Funky

I'm still getting used to sleeping in this house, and not over in that one. I's been almost two weeks. And cn I mention how much hARDER it s to type with a cat chnin between your thumbs? Ew. She drooled on the keyboard.

First off, the dog's arthritis is acting up, so he has to have "fart pills" three times a day to manage the pain. Sometimes the smell alone is enough to wake you up at night. Then there is the fact that we also think he has irritable bowels, so sometimes he throws up at night. Only at night, mind you. And only at either 1:30am, or somewhere between 3:45-4:45am. The puking is always proceeded by a rather wet lip-smacking.

It sounds like this:
"shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk..."

Oddly enough, this sounds exactly like when the dog cleans between his toes-- which he also seems to do at either 1:30am, or somewhere between 3:45-4:45am. Until you yell at him for god's sake to either knock it off, or puke already, dammit!

And the cat.
The cat only jumps off the bed when standing next to GB's right shoulder. Not his stomach. Not his toes. Not on my side of the bed-- ever. And she walks straight from the crick behind my knees, across his bladder, and up to that spot by his shoulder. The jumping-down-for-a-midnight-snack spot. And then disappears into the closet to crunch her crunchy cat food. She usually gets hungry at both midnight, and somewhere close to 3am. And when she's about to jump up onto something, she let's you know. She's very polite. In that "SEE? SEE HOW POLITE I AM??" cat sort of way.

"Mprrt?" And then the soft thud of graceful cat paws on the bed. And the thud itself is mild enough to sleep through. But not the "Mprrt?" that always comes first. Then she has to walk around and see whose awake (and therefore available to sniff her breath, and have their face sneezed on and whiskers poked up their nose, and pet her) before settling back down on someone's legs.

And if there's silence in the bedroom for too long, the teenage cat-sisters on the other side of the bedroom door get worried. So they meow in high-pitched teenage girl voices, and scratch on the door until someone comes out to reassure them. Or yell at them.

Did I mention that our bedroom shares a wall with the only bathroom in the house? It does. And the roommate showers at 6:45 every morning. Except the mornings he showers at 6:15. And clears his nose (or maybe it's his throat) in the shower. Loudly. Some mornings it takes him a while to get it all out.

And don't get me started on the blanket-stealing situation. Just don't even get me started.

Turns out that except when he (or the dog) is snoring, GB is a lighter sleeper than I am. So every time I roll over, it wakes him up.
guilt. guilt. guilt.

So the good news is that if GB is still snoring, I know he's slept through whatever it was that woke ME up. And therefore if *I* yell at the offending party, we will both be woken up. Again.

By the way, GB is currently unsticking a new baby leaf on his beloved hanging plant behind me. It's been sitting there, half-unfurled, for three days. He couldn't take it any more.
GB: "It's stuck."
Me: "But it's getting bigger."
GB: "It's stuck."
Me: "Maybe it's still growing."
GB: "NO. It's STUCK."

And then he gently pulled the tiny green leaf away from the plant spine that birthed it, and unrolled the edges of the leaf so it could start getting sun and growing BIGGER! Now that it's unstuck. The 3-day-old baby leaf on his hanging plant.

I need sleep.

Smack me Gently

So GB and I decided we'd be sneaky and avoid yesterday's blistering heat by driving to the Gorge and going for a hike by the waterfalls, in the shade. Of course, when we got there, we realized that everyone else had the same idea, only earlier in the day, so there were no parking places left.

Now, I'd spent a whole 8 hours the previous day in a hot little office with buzzing flies, no a/c, and a terrible lot of accounts that needed settling. And then I worked on job applications until midnight, when a girl supposedly got abducted just below my bedroom window (or saved from her drunk-ass self-- in this neighborhood, it could go either way, or it could be one of the local crazy men-- the one who likes to ride his bike and sing in falsetto at the top of his lungs, for example).

Anyway, there was frantic screaming of "don't touch me, you hurt me" followed by the slam of a car door, an engine driving away, and then silence. And apparently, I'm the only person in the whole freaking neighborhood who didn't have a functional fan that night and/or wasn't drunk out of their skull, so nobody else I've asked had heard the woman scream. At 1am, a neighbor lady I know went into her back yard, sang a little ditty about the cat and the fiddle, and then went back inside. I think that's what finally let me sleep. The neighborlady singing happily to herself in her garden after midnight on a Thursday.

And then I woke up freaking early because my cat had a sneezing fit all over my toes. So I was pretty darn grumpy by the time GB and I had stood in line for biscuits and bacon (for over an hour), sat on the increasingly hot front porch to EAT the biscuits (mine had applebutter, mmmm), drove to the Gorge, and then realized that neither of us knew what already-full parking lot area was the one for the hike we'd decided to take. (I love that my roommate not only KNOWS all the hikes in the entire pacific nw, but has books showing you what they look like and how long/strenuous they are, too!!) So I snapped at him a few times in the process of parking SOMEWHERE THAT MIGHT BE WHERE WE WERE GOING, and felt awful (but still grumpy) when he got really small and quiet on his side of the car.

But as soon as he'd loaded my sandals and my water and my other water and my purse and my emergency pack that looks like another purse into his backpack, and we were actually hiking, in a breeze, toward waterfalls-- I was able to shed my grumpy, and GB started talking to me and smiling again. And when we got to the part where the bridge was washed out and you had to scramble down where no path is or was, and then leapfrog across if you didn't want to get your hiking shoes soaked, and then scramble up again on the other side...

He totally stopped, scouted our chosen descent for poison oak (he thinks he might be immune at this point, but isn't going to test the theory and also REALLY didn't want me to suffer with it), and then also checked the whole potential crossing to make sure he wasn't asking me to do something too risky and uncomfortable. He went first, and tested each step, and warned me when a rock was tippy, and watched to make sure I got past that rock okay. And then when I had trouble with one of the actual leaps in the path he found across (as opposed to a long step from big flat rock to another rock), he held my hand and made sure I landed okay on the other side. Totally without making me feel like a wimp or a loser.

It's been a long time since I've had a guy take such good care of me. Like, maybe the last time was my dad when I was little. And GB wasn't trying to impress me or anything-- he's just that much of a considerate sweetie. I felt so cared about, and having him support me all the way down and across really built my trust for him. Like-- I felt it start to grow in a waivery uncertain way that told me really clearly how long it's been since I felt like it was safe to put my well-being in someone else's hands. The ex usually got me into a situation, and then ran on ahead impatiently while I struggled with fear, slippery rocks, and much shorter legs all by myself, mid-stream.

Total brownie points for the boy, and he didn't even know he was being awesome. Then we wandered upstream, past all the people sitting in the water to cool off, and found our way out to a big flat boulder in the middle of the river. It was a wonderfully cool, shady place to sit for a few minutes and talk about how we want one of these rivers-- for natural air conditioning purposes, as well as aesthetic value-- in our back yard someday.

