Yesterday, we got to come home.
After the two weeks my family had and the week my state had, coming home is a powerful thing. Home is a powerful thing. Not just my bed and my good computer, but my safe place makes my home. Everyone who lives here finally being here all at once again makes it home.
I am thankful for home.
Today is day eleven in the hospital. I’m noticing things.
My dad has always had a flagrant disregard for the concept of polite conversation. Now, it is even worse. I have be party to more fart and poop conversations than I ever want to go through in my life. This isn’t the normal “when was your last bowel movement” conversations. This man brought up his lack of pooping at least twenty times a day and when he finally did go, you would think he saved a bus full of children, puppies, and nuns.
Oh, and he thought it was funny to make jokes every ten seconds about my snoring and flatulence when the Viking was in the room last Friday. Awesome.
I have stashes of food. I have a little cubbyhole with a desk and a couch bed thingy. It is my nest. I live here. Yes, I fully acknowledge that it isn’t sane, but I’m living in a hospital. Stop judging me.
Bitch, you touch my muffin, I might stab your ass.
I smell funny. I am wearing badly mismatched clothes. Sometimes I leave the hospital room without shoes. I don’t have a ponytail holder so my hair is tacked up messily with three little hair clips I found. I stick my cell phone in my bra strap before I go anywhere. I’m a red hot mess, and I give less than zero fucks about it.
Here is the thing about hospitals: they wake your shit up all the time. Last night we had some radiology guys bust in like the motherfucking SWAT team at 3am. I think I woke up and screamed at them.
I have become the master of the “screw y’all I’m sleeping” nap. If my dad is settled and I have been fed, my ass curls up and sleeps. Who know when you will get to sleep again and for how long.
I started this blog post at noon, and it’s now 8:49pm. I’ve had a solid twenty minutes to work on it. I’m a little frightened.
My Farmville 2 farm is bitching, and I’m unashamed. Don’t judge me. It is something to do that it doesn’t matter if I have to walk away from. I can’t do that with an MMO, and sometimes I get pissy about having to put down a book. I will walk my ass away from some digital chickens without remorse.
Okay, straight up, my sister and brother in law have been saints. I simply would not have made it through this without them. They keep offering to let me go over to their house to do silly things like showering and laundry while they stay with Dad, but honestly, I would rather nap. I’ve left this place four times. Once to go home for two days last weekend, once to go to the Target for medicine for my snotty head, and twice because Tina and the Viking picked my ass up and brought me into public.
Leaving sounds daunting. Things could happen here. Also, what the hell is the outside world?
(Lesson of the story: if you know someone in my position, go pick their asses up. Don’t give them an option. If things are calm with their loved one, make them leave with you.)
Typical conversation with nurse I haven’t seen in a few days:
Nurse: Y’all are still here?
Me: Yep
Nurse: How is he doing?
Me: (Abbreviated status report, normally including a comment about him being a pain in the ass)
Nurse: Well, maybe he will be better enough to go home tomorrow.
Fuckers.
I can read a monitor like no one’s business. I know how to silence the damn beeping IV machine. I am a master at putting on those legs squeezy thingies.
On a side note, I grossed out a cardiac rehabilitation nurse today by noting how the blood in a transfusion bag looks like tomato soup. I count it as a win.
Good nurses and aides make the all the difference in how your day or night goes.
I have bitched, whined, complained, and thrown mini-tantrums about everything for the entire time, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You take care of family. I mean real family, not so much the people you share DNA with but the people who care for and love you. Also, margaritas help relax the hospital stress.
Okay, well I have some digital sheep to feed.
Today has been this strange dichotomy of personal and public worries and happiness.
I have felt strange since yesterday because my focus is still on my father. It seems small and selfish, but he is my father. He is well. We hope to finally be going home tomorrow.
That is one part of me.
The other part of me is watching news and combing the news about Sunday and Monday. I’m in awe of my state.
Okay, let me tell you somethings, I hate certain things about my state. I just do. The things right about this state, though, are so very good. I believe deep in their hearts, Oklahomans are good.
I love this state. We live through some terrible and tough things, but we do it together.
