Thursday I was busy being wooed by the most wonderful man on Earth and therefore did not blog. I am unrepentant. Yesterday, I got to spend the afternoon with Tina. We got to talk about life, books, and my writing. Of course, she gave me an idea that I think will make my current project just even more ridiculously awesome. I’m lucky to have such a creative, intelligent person to read my stuff and help me find out more about my world.

I got home and things went nuts. Things are going to be fine, but we had a stressful night. I might have to get a job soon. I’m not upset. We do what we have to do to take care of our families. I’m just a little frustrated because my writing just exploded. I can still write while working, I just won’t have the luxury of being able to run the hours that are most conducive to my creativity. Honestly, though, I think everything will be fine.

I do know for certain that I have two weeks of my life as it is right now before I have to start trying to run normal hours.

I’m going to use those weeks for everything they are worth.

I won’t get my draft of my book done. My goal is to get as far along as I can. Every night needs to be productive. I have to use this time to every possible advantage. Talk about a motivator.

I’ve decided to work out a tiny bit every day. It helps me deal with the stress. The work outs are pathetically small, but I’m not exhausted or in pain afterwards. I just feel more relaxed and my body feels stronger. Also, 10 minutes a day on a recumbent bike is a lot less of a hassle than an hour that is involved in getting ready, driving to the park, walking, and driving home. I’m much more likely to keep it up, and I’m going to tell myself something is better than nothing, even if it isn’t strictly true.

I’m making a deal with myself. I’m not going to let fear, stress, intimidation, or any of those other things I normally let wiggle into my head affect me for two weeks. I’m going to do my best to be the woman I want to be, the woman who gets shit DONE, and I will do it no matter what. Besides, I had my mini-breakdown last night. Tina and the Viking reminded me I’m awesome and can handle anything.

I’m kind of curious about what happens.

I pray I don’t disappoint myself. I can’t let me disappoint myself. I WON’T disappoint myself.  I believe I can do wonderful things. I believe I can be successful. I know I can do it. Dear God, please let me not disappoint myself. Oi…

Is there more coffee somewhere?

Turns out I was depressed.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. I spent nearly two weeks under almost constant stress without being able to take my Prozac properly. I hadn’t had a good night sleep since before Mother’s Day. I hurt my shoulder, and I’ve had a headache since Saturday. My hormones are whacked out. I was not myself. Yesterday, I had to focus really hard on not crying in Wal-Mart. I think I’ve been depressed for at least two weeks now.

The kicker: I had no clue until yesterday. You would think I would get better at noticing these things. Yesterday was baaad. It was bad enough for me to realize what was up.

This morning, I woke up and felt more like me. I started taking my medicine like I should when we got home a week ago, so I think it is kicking in, and recognizing what it is always makes depression a bit more manageable. Yesterday, I felt completely over whelmed, stupid, ugly, disgusting, and like a terrible human being. I had no idea how I was going to handle it all.

Today, things seem a lot more manageable.  I’m excited for my writing again. I have a lot less fear. I’m a lot less edgy.

I don’t know if this will last. This could be one of those temporary reprieves that I get in the middle of a major downturn. I hope not. Things got rough and scary. I made a stupid mistake about not taking my medicine, but I can also see the hope.  Even if it is just a breather, I’ll take it.

I still need a nap.

I don’t know what the hell my problem is. I am exhausted and cannot get enough sleep. It’s starting to tick me off.  I blame the disruption this month and my sinuses.

So my feet swelled up like parade balloons. It has almost never happens to me. I tried to convince the Viking’s best friend that it was because I was stressed so my ankles made themselves look bigger and more intimidating like a puffer fish or a cat. He didn’t buy it.

I really have nothing interesting to say. I’m just too tired. I know that makes me a pansy. I’m going to leave you with a cute picture.

This is happiness.

Today is day eleven in the hospital. I’m noticing things.

You grow more comfortable with discussions about bodily functions.

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.

You begin squirreling away food like winter is coming.

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.

Your ‘give a fuck’ about your appearance is < zero

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.

Sleep should be claimed whenever it can be.

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.

Most of your day is spent doing nothing, but the second you try to do something, someone comes in or needs something.

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.

You find yourself playing stupid online games.

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.

The outside world become like legend.

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.)

“Maybe Tomorrow” becomes a sick and twisted phrase to instill hope and then rip it away.

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.

You learn your medical equipment.

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.

You learn that nurses and aides are the most wonderful people on Earth.

Good nurses and aides make the all the difference in how your day or night goes.

Finally:

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.