Of course, once we'd survived the way-too-hot 2-mile hike back up and down and up and down to the ovencar, made our way home, showered off all the sweat and blisters from the hike, and were actually starting to FEEL the a/c in the room-- he smacked my ass so hard it left a red spot, which totally made him giggle every time I glared at him for the rest of the evening. I will never understand this man.

Responsobiligity

When I was a little girl, my mom taught me to ignore the annoying kids in my class, and maybe then they'd get bored and go away. As a strategy, it worked fairly well. Certainly, the parents and teachers loved my "adult approach" to problems.

By the time I was in third grade, I was such a good little two-shoes that the teacher, Mrs. Z, put me in the seat between two of the most disruptive goof-offs in class. Both named Aaron. Problem was that they were funny and interesting, and the conversations that went on behind my head weren't always that easy to ignore. I tell you, bad boys just have more fun.

But when they had conversations of which I did NOT approve, boy-howdy did I put a lid on it fast! My "oh, no you DON'T" stare was cold, direct (A quick flick of my head sideways to meet Aaron's eyes for half a second, just long enough to raise one eyebrow menacingly, and then full focus back on the teacher at the front of the room. Just like that.), and uncompromising. Sometimes it even worked. But I rarely said a word. Good kids didn't talk when the teacher was talking. And I knew I'd been placed in that situation to ignore the boys into good behavior.

In sixth grade, a boy with a really tough life figured he could out-annoy my tactic of "ignore and avoid." And eventually, he was right. I caught the attention of a teacher and explained the challenge I was having with locker-access between classes, since JO was always there to slam the locker shut for me again. When the teacher explained to JO that his homeroom teacher was my dad... Well, he left me alone after that. And I continued to ignore him.

In eighth grade, a different boy went straight from annoy to abuse. And no matter how hard I ignored him, I still went home from school every day with extra bruises. Eventually I again approached a teacher for help. This time it took a while, but eventually the kid's parents decided it was in his best interests to pretend I didn't exist, and I was allowed to get on with my life. We both worked hard to ignore and avoid each other for the whole four years of high school, where we both played violin in Orchestra class every day.

My first serious boyfriend was in high school... And he often forgot to show up for our planned dates and get-togethers and such. He often ignored my phone calls, too. I worked very hard to ignore the things I didn't like in our relationship because I wanted to succeed with him the same way I'd learned to succeed in school as a little girl. His other girlfriend-- when I found out about her-- was a bit harder to overlook. So I decided to ignore them both.

Add six years, a different guy, a wedding... and you have my marriage. In which I learned to ignore my own needs, my feelings, and my right to be treated with respect. Because that was the only way my marriage was peaceful. That was the only way my marriage was going to succeed. And I didn't want to be the bad guy. Ignore the annoyance-- the way the boy in the seat next to you is goofing off and making bad choices in his life and generally distracting you from your work and your goals-- and it'll stop. Right?

So here I am. Knowing already that I am not Cinderella (see previous post)... And I am facing the fact (again) that my most-used coping mechanism for things that bother/annoy/frustrate me... is to ignore them, and hope they go away. Some life skill. It didn't work in my marriage. It sure isn't working on my financial and job woes. Or on my cat's arthritis, come to that. And it's all gotten a bit over my head, really... But the thing I just tripped over is the realization that there's no teacher to go to for help on this one... And the last few teachers (or counselors, or Argmy Commanders) I went to weren't always that helpful in the situation anyway.

So now I'm thinking--
Maybe we should teach little girls Aikido or Brazilian Ju-Jitsu, and encourage them to confront life's frustrations HEAD-F*ING-ON!! Because we sure aren't doing them any favors by training them to believe that being nice and pretending the problem doesn't exist will make everything in their life okay.

I'm just saying is all...

Spaminatious & Palincomparison

So I don't know how, but McKain't got ahold of my small business email address. In the month since that horrible horrible event, his campaign (all three email addresses of it) has sent me on average 5 pieces of spam a week. It sux.

Now, today, he seems to have also found a second of my business-related email addresses. And the email I received was titled, "Dear Campaign Supporter." This man is so lost, I seriously think he could find his dick with both hands and a flashlight, but only if somebody paid him to do it. Let's not even get into his sidekick, Palincomparison.

Instead, I'd like to say how much I appreciate the goals and intent that Mr. Obama has highlighted repeatedly throughout his campaign, and the fact that he has NOT sent out spam, has NOT lied, and has actually shown an amazingly high level of moral and personal integrity, social awareness, and intelligence-- for a politician. I really appreciate that man, and many of the things he stands for.

Mostly, I just want America to stop losing individual civil rights, start using wind and solar energy and natural gas as our top three sources for powering cars, and providing homes and businesses with energy. I'd like to see a minimum of 25 mpg for all vehicles on the road by 2010. I'd like a reward program in place to assist folks who make less than $50,000 a year to switch to an electric-powered vehicle. I'd like the vehicles driven (and available for sale) in America to get an average (an AVERAGE) of 50mpg by 2012. And I'd like America to reinvest in education. Both by emphasizing quality and skills and experience over test scores, and by returning to a system that allows people with low incomes to actually AFFORD COLLEGE so they can gain increased skills, and still pay rent. I'd also like to change-up the tax system, so that the only people who pay taxes (or social security, since I doubt I'll ever get any of it) are those whose TAKE-HOME-PAY is over $40,000 a year. And anybody who makes over $1 mil a year should be in the REAL tax brackets for folks who pay up on what the rest of us really can't afford to lose out of our meager incomes. Really now.

Also, while we're on the subject, I'd like to make Yoga and afternoon naps mandatory for everyone over the age of twelve. I'd also like to see a certain withering shrub get implumbed... but hey-- dreams are cheep, and not much else is anymore. Anyway, I'm kinda hoping that I get taken of those dagmn spaminatious political email lists sooner than later. Like-- I don't want to have to wait for November to have the stupidity end. It really makes me ill to see one sitting in my inbox. Every day.

SHHHHH

So I'm reading this book called "Stupid History," and I'm actually enjoying it. Partly, this is because all these weird bits of history that we all remember (like Paul Revere's ride to warn everyone that the British were coming)... is, according to this author guy-- and I did find the book in the nonfiction section of the library-- FALSE!!! There were, apparently, THREE men who rode out to warn everyone that the troops were coming along behind-- but those pesky Brits caught up with them. One man fled back home. One (Revere) got captured and thrown in jail overnight, without ever reporting anything to anyone, and the third man is the guy who actually did get away and ride through the town of Concord, I think it was, and yell warning. For whatever good it did everybody anyway.

The other reason I'm enjoying the book is that each story is about half a page long. And that is about all the attention span I have at the moment. Because, for the last two nights, my house mate has been out of town, and the natives have, as they say, been restless. First, Bubba clawed a hole in the new bag of cat food. Then, they all took turns hissing about who was allowed to be in the bedroom with me and who wasn't. A furry belly slinked past the top of my head at one point in the night, and I heard lots of loud cat-thumping sometime after 4am.