I still can’t wrap my brain around the damage. News about the two schools hurts my heart. The footage of the damage is unreal. I looks like another planet. If I wouldn’t have had my one experience with tornado clean up I would have no perspective what so ever. Tornado damage is just that different than anything I have ever seen.
Things are gone. People are giving. People are helping. We are asking if all of our loved ones are okay. We thank god when they are and comfort when things aren’t. (Everyone of mine are okay. I won’t feel safe about the Viking until I see him in person, but I don’t know when that will happen.) We wonder how we can help and what happens next. This is our new normal for a little while.
Thank you for showing me my faith in the goodness of people is correct.
Oh, Lord, this day.
It has been one hell of a day.
My father has been in the hospital since Monday. I’ve been here most of the time, too. By most of the time, I mean until tonight I had only left this hospital for two hours to take a shower at Tina’s house.
This morning started with a gut punch and a mini-breakdown. Things will be fine. Just, sometimes, things punch you in the gut when you don’t expect it. It meant my entire family spent the day in hurry up and wait mode. There is this certain knot that lived in my stomach, and will continue until to be there until things get figured out.
Other things happened as the day went on though. My sister, my brother-in-law, and my baby niece spent some time with us. My niece has my heart. I was almost broken this morning, but something about a laughing, smiling baby makes things seem better.
Then the Viking picked me up and took me away from here. I ate a meal away from the hospital. He also got me a little drunk on a margarita, and then he came back and sat with me for hours because I am too neurotic to be away from the hospital too long.
The best part though, the very best part:
This morning my 8th or 9th grade Civics teacher walks into the cath lab waiting room. We kinda recognize each other, but we are in a damn hospital with loved ones with cardiac patients, so we don’t catch up. Later, I notice he and his family move into our hospital wing.
Then tonight I pull the Viking into this little room with a couch in the family waiting room and my old teacher is there. I turn to the Viking and say “Now, where the hell are we supposed to make out?”
Yep.
I apologized to him later, but seriously, it is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I took it.
Bad days get better, but sometimes I need to let myself acknowledge the stomach punches, because it makes fucking with old coaches that much better.
I shot myself in the foot with the boring and calm comments. Things went all wonky again Monday. I’m having a hard time believing it is only Wednesday.
Things are not nearly as bad as last time. More than just that we are in a wonderful hospital that is a lot more comfortable, better food, and wi-fi, things are much less scary. I’m not afraid with every breath about what might happen next. Over the past few months, I have been really working hard on trying to be an eternal optimist. I had to look at the good side and live in hope because the rest was too dark to face.
This time, when things went all wonky with Dad, the optimism happened without trying. This time instead of fear, we are trying to focus on him getting the help he needs to truly recover. Things look a lot better. Things will be a lot better.
I suspect it will be next week before I post regularly again. Family first.
The second would work far better than the first
I know the lyrics are “Reach out, touch faith,” but I hear “Reach out, touch base” or “Reach out, touch face”
Well. Cats and Kittens, today is both rant AND porn free.
I realized (when my mom sighed at me and told me) that I’ve been very “every little thing is a feminist issue or chance to bitch about our nanny state.” I’m not suddenly a non-feminist bitch or anti-nanny state. I’m just seeking balance. Mostly by completely losing it by writing. My brain is absorbed by my story. I’m muttering about it to myself. I walk into my living room and start conversations with my mom in the middle. I had the first half in my brain, and I forget to include her in those. I try to sleep but think about my book. Balance is for suckers.
I am working out at least. I am doing Pilates one day and arm stretchy band stuff the next day. It isn’t a huge routine, but I’m starting small. I do attempt moderation and sanity. I’m just sick of my body hurting. I figure if my body is going to hurt anyway, it might as well because I’m trying to make it stronger. I need to do measurements so I can see if I’m making progress.
Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, or more aptly put for me, I spend all day in the kitchen cooking for everyone. I need to go to the Super Wal-Mart for supplies tonight. Anyway, my mom has this daughter who loves baking experiments. I love trying to make things from scratch. She asked for a strawberry cake, so I went scouring the interwebz for a cake from scratch. I told her about the things I was finding, and she said “Can’t you just find a recipe that uses a box white cake and add strawberries.” After my feelings of sacrilegious baker’s rage settled, I talked to my buddy Paula Deen (or went on her site), and she told me about her cake box strawberry cake recipe (or I found it on her website). It feels a bit like cheating, but at least it will be easier.
Tiny cute busker
So, we all know I’m a disgusting person. This has been long established. We drink bottled water. I know this is terrible for the environment, but Chickasha water is still gross even after being filtered. I will bring a bottle into my room, drink part of it and then forget it. In my mind, after a few days it is a rotting cesspool of yuck. I end up with several have finished bottles of water that I am too paranoid to drink and too lazy to dump out and recycle the bottles. Earlier today, I brought in a bottle, took a drink, and set it by the other bottles of cesspool water, OR I finished and forgot. Now I have a suspect bottle sitting on my desk taunting me.
Okay, I’m going to go have a mini coma.
So, I had planned to come here and write about writing like a fiend and finding my groove again and inform y’all that the Viking hasn’t gotten me the pictures from the zoo yet because he is working full time and working on a Master’s and trying to get sleep. It started out innocently enough. I decided to check out my site stats and clicked a link to a referrer. I spent the next 20 minutes like this:
What the fuck am I looking at?!?
It was a tumbler devoted purely to nerd porn pictures and gifs. I thought after that summer looking at porn for a living, I couldn’t be shocked by nekkid people anymore until I discovered cosplay porn.
Keep the internet weird folks. I’m going to try and process some of the things I’ve seen. I CAN’T UNSEE THAT!!
*Le Sigh* rule 34
This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. The decisions we make determine the kind of people we are. They determine the lives we lead. They also determine how we effect the world. I know it is pretty elementary stuff. It is something I hope most of us figure out pretty early in life. I know a lot of people who haven’t. There are some people who sometimes I want to shake and tell them to stop making the worst possible decisions. Sometimes, I make the worst possible decisions, and I know people I love watch from the sidelines and want to shake me. Life is a series of decisions.
Bad decisions were made here. Not pointing fingers.
There is this older man who works the grocery part of the Braum’s in Chickasha named Jack. I worked at Braum’s for nearly a year, and it sucked. It really, really, really sucked. I did his job, and it was the most suck of the suck in some ways. Anyway, Jack, every single time I go into Braum’s to pick up just enough groceries to keep me from having to go to the super Wal-Mart for just a few more days and Jack is working, Jack is happy and bright. He smiles, makes jokes, and is just crazy friendly. A lot of times I’m kind of cranky when I go into the Braum’s, but Jack is impossible not smile back at. Jack is just one of those people.
There are these people in the world who makes everyone around them feel better. They make everyone they encounter have a better day. We live in this super jaded world, and happy, positive people are looked at suspiciously. Hope and caring are sometimes treated like sheer stupidity. If you don’t spend your life protected and cynical you are going to get screwed and treated like a sucker. If you believe that good things can happen or that people do want to be good then you are obviously unaware of the reality of the world. Trust me. I’m one of those oblivious suckers who sometimes gets treated like I have brain damage.
I have to make the decision in life if I want to be smart and guarded or risk getting hurt by being optimistic and happy. The second is a lot scarier. When I really think about it, though, I realize I lose very little by believing the best. I get taken advantage of sometimes. I get hurt sometimes. In the long term, pain is mostly temporary. Being wrong and looking like an ass is a lot less terrible than being isolated in my old armor.
I want to be like Jack.
I’ve had a migraine all day. Right now, I just have a medium-sized left over headache, but my brain still feels like apple sauce. What I mean to say is: don’t expect coherency. Do y’all ever expect the coherency?
Anyway, so very early Saturday morning I finished my rough draft. I decided to take many days off to play video games, watch Dr. Who and crotchet, and do other less productive things while I let the writing brain take a break. Last night I got so bored playing video games. Tonight, I will try to get some television time for the Doctor and blanket making, but I still think I will be restless. I want to write. I think I pushed through that little broken spot, and now I want to work again. So, starting tomorrow night, I’m going back through the first part of the story I start over a year ago and working on it some more. It makes happy to have that drive again.
Yet another example of what my boyfriend puts up with.
The Viking will log on to an IM with me some nights while he is doing homework, and we talk when he takes brain breaks, and I say the weirdest shit to him while he is busy. Not long after this I did a long bit of emoticon boobs of different sizes and shapes. I don’t know if this is the sort of thing he loves me for or in spite of.
Okay, so, sometimes something happens that makes me realize I’m a bigger dork than even I realize. There is this banging (I’ve decided to start using slang, because I am so bad at it that it amuses me) writing/ grammar software called Grammarly. I’ve been wanting it forever now, and today I found out they have an add-in for Mozzila Fire Fox that does many of the function but only all over the interwebz. I flipped ALL THE WAY OUT. Seriously, I posted about it on Facebook on both my personal page and the blog’s page. I linked it. I was that excited. I’m still excited. It makes me sad about me, because it is further proof I am a bigger dork than I ever imagined. It is a grammar and spell checker. I need a comma checker now.
I’m reading this Andre Norton book right now, and the elves are a race of fussy, foppish, gigantic douchebags. Even if everything else about the book sucked, I would keep reading it because I hate elves. They are fussy, pretty, pretentious, douchebags. And, I have the strangest prejudices ever.
I’m going to go do other things with my apple sauce brain.
So, here is the the thing, I have no problem telling people about great charities or places to help. I believe with every part of my soul people want to be a part of something good, and that two dollars can change the world. I believe many people can get an intense feeling of good and joy from doing good. Some people say giving because it makes you feel good means it is less altruistic, but I believe it is a manifestation of feeling like we did something good, and that happiness spreads and make more good. I know, totally dirty hippie of me.
That being said: I would rather rip out my own fingernails than ask for money for what I felt like selfish reasons. It stretches and frays every bit of pride I have to take all of my help from my parents. I have to remind myself how much I do for them in order not to hate myself. It bothers me that my friends know they are going to have to pay to do something with me more exotic than a cheap dinner. And, let’s just leave it at that the Viking is a saint, and I can’t wait for the day I can take him out to dinner. It kills me and my pride.
But, Amanda Palmer told me people want to pay for things they believe in.
So, here it goes. May 16th the 54 dollars for six months of my web hosting comes due. If I want to keep this site going, I have to find a way to pay for it. On the sidebar there is a Paypal donate button.
I don’t have anything to offer, except the thing I always offer on this site, me. I believe in what I do. I believe that being someone who stands up and says “look at how imperfect I am, just like you” can make other people feel less alone and less strange. I believe in making connections. I believe in the power of being vulnerable and showing people who you really are without worrying about image or product. Most people have reasons they can’t be open about their gore and bits and what they believe. I can be, so I should be.
I have spent so much of my life feeling like the only one who didn’t get the playbook. I felt alien walking around all these folks who got it. I felt alone. Then I noticed when I started being honest and opening up, everyone else felt the same way, too. We all feel alone, not good enough, or like we to be a certain way in order to deserve love and acceptance. We feel this way because we spend so much time bumping around the world with our guards up, never showing people our fluffy bits. We feel alone because we isolate ourselves out of fear.
My life changed when I took down the armor. I believe that people benefit from seeing others without their armor, because it is how we create true connection, and that is what we all really want, true connection. So, I’m taking down one of my last bits of armor. I’m asking you guys for help in keeping this strange experiment going.
There is a Paypal donate button on the sidebar. If you have some extra dollars, throw it in the hat. I have a little over two weeks to raise the $54. If I can’t, the world won’t end. I’ll find some way to keep this site going. No matter what, I will keep writing and being a red hot mess. I will keep over sharing and pissing people off. I will keep trying to be myself.
To sweeten the deal, if I raise the $54 I promise to make an ass out of my self on video. Tina promised to help. I’ll take input in blog comments and on my FB page as to how I am to make myself look like an idiot. It will be your time to exact your revenge for all my damn PMS posts.
I will leave you with the quote from Doctor Who that made me realize that it was far more than a fun little show:
I cried. This is when I really understood the Doctor