching for duct tape, or tossing the lawyer out the window. No kidding. In fact, the other guy visiting--with his kids in the room--told him flat out to stop swearing because he's "got two kids here." Seriously, it's bad enough that I've just asked the nurse for a transfer. Beastie can't even rest with these clowns in the room. They've been there for over 90 minutes.

Oy. Welcome to communal life. Could be worse, I suppose: we could still be on the old 'ward' system, with 20+ people in a big room together.

Wish me luck. I'm going back up to the room. It's really possible that Beast has had it and started yelling by now. At least I can walk out....

...and I'm going outside to call the inlaws and pass along the most recent news, and suggest they call again, when Idiot's friends leave.

[Still no personal news from Europe...except that The Cataloguer is safe and sound.]

Sparky

... is in Paris. Hopefully safe and sound. We haven't heard anything from anyone, so we're assuming that's a good thing.

Shheeeeshhhhh

Another day, another doctor

Off I went to work today to attempt to catch up from missing three workdays over the weekend. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly until about 11:45 when I got a call from Beastie: "Come home. Now." So I raced home.

I found him lying on the living room floor, weeping. He'd fallen--he thinks it was about 11 when he got up to go in the other room--and had crawled back to the living room where the phone was so he could call me. I called the doctor--who was at lunch--and then 911.

He's still in the hospital. Fortunately, the pain is under control now, due to massive amounts of morphine and Dilantin. He says the trip down the porch steps on the gurney--which our neighbor said caused Beastie to 'howl'--was nothing compared to the trip over the "fucking awful roads in this fucking county."

When I came home for incidentals about 4:30, I was stopped by four different neighbors for a full recounting of what was going on, which was at that point: {shrug}

They are now saying the X-rays showed no structural damage and the doctor's about 95% sure that the whole thing is sciatica. Yes, those of you (us) who've had that can now clutch your thighs and weep along in sympathy. Beast will have an MRI tomorrow (or late tonight, I guess) to see if it's 'just' the nerve, or if a disk is involved too.

And wasn't that phone call to his mom a lot of fun on the way home from the hospital? I didn't have the phone number of the hospital, but I'm sure glad we get along well; otherwise I think she'd've been totally on my case for that and for not calling sooner.

I think this is our "annus horribilis"--Remember 1992?--although I guess Liz still wins the award for most things going wrong on a huge scale. By comparison, three hospital visits, a wedding, a trip overseas for Sparky, my mom's health tanking, surgery for Beastie, and multiple relatives staying at our house (not to mention another relative getting mugged) is pretty tame compared to Windsor Castle burning and the Royal Family imploding as a unit.



The most ironic part of the day? Beastie waited in ER in the 'minor care' section. Apparently, since he wasn't acutely infarcting or bleeding out, he only gets minor care.

They really MUST rename that area!! It doesn't feel minor when your leg is on fire.

Two things

1. I forgot to mention last night that yesterday was our 19th wedding anniversary. I can't possibly be old enough to have been married 19 years! When my oldest sister and brother-in-law did their 20th, I was in college; I thought they'd been married FOREVER. Huh. They just celebrated their 40th 39th last month--by marrying off one of their kids on their anniversary.
   
2. Sparky's at Versailles today. They will be at their final hotel tonight, the first of four nights. My plan today is to send a fax to the hotel for him. I suspect, now that they are really in the home stretch, he may be reaching the end of his patience with the whole adventure.

I slept very badly last night, so today is going to be a l-o-n-g day at work, catching up and 'paying dues' for being gone (I will undoubtedly be stationed on public desks for several hours because I took time off over the weekend--paybacks are a bitch). So I should get there early and get started on the pile that has accumulated on my desk.

Home again home again jiggety jig

Yeah.

I am. We are. We drove over 2700 miles in 6 days.

Everything fit in the back of a rental minivan....all of my mom's (and dad's) papers, plus one more quilt, a linen tablecloth, my dad's desk, and a bookshelf Dad built (which matches the dressers in my dining room, also built by Dad).

Beastie has been in agony since Ogallala. The doctor put him on Vicodin today, along with an antispasmodic and an anti-inflammatory steroid to get him to the point of functionality. I've never seen him in this much pain, even when he was playing football in college (although that ankle injury before senior year is pretty close). Thank God our neighbor saw Beast getting out of the car and came over to help unload...there's no way I could have done it alone or with the pain-wracked body of the person to whom I'm married. There were a couple of times on the road today that I was close to crying because of the pain he was experiencing. All I could do was drive as quickly and safely as possible home so we could get him to the doctor. I told him tonight that if he gets any worse I'm taking him to the hospital. And he didn't really argue.

Aside from that, Sparky called Saturday night using my Reg's cell phone. He and Jean had taken Sparky out for dinner (at Pizza Hut, in Oxford...sigh). I guess Sparky was so tired he ate only one piece of 'za and nearly put his head down and slept at the table. His roommates are apparently night owls who jump on the beds till the early hours. Oh, the trauma of an only child. I didn't have this kind of experience till college, so this is a learning experience that money can't buy. He may be more grateful for small things, like peace and quiet, when he gets home! Otherwise, he's fine and having fun.

Time to fold laundry. Then to bed. I'm off to work tomorrow; obviously the Beast will be "working from home." Now you all know that translates as "drugged to the gills watching poker on TV and IMing his coworkers all day."