Cat-Thumping, by the way, is what happens when your cat suddenly gets that wild look in her eye, glares at a point up and to the left of your head, and then starts running like an insane and possessed beast up, down, around, across, back, over, around again, up, down, PAUSE... and then careens off to hide under the bed or go lick her butt in the kitchen or something. And while the cat does all this crazy running, her little 11 lbs of fuzz and claws makes about as much noise as a 200 lb man with army boots on-- only faster. Cat-thumping.

So, anyway, I'm a little tired tonight. I'm also prepared. First, I'm going to put Abbigale in the bedroom. Then, I'm going to lavish attention on the little grey monsters until they refuse to be in the same room with me anymore. Then I'm going to brush my teeth, and go to bed. I've also re-potted the cat food and cat treats from their flimsy plastic bags to specially purchased vacuum sealed heavy-duty glass containers. Even tho the containers are see-through, Bubba has walked by them TWICE now, trying to locate the food bag.

HAH! I leer in his general direction!!! And, hopefully, I also get some healthy sleep tonight. I'm really tired. Really.

WHY?!

Umm... I think maybe my cat is allergic to fish. Apparently, this is possible. And I've been trying to figure out why she is puking so much lately... Today, the only extraordinary thing she ate was a piece of tuna. And a few days ago, she had "cat tuna" from my house mate. And a few days before that, it was actual fish bits from a fillet. Also, the cheap treats I got for her have tuna and fish in them, it appears. Huh.

One thing's for sure. I am SICK of cleaning up half-digested cat-vomit. E-yew!

Spring Fever

So, with one rainy exception, we've had three or four days of warm sunny weather in a row. Didn't it snow just last week?! Not that I'm complaining. I'm just... WONDERING... is all.

Remember the horrid fly invasion of '07? The one where I finally discovered that a whole bag of potatoes had passed "rot" and gone right on to "sludge?" And had, in the process, given birth to a rather large number of little flies that NOTHING COULD KILL?! Yeah. I remember it quite clearly, actually. I ended up using the "kill-anything, but safe-for-your-home" bug spray to STUN the little buggers long enough for me to squish them-- individually. It took hours. Literally.

I'm not really big on killing other living things, but between the ant invasions and the flies, I've come to the handy conclusion that I have no moral problems with defending my home from invaders-- even little crawly ones. ESPECIALLY little crawly ones.

Well, not to bring up old pain or anything, but I recently had what seemed like the beginning of a new invading hoard-- horse flies. Those big metallic blue flies that are literally the size of your thumb-tip. Big. And, it turns out, LOUD. In fact, their ability to sound bigger than they actually are has become a bit of a problem. A really funny problem.

Every once in a while, we get airplanes flying past at night. And for a good minute before you hear them RIGHT OVER HEAD, all you can hear of the airplane coming is this droning rumble. It sounds EXACTLY like those dagm horse flies. And I've sat up and grabbed my rolled up magazine in self-defense more than once, only to realize I couldn't locate the fly because it was technically an airplane. Then there's my cell phone.

I got tired of forgetting to turn off the ringer every time I went to the library-- or forgetting to turn it back on when I left-- so I've just had my phone on "vibrate" for a couple of weeks now. I actually like the compromise. When I get text messages from my bank at 4am, I am no longer awakened every two minutes by a little "ding" to let me know I still haven't checked the message on my cell phone. I sleep through the "vibrate" noise quite well, really... Or I did before the flies came.

Finally this morning I realized that NO, I was NOT hearing yet another intermittent buzzing of yet another gigantic fly buzzing from window to window-- I was hearing the intermittent buzzing of my cell phone vibrating in my purse, telling me it was out of batteries.

In addition to all THOSE little coincidences of sound, the windows in my current apartment are single-pane, and rather old. Like, the house was built in the '40's old. So they just aren't much of a sound barrier. And there are flowering bushes right below the window. I'm realizing that I haven't actually been able to locate the flies that accompany the buzzing of the last two days-- the buzzing that wasn't explained by the cell phone, the airplane, or the neighbor's remodeling noises-- because I was hearing flies and bumblebees OUTSIDE OF MY WINDOWS!!!

I think maybe I can finally relax about the latest "invasion."

BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT I WAS REALLY GOING TO WRITE ABOUT...

With the latest natural invasion, I've had a sudden need to FIND THE SOURCE, which means doing a deep clean on my apartment. Luckily, it's Spring, so this would actually be the perfect time for such an action. Also, since about 80% of my belongings are currently in storage, I'm woefully unprepared for warm weather. I don't even know where my non-flannel sheets are packed. So, I'll be going through my tiny apartment and packing up anything I'm not using or won't need for the spring/summer months-- and then I'll be heading over to my storage unit, pulling every last thing I can lift out into the hallway, and sorting out the things I actually WANT to access.

I'll also be looking for any MORE stuff I can donate or otherwise get rid of with a light heart (I actually only kept 2/3 of my original belongings when I moved and put stuff in storage-- I've very little idea of what's left to begin with, really...) because my original packing job SUCKED, and I can't fit anything else into that storage space at the moment. This needs to change. It's a big space. And I want to have at least SOME access to the stuff I MIGHT need, but not every day, if you know what I mean.

Sigh.

Spring Fever is sounding rather painful this year.
I'd really expected to be moved into my next long-term home by now. This long-term limbo is really starting to wear on my good intentions (and my good vibrations-- the flies are just the tip of the ice berg on that one!)...

It's got to be at least as hard for my host family to still be living around ME as it is for me to still be living around them. I'm just so grateful that they gave my cat and I such a warm welcome, and that they haven't kicked us out yet. I guess it's time to start thinking up a new backup plan-- just in case I still don't have my future nailed down by midsummer. That would be pushing the welcome wagon a bit too far, even for me.

In the good news category, I've actually done a little yoga every morning for a week now. And all my creating fabrics have got an actual HOME, so there aren't mounds of crumpled fabric bits littering the floor and all available surfaces anymore. YAY! Also, uhhh.... I haven't needed to use the heater to keep my nose, toes, and rear from freezing for TWO NIGHTS now!! What a relief!! AND, I think I finally got my hands on my favorite version of one of my favorite all-time movies, Persuasion. OH! And I've been going for walks just about every day lately, so I feel like I'm doing the healthy thing fairly well. I'm really proud of that, actually.

So, hey-- let's end this on a good note. Maybe a C# or something...

Her New Name

I woke up this morning to the lovely sound of my cat puking her guts out-- repeatedly. At 5am.
Oh Joy!

Since then she has tried to drink the milk out of my cereal when I wasn't looking, walked back and forth over my hands as I typed on the computer (she makes a better door than a window, I have to say), attempted-- yet again-- to knock over the desk lamp with an overabundance of love for the heat the old-style bulb lets out, and finally curled up to purr contentedly in my lap. Which is where she is right now. Getting louder and louder until I finally reach down and pet her-- then the purr is muted again... until I stop. I feel like I'm appeasing a nucleagr reactor or something here.

As a result of this morning, her new name is "Cute Fuzzy Manipulative little Puker." Luckily, she responds well to criticisms. I've only been attacked twice.

Blatant Reminders

I find that once you get past the question of why they joined, most Argmy guys fall into two categories: Honor-Bound, and Rat-Pack. Neither group has many scruples against a good mug of beer, a good fist fight, and a good game of explosives now and then... but The HB type is very upright, even when he sits, and appears very clean cut, and knows how not to swear in front of children and old people. The RP type is more of a down-and-dirty kinda guy, who lives for the thrills, and really feels that line about "BROTHERS in arms," deeply.

I've got a new friend in the RP style of things--- and tonight he brought over a buddy of his of the HB variety. To talk with his mom (a good friend of mine whom I was also visiting with at the time), and get advice, in relation to something that happened relating to HB's divorce. And since that was a topic that I'd had experience in, they asked me to be part of the conversation. I was pleased to be there, and enjoyed the talk, but didn't really get to do more than offer "morale" support, if you know what I mean. Can I tell you that I have specifically NOT BEEN in the company of single sexy males my own age for a good 12-18 months now?!

So the universe is taunting me, with a Blatant Reminder that I am not as mature as I'd like to think, and it was so ridiculous that I had to laugh along-- You know, between coughing fits due to a sudden and unexplained allergy attack that occurred right after HB sat down next to me, and shaking like a leaf with a sudden (and more easily explained) attack of stage fright. I tell you, this HB guy was HOT!! And it became clear to me that I do indeed have a "type." Tall, muscular, reserved, funny, and intelligent. With a military hair cut and a ramrod straight spine. Who look like they'd be good cuddlers. Who sat next to me in the couch.

And all I could think was that I didn't want anybody to NOTICE that I was shaking like a teenager with a crush. And that somebody somewhere was LAUGHING AT ME because of course, here I am again, in the company of and attracted to... a soldgier. Great. And, even better, one who is just getting out of a long-term relationship (read: marriage). So I firmly reminded myself that this is EXACTLY why I still need some serious therapy (read: counseling) before I try to have a serious dating relationship ever again. I even made the same suggestion to him. Because I'm still attracted to the same kind of guy that I thought my X was. And I clearly stated that I'd be happy to talk "divorce" with him if he needed to-- which helped me put up a "possible-friend-only" boundary in my mind. (And actually possibly make it USEFUL that they included me in the conversation at all.) Easier not to obsess that way. Like I'm doing here. Over a total stranger who's just a nice, funny, intelligent guy in a bad situation.

See, this guy just happens to be an ex soldier with time in Iraq under his belt who is now in the coastguard while he gets his masters in Ornithology. DAMN he was hot!!! And basically single. And smart, and seemed like he'd be really easy to talk with on just about any topic. Oh and get this-- when his wife brought up the marriage issues, he HE *HE* suggested marriage counseling. And she turned him down. And I was shaking like a leaf for most of his brief visit (he chose to sit next to me on the couch-- did I tell you that already?)-- and had a minor allergy attack. Oh so segxy of me. And I am NOT INTERESTED IN HIM... and that's good because I doubt he'd consider dating me. And because he has, as he put it, a whole new five-year plan now. I thought I was the only person with one of those... Oh, right-- and because he's FUgCKING MILITARY. And one of RP's drinking buddies. RP who is only sometimes on the right side of the law, and is somehow always sure he's right... (And who I really like, but would never want to get on his bad side, which I somehow know I would do if I ever tried to hang out with him NOT at his mom's house. Sigh.)

But it was (and I do admit this, with good humor) kinda funny that the only guy I meet for about 16 months who actually seems attractive to me-- is military. Where are the cameras??? I just know this is another one of those ridiculous episodes of the sitcom that is my life, wherein my grand statements of "never again" and suchlike self-vindicating bull are put to the test and found to be horribly (hilariously?) full of holes.

(And, really, I hope he has good friends who can do more than get angry on his behalf to help him deal with the issues that come up in a messy divorce... I was lucky on that one. With friends like RP, maybe so is he. I love a guy who can acknowledge that sometimes his mom DOES have good advice!)

So yeah-- How was YOUR evening?

Old Hat

No shigt, there I was...
Driving home from a busy day in someone else's office. And on the way, there is the one intersection with no left turn lane, and a lot of traffic. Frustrating for everyone, I'm sure. And of course, I wanted to turn left. So I waited through one whole green light with no break in oncoming traffic-- good thing I didn't pull too far out into the intersection, because I was STUCK! And by the time the green light came around again, there were a variety of determined drivers behind me. So I pulled a little way into the intersection.

And if the guy in the blue ford right behind me hadn't been riding my bumper so close he probably couldn't even SEE my turn signal, there would have been plenty of space for them all to go AROUND me and keep on straight through that green light. But he was a minor idiot in a sea of fools at that particular moment, at that particular intersection.

And then suddenly, I SAW IT! An oncoming car lagging a bit behind the rest, with *ITS* left turn signal on, TOO! So I inched a little farther forward, and got ready to hit the gas so I could get through the darn light while it was still green-- when he made HIS left turn in front of ME! But... then I hesitated. And I'll tell you why.

I've had more than one person's share of car accidents in my lifetime, and I'm just not that old yet! And... the guy in that car with it's little left turn signal on was...

AN OLD MAN IN A HAT!!!
WITH HIS MOUTH OPEN, AND HIS LITTLE SWEET BLUE-HAIRED WIFE IN THE PASSENGER SEAT, GAZING BLINDLY OUT THE SIDE WINDOW.

So I hit my brakes, and hoped the guy in the blue ford behind me didn't just run my little grey car over and be done with it... and there... there, on the other side, away from everybody else on the other side, just where he'd have to start seriously turning, in the middle of the intersection, he realized that his turn light was on, and slowly reached around the steering wheel with his left hand, and turned it off...

And if I'd assumed that he was turning (since you know, his TURN SIGNAL was on, and he'd SLOWED DOWN WHEN ENTERING THE INTERSECTION), I'd have been the author of yet another totalled car wreck. Because that old man in that hat was going to go straight THE WHOLE TIME!!!

And that, children, is why we ignore the rude drivers behind us, and concentrate on the possibility that the guy in the oncoming lane is an idiot. Just in case. And I'm sure he was a very NICE idiot, but I'm even more sure that I really didn't want to go through another car accident. Oh, and by the way, about three cars later, there was a nice big opening, and I turned, and all the cars behind me DID make it through the poorly designed intersection before the light turned red again. Even the guy at the end of the line of cars behind me, who was ALSO planning to make a left turn.

The End.

Apocalypse Now

This is not how I would have guessed that Apocalypse was spelled... But, technically, I DID guess that it was spelled this way, and I was right. Hmmm...

Anyway, I'm writing about apocalypses because I've been DREAMING about them every night for over a week now. And I wouldn't call them nightmares. To my mind, categorizing something as a nightmare would require a certain level of emotional involvement, and waking in fear, cold sweats, etc. I don't have any of that. In fact, I'm strangely emotionally detached from the various and many different apocalyptic visions I've lived through in my dreams of late. I think the one saving grace has been the utter ridiculousness of the scenarios. I think it also has helped that when I do wake up, I realize right away that I know a better way (than the one I acted out in my dream) to handle whatever crisis I faced in my dream. It's bizarrely reassuring.

In fact, for all that last night was spent--in my weird dream, this is-- trying to find help for an injured ambulance driver after several layers of overpasses collapsed on each other (so there I was, with SLM, driving an ambulance around, missing my exits, and looking for help-- thank goodness we eventually drove past DM, who is licensed as a lesser EMT, and he had time to stop filling sandbags and come help us help the injured-- I have no idea what the sandbags were even for!)... I was surprisingly calm when I woke up part way through the dream. In fact, my first thought was-- That's dumb! I'd just have stayed with the injured guy and called 911 on my cell phone!

Previously this week, I dreamed of being a refugee in the hills of Idaho because Oregon and Washington were lost; getting caught in some sort of riots in a small midwestern town with a surprisingly large number of rioters around me, and... well... you get the picture. Whatever it is that my psyche is trying to work through (you've heard that theory about dreams being our subconscious way of working through internalized problems, right?), I really hope I'm making progress.

In other news, I've created my own organic mixed bean soup mix, and am looking forward to trying it out in my crock pot. Wish me luck. You know how well I do with crock pots...

SHOW ME THE MONEY!

Well, it turns out that even after you FINALLY RECEIVE your reissued student loan check, and deposit it into your bank account even though they put the wrong last name on it, and the bank says there are no holds on the check and the money is now available... even then, the lender can make another mistake that means you STILL DON'T HAVE YOUR STUDENT LOAN MONEY FROM JULY!!!!

In this case, they refused to fund the check. So the bank readjusted my balance, and mailed the check back to me. The student loan folks tell me that the Federal Reserve accidentally sent out duplicates of some student loan checks, and although I haven't received the duplicate, my bank hasn't had a duplicate deposit, and the loan company knows all this-- they still refused to fund the check because this was a "duplicate presentment." (Although, I'm sure the govgernment are having no trouble charging me INTEREST on the money I don't have. To help me with basic living expenses while I'm in school. Have I mentioned that I graduate in six weeks?)

Let me tell you, Higher One received the business end of my Mommy Voice yesterday. They have a deadline. And a bank account number. And they will be calling me THIS MORNING with an update that SHOULD include confirmation of a wire transfer.
...third time a charm?

The Ex Factor

It confounds me just how many different ways there are for one person to fugck with another. While still saying things like "just because we're divorced doesn't mean we can't be friends and have a civil relationship," and "I don't think we need legal paperwork for that-- I trust you."

Yeah, the legal paperwork was for ME, you dolt! And I still haven't agreed to do it. Something he obviously didn't hear the first three or four times I said it. Which totally explains most of my marriage. The rest of my marriage can be explained by the fact that he thought $350 was enough money to bribe me into agreeing with his plan, no more information needed... And that even though THIS time I managed to walk away without (this used to be MY m-o) agreeing to anything, apologizing for anything, or getting angry over anything-- I still walked away feeling belittled, ungrateful, and confused about his true motives.

And I had this horrible urge to write him an email apologizing for representing my own interests in the conversation, and coaching him through his obvious confusion about what he's allowed to show concern for as a friend vs. a significant other. Because that is what I would have done while we were married. (He stopped mid-sentence to apologize for showing an interest in and concern for my well-being, and changed the subject. It's the only time I came into the conversation at all, and it was STILL all about him! Now that takes talent.) None of which I need or want to do, actually. No, ACTUALLY, I'm furious with myself-- and with him-- for having those desires in the first place.

Now, I've been doing a very good job of relinquishing responsibility for his well-being, and halting his continued attempts to mess with me. I've just been doing it slowly-- because I had to continue interacting with him for another six months regardless of my own desires. But this one interaction threw me back (temporarily) to where I was three years ago. Not cool.

I realized that by changing the rules on me, and making his little financial offer, he'd shaken my composure to such a degree that I had lost my footing and fallen into old (and familiar) habits. Thanks to my best friend's sage observations about truth in advertising, however, I'm no longer confused, rattled, or otherwise lost. I recognize just how far I HAVE advanced in my quest to be a healthy individual. (capital H, capital I) And I'm going to make my decision based on what's best for ME, with no remorse about representing my own interests, thank you very much.

Ahhh, yes-- the Ex factor.
After all-- I was married to it. (This is actually another one of those "We Know What That Means" quotes... but that is a story for another time.)

Rotten Potatoes

I'm not going to gross you out with the details-- nobody wants to lose their appetite. What I AM going to do is tell you about the cloud of little fruit flies that billowed up when I discovered that my potatoes were no longer round on the bottom. It was an invasion.

So I've had to put a lid on the cat's food bowl (she's being quite gracious about it, really), and take out the trash every night, and clean the kitchen within an inch of its life. I tried smoking them out with a sage wand, and spraying at them with my essential oils, and swatting where they congregate on the mirror in the bathroom-- with just about no luck at all. I started to put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher right away, too. That was round one of the battle of the bugs. I'm pretty sure I lost that one.

In round two, I bought fly paper and discovered that the bugs were feasting inside my garbage disposal. So I put salt and vinegar down the drain once or twice a day now, too. That seems to have taken care of the drain divers. My flypaper strategy didn't work so well at first, however-- I'd see the fruit flies sitting on the fly paper feasting, and a while later I'd go back to see no fruit flies on the fly paper at all. But, after taking care of all other food sources, I'm relieved to report that my strategy is finally beginning to stick. And I've learned that if I cook my food and select snacks with lots of garlic in them, the bugs don't bug me much while I'm eating, which is also a relief.

This morning, however, I opened the door to the dishwasher to put my cereal bowl away, and a whole new swarm of fruit flies billowed out. Maybe only ten bugs this time, but since the old swarm is still only down by about half-- this is not good. So I'll be wasting water and running my dishwasher every night from now on, too. And the Battle of the Bugs continues.

The good news in all this is that I gave up nacho cheese chips when I got married (sad story)-- and my search for garlic-enhanced snack foods has led me back to them again. One of my favorite all time snacks. I'm truly thrilled about this. And the bugs don't bug me when I eat them, either. So, even when your potatoes rotted and your house has been taken over by fruit flies-- SOMETHING GOOD CAN COME OF IT!! (Not to mention how much cleaner my kitchen will be from now on-- and how I've finally learned the "buy only what you know you actually plan to use in the next three days" grocery shopping system, especially with potatoes.)

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. (By the way, speaking of "sticking," my favorite fruit fly death so far is the one that got itself stuck to my lint roller. VICTORY will be MINE!!)

On Procrastination

I have this book... WHERE THE HECK IS IT??? ...well... I think it's called "Eliminating Chaos." It's a great book. It even has inspired me more than once to start pulling my act together and cleaning up my home. Except right now, it's buried in a pile somewhere and I can't find it. (boy do I feel silly)

Anyway, the point is that IN THIS BOOK, the author mentions another great book-- "It's About Time!" by Dr. Linda Sapadin. The book is basically a break down and treatment of the six styles of procrastination, according to Dr. Linda. (No, not Dr. Laura. Gods, no.) I usually find self-help books to be rather silly. Either too simplistic, too full of themselves, too lacking in actual helpful "here's how" information, or just dumb. But this is one self-help book that I'm planning to buy for most of the people I know. (Okay, probably not you. But other people.) And in the meantime, you get to hear all about the great discoveries I've made, and what I intend to do about them.

(Have I mentioned lately how much I love tea? Even more than the spell-checker. Really.)

Anyway, the book includes tests so you can figure out what your major form(s) of procrastination are, your minor form(s), and which ones might be good to read just on general principles. Dr. Linda says most people have one major form, and a couple of supporting procrastination styles. And if you score over 10 on a test-- that is the major one you need to pay attention to.

Uhh.... Dr. Linda? I scored over ten on ALL of them... can I go home now?

Anyway, then I started reading the three I scored highest in. And for the first one, I kept saying-- "That isn't me! I don't do that. Do I DO that? I don't do that." So then I decided maybe my test scores were a little off. Well, so with a much lighter frame of mind (Okay, I'm not a total failure, here.), I read the one I scored second-highest in.

Oh.

Yeah... That's Me.

I can now tell you with ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY that I am a perfectionist procrastinator. I'm sure you already knew that. But see-- I didn't. And for each of the two styles of procrastination I've read so far (means you'll probably get to read more blogs about this in the future)-- there are two sides to the coin.

So with the Perfectionist Procrastinator, you either are ALWAYS WORKING WAY TOO HARD to get everything perfect-- and may not turn things in at work (or school) on time because you are still busy adding things to it to make it PERFECT-- an impossible task that leaves you constantly stressed and worried and wanting to DO MORE and BE BETTER.

Or- you're like me.

You are so worried that you won't do it perfectly (whatever it is) that you find reasons not to do it at all-- or not to do it until your time is so short-- it's the perfect excuse for the final product to be imperfect-- and it's just NOT YOUR FAULT that it's not PERFECT LIKE YOU THINK IT SHOULD BE-- and you assume everyone else thinks it should be, too. Because if you'd just had more time, you'd have done it right. Whatever "right" is.

The best thing about this book-- other than helping me see the pattern of my behavior in a clear and unavoidable fashion-- is that it also offers simple things that I could actually DO to help each style of procrastinator overcome their habit. From now on, you'll hear me changing my "should" statements to "could" options. My "have to" shackles to "want to" intentions. And a few other things, too.

And if you talk to me at any length in the next few weeks, you'll probably get to hear something else I learned from this glorious self-help book about procrastination. Applied to you. Lucky you. I've still got four more styles to learn about, too! Oh- Abbigale says Hi. She is, as usual, helping me write thsi.

...by the way...
I'm not shooting for perfection anymore, either. I just want to be a high achiever. I think maybe I can do that. Without so much stress, and so little free time. And without feeling bad about myself and how little I actually achieve (or do perfectly) anymore. What a relief.

On Smoke Alarms

Okay. They are a requirement for buying or selling a home in some states. They are supposed to keep us safe and alert us if there IS a fire in our home, with enough time to get ourselves out safely. They are usually round, and attached to an ugly hole in the ceiling, usually one for each room or area of the home. They require batteries, they have little lights that stay on at all times, and when they go off, they are REALLY LOUD. They are called Smoke Alarms.

When I was very little, we had a smoke alarm in the the 2 foot square "hallway" between bedroom and bathroom doors in my house. It was around a corner from the kitchen. And without fail, every time mom tried to bake or broil a chicken, the fire alarm went off. Loudly. Before the chicken was done cooking. And my dad would haul out the step ladder, do a lot of swearing, and pull the batteries out of the fire alarm because THERE WAS NO FIRE. There wasn't even any smoke.

When I was in high school, my mom came into my room one night. She was really worried that I somehow had a candle burning in my bedroom. I was dead asleep, and had never even considered that it would be okay to light one of the candles in my bedroom-- let alone leave it lit after I went to sleep for the night. Of course, as I WAS asleep, it took a while for the question to percolate. The conversation (in my vague memory) went like this:

shake shake
Mom, frantic: DO YOU HAVE A CANDLE BURNING??
Me: ...huh?
Mom, still frantic: DO YOU HAVE A CANDLE BURNING??
Me: ...yeah- I think there's a candle on the dresser...
Mom goes to check it, and I go back to sleep. Of course, I've never burned a candle in my bedroom, so what she found was an unlit candle.
shake shake... shake shake shake
Mom, very worried now: Honey, DO YOU HAVE A CANDLE BURNING??
Me: ...what?
Mom, getting louder, still shaking me: DO YOU HAVE A CANDLE BURNING??
Me: What candle?
Mom, full volume, agonized: DO-YOU-HAVE-A-LIT-CANDLE-BURNING-IN-YOUR-ROOM??
Me: NO!
I roll over grumbling about dumb questions and go back to sleep, mom leaves.

The next morning, I was informed that they'd found the source of the fire alarm. Fire alarm? Yeah. It was apparently going off in the background of our middle-of-the-night conversation-- and for a few minutes before and after, as well. The source? A yogurt lid had fallen out of the dishwasher rack and onto the element, where it melted into a funny shape, and let off some sort of chemical gas that could not be seen, but did set off the fire alarm quite efficiently. There was no fire.

Later, when I'd gotten married and bought a home of my own (well, a home of my husband's own), we had a wood stove. One night when he was off on a practice deployment, I'd had myself a nice fire in our old and slightly misshapen wood stove, and since the wood coals in it were still smoking when I went to bed, I left the flu open. So the smoke from the fire could continue to go out of the house via the chimney, as usual.

I woke up around 3am needing to pee, looked around, and the whole house (my bedroom was at the very back far end of the house from the wood stove) was blue with smoke-- inside. The air was chokingly thick with it. The cat and dog were still sleeping, drugged with the smoke just like I was. I crawled to a window, opened it, and took a few breaths until I could figure out what was going on. Then I panicked. THERE WAS A FIRE IN THE HOUSE SOMEWHERE!! THERE WAS A TON OF SMOKE IN HERE!! WHY DIDN'T THE SMOKE ALARM GO OFF???

Well, no. Technically, the fire was still in the wood stove. But the fast-falling cold temperatures that night had forced all the barely-warm smoke back down the chimney, and pumped it out one of the weird holes in the back of the stove, into the house, where it had been collecting and swirling for ... about five hours... undetected by the smoke/fire alarms in every room of the house, until I believe I was fairly close to being asphyxiated by it. You could barely see through all the blue-grey smokey air in the house by the time I woke up-- and I didn't wake because I smelled smoke. There was a fire, and a dangerous level of smoke in the house... and there WAS NO SMOKE ALARM. NO FIRE ALARM. NO.

This is not to say that I think an alarm that lets you know when there is a dangerous level of smoke in the house is a bad idea. On the contrary-- I think it's a great idea. I've just never owned one. Instead, I've had a chicken alarm, a plastics alarm, and a spring roll alarm. Yay. My friend, Shana, tells me it's all a racket to get us to buy 9Volt batteries (size E)... which are not good for any other purpose that we've found, besides replacing them once or twice a year in every 'smoke' alarm in every room of every house. Hey. Free Money. No advertising needed. Most people I know will do ANYTHING to stop the frantically repeated beeep beeep beeep of a smoke alarm with a low battery in it. Including spend a lot of money on a 9V battery. Hmm...

I should create a safety appliance that every household will require, and patent the energy source for it! I'd be rich in no time. It's probably even more effective than buying lottery tickets!

Last night, I got home late from an event that was supposed to include dinner. It was a fun event, but half a helping of caesar salad does not a dinner make. So I rummaged in the freezer, and pulled out some pre-cooked frozen spring rolls. I think parts of it were even organic to make me feel better about not cooking. Bake them at 450 for 15 minutes, and you have a meal with veggies, and meat. I could handle that. It was almost 11pm. I was starved. Right up until the smoke alarm started to go off. There were five minutes to go on the spring rolls, and the bubbling oil in the oven was apparently too much for the smoke alarm's delicate system. Which has withstood over five candles simultaneously burning in the same room as the smoke alarm, multiple times.

So I got to wake up all the neighbors, deposit my not-quite-cooked spring rolls on the front porch, open the whole place up for air circulation, and scare the shigt out of the cat. Luckily, the alarm was pacified after only about five minutes. At 11pm at night. People came to their doors to ask if all was well-- which I appreciate-- and so I yelled at about the same decibel level as the alarm that all was well, and I was sorry to disturb. Then I brought my cold not-quite-cooked spring rolls back into the house, closed the doors and left the windows carefully open for a bit longer, and started looking around for hidden cameras. Somebody has to be filming this stuff. It's just too ridiculous to be happening in real life.

And, as another Catachresis blogging first... I'm giving you homework.
Yes. YOU.
Please write into the comments your own experiences with the smoke/fire alarms in your lifetime. I'll bet you know of some real winners, too. And just maybe, someone will be able to give me a VALID reason for those silly little round food-alarms in our every home. Please?

Lost and Found

I was thinking recently about some of the situations the people I care about have lived through or are living through. I was thinking about lost time, lost perspective, lost income, lost friends, lost lives. And then I started thinking about what I have lived through. And about how happy I am with my life.

I lost my apartment and many of my household goods. I found that it was a great opportunity to start fresh, and not carry old associations into my new life.

I lost my marriage and my free health care. I found that I don't need all the doctor visits I'd been making... and I found myself. Free. Self-Sufficient. Reliable (though often a bit late-- it's the Leo in me). Resilient. Content with now.

I lost my husband's income and later my job. I found a better job. I also found that I alone on a small income don't carry nearly as much debt as we did together with a much bigger income, and I'm not juggling funds to make ends meet anymore either. I found that I know how to balance a budget, and how to go without cable TV and dinner out every week.

I lost my support network when I moved to a new state. I found that my support network was a lot bigger than I'd realized, and that the people who love and support you will ALWAYS love and support you-- and the people who are there for what you give them... I found that I don't miss giving myself away to selfish people. I found my own value and my own will to succeed.

I spent a lot of time worrying, and whining and complaining and analyzing all that had happened or might happen IF... But once I started trusting myself and my abilities-- and my decisions-- I realized that I am really grateful for the life I have. I have a way to support myself-- and even if I'm using the credit card to pay for my gas right now, I won't always. I have good friends who support me (and put themselves in danger to help me get out of hell)-- and who let me support them in return. I have organic food in my fridge. I have my life, my cat, and my netfix subscription to get me through until I can afford cable and dating again (time-wise, emotions-wise, AND money-wise). I have a clean little 2-room apartment with things in it that I love and that I CHOOSE TO HAVE in my space, and a sunny back patio where my geranium seeds and basil seeds and heavenly bamboo plant all thrive. (The ants are even leaving my pumpkin sprouts alone for the moment!) I have my grandmother's dining table. I have the desk my dad made for me in college. I have the creaky oak desk chair from my childhood. I have my parents' old bed frame. I have a washer and dryer, a mailing address, and a lock on the front door.

I may not have money in the bank or real chairs in my apartment for guests, but I am surrounded by love and growth and beauty. I'd take this life over any other I've lived any day of the week. And I know that if I hadn't lived through all those other times, I wouldn't be able to appreciate everything good that I have now. I just wouldn't see it, because I'd be looking for the cushy new sofa and the matching bedroom set and the big back yard and the happily-ever-after marriage. And those aren't real. What I have is real, and joyful, and I have it because I made it so.

I look at the situations that the people I care about are dealing with, and I know they are carrying burdens. I know life can be tough, and some of them are dealing with tough times. I know that I needed to talk and process to get through those hard times in my own life, and so I want to be here and be listening for them. But I also know that if their perspective doesn't broaden to include the abundance that IS in their lives, they will never find happiness. They will always be burdened by the challenges they face, and will never get to celebrate the gifts they already have-- the ones they brought into their own lives through their own efforts. The people, the pets, the safe and comfortable homes that they surround themselves with. The skills they have. The goals they set and that they will meet. The goals they've already reached.

I find myself wanting to reach through the phone and shake them. CELEBRATE, DAMMIT! But I know that right now, many of them just can't see the reasons to do so. And I know I wouldn't want their challenges for myself. I guess the difference is that I believe I can create the life I want for myself. If I will positive change, and focus my energy on what I'm working toward. If I take the right steps and put can-do energy into the world-- I know that is what I'll get back.

Bad things do happen to good people-- and it is not that good person's fault if they bump into a mass murderer on a tear or something. But I can say about my life that the big bad things I've overcome all had great lessons to them. I never want to live through them again-- and I don't wish those or any other bad times on anyone-- but I wouldn't be as full and great a human being now if I hadn't had those very experiences. If you could hear what goes on in my mind when I realize I've got a BIG REASON to complain-- it would sound a bit like this:

"Oh, hegll. This sucks. Great. Another reason to grow. Well, what can I learn from THIS one? What might be going on to make that person do that? Can I think of anything that could possibly put me in their shoes one day? ...Well, I guess I can have a bit of compassion. (or-- Nope. I'm so glad I will never be like this person!) Man, personal growth is exhausting. I'd better plan some down time into my week. Okay. You know, this is actually a good thing in some ways, because ...." And suddenly, it's not all bad. Of course, sometimes this process takes 2 minutes, and sometimes it takes 2 months. Depends on the situation. And on how fast I can grow to encompass the lessons I take from it. Growth itself is definitely not predictable. And, in the meantime, my friends will definitely be getting that call from me where all I want to do is process and whine.

Yeah, I do that. But inside... inside I know my life is full of reasons to celebrate, and abundance is everywhere, if only I choose to look. I've experienced a lot of loss in my life-- but I've found so much more because of it. Things WILL improve. I will make it so.

And by the way, I find it very strange that the spell-check on the blog postings editor does not recognize the word "okay" in it's proper grammatical spelling. It gets a red highlight every time. Weird. Did the computer geeks who make the latest programs NOT KNOW that ok is an abbreviation?? Well... I guess I can see how that would be so. I'm certainly reliant on the spell-check feature as it is. I guess it's a good thing that the one word it doesn't know is one I don't actually have any questions about!

Downbeat is NOT a Vegetable

The ants are back. I'm actually impressed by their sheer tenacity, in spite of myself. And the things I've chosen to do to try and over come them. The ants are back.

(This is where I spontaneously burst into a slightly altered rendition of "The Cat Came Back, the Very Next Day, Yes the Cat Came Back, and He Was Going to Stay...")

And they have decided to swarm my favorite new little plant sprout. Gussie? I warn you now, I'm bringing a REALLY CUTE little plant sprout to you as a gift, in a neat little ceramic container, the next time we get together to do quilting and gab. You'll love it. (RIGHT?!) With a little regular watering, you'll soon have tons of baby jack-pumpkins in YOUR OWN YARD... and if you pluck them when they are a nice color, and set them in the direct sun of your back porch for five days to cure, maybe you'll even give a couple of them back to me as Jack himself. I promise to love them forever if you do. And what will be better than hangin' with Jack-P and the babies in your own back yard bar-be-q later this summer? They are, after all, an edible squash. I mean, really. What could be better? And don't worry- I plan to visit them regularly to check on their progress. (Just kidding. I know you'll give my sprouts a fair shot, and if they don't make it, well... the ants probably came back... and finished the job.)

Also, speaking of hidden messages, have you ever gotten a communication from someone you thought was a good friend that you were actually keeping in touch with... even though you both moved away about the same time, in opposite directions? A communication that left you with the question.... "So... is she divorced now, or just self-fulfilling all of a sudden (she's painted her new apartment pink), or is her husband in another country for a while, possibly fighting in a war?" ...And when you got that email, were you too afraid to ask direct prying questions because it's obvious something has majorly changed in her life, and she didn't bother to tell you about it in the first place? Leading to the observation that you probably aren't as good of friends as you thought... now that you don't live in the same place and have similar husband issues to commiserate over... since I, myself, am DEFINITELY DIVORCED, AND SELF-FULFILLING, AND MY EX is DEFINITELY IN ANOTHER COUNTRY... fighting in a war or something... probably or something... (Don't worry-- I was lovingly supportive and patriotic and devoted to him the whole time we were married. And I still support our soldiers-- from a distance. A safe distance.)

Oh- and by the way, speaking of exness, mine recently came up with the observation that if he hadn't decided to get stationed out of the country, our marriage probably would still be going fine. Say WHAT? Ex-cuse me? Ex-plain that one! (My historical account of events is that we planned to go to another country together, then we divorced (well, we started the process), and he switched his orders to go get more schooling in-country, and later (well after the divorce was granted) selected a post in the country in which he currently resides.... leaving anything about leaving the country and reasons for divorce totally unrelated.... in my mind, that is.) Exness is a very confusing state of comprehension at times. I relate it to pickled beats. I have no comprehension of them either.

It amazes me that so many people can visit the state of Exness, and nobody has yet devised a way to post helpful directional signs to make it at least a little bit less confusing. You know-- This is the row for stunted carrots, and If you want really dirty couch potatoes, they're two rows up... and Frantic indecision is natural when trying to make supermarket selections post-divorce, please take your second left for greater self-awareness of personal vegetable preferences. Signs like that.

Personally, I think my sign would say "lost in translation, please check back later" on it just about now. It would be followed shortly by a very unusual sign with pink-and-yellow polka dots on it, clarifying that the one-way bridge you just crossed was for folks who are now "totally disinterested in following rules or or expectations set down by others, even if they are for your own good." It's a dangerous path, and because I chose to take it, my school work often suffers. Apparently, so do my vegetable sprouts. I suspect most teenagers would relate. And, judging from lunch yesterday, so would two-year-olds. Only their garden veggies end up cold and mushy on the dinner plate until they finally give in and eat them (or bedtime happens), and mine are just being taken away from me by the combined forces of ants and Management. Which doesn't explain my problems with school work. Sigh...

All I want is a nice warm fresh veggie soup, dammit! Can you think of anyplace with more rules, fewer personal accommodations, and higher expectations than an online graduate program about the science of providing 100% correct information 100% of the time? What was I THINKING??? And why wasn't there a sign to help me find a better road?? Who WANTS to be right all the time?? How boring. And besides, is anybody really capable of being always 100% correct, and still SANE???

(Which leads nicely into my latest theory that people who live in insane asylums probably get lots of sleep and regular meals and time to garden... and wouldn't that be nice?... of course, they probably don't serve much ice wine, ice cream, or let you play with power tools and sewing machines in those sorts of places... and there'd probably be rules... hmm)

So anyway, my vegetable garden is growing smaller by the hour, and Downbeat is definitely the word of the afternoon. I started the day with such high hopes, too. I was happy, the sun was out, the wind was blowing, I knew what my plans were for the day, and they included really getting some homework DONE, man... And now it's dinner time. And I'm blogging. And the homework ain't happened yet. Downbeat. It's not a vegetable. Just a vegetative state.

Crazy Ants

Ants. They are indefatigable, lift many times their weight, have exoskeletons, specialize in either sugar, grease, wood products, or meat, live all over the earth, and we still don't know how they communicate with each other. They can hold their breath for up to 14 days under water, they often herd aphids for aphid milk (udderly ridiculous!), wage war againts creatures much larger than they are, build incredibly sturdy homes, and they outnumber people on earth by millions to one. Oh, and they have a very strict socio-economic hierarchy. These ones scout, these others fetch and carry food, those there tend the larva, and that one? She's the queen.

Ants have also been making regular forays into my apartment for several months. I thought I took care of the problem last year, when I found them marching solemnly and quickly toward a box that contained some random bits of sewing remnants, and a couple of empty salt water taffy rappers, on the floor of my bedroom. These, I classified as "sugar ants," and handled with minimal swearing. I also discovered, in the process, that my cat likes to eat sugar ants. And rub on the walls where they've been walking. Repeatedly. Have you ever been waken up by your cat rubbing ecstatically against a WALL?? For a small, soft, and fuzzy being, her wall-rubbing was extremely loud at 3am. Between my squishing and spraying them with bleach (diluted), and her eating and rubbing technique, the ants quickly became a random memory.

Then, the day before my big open house/new year celebration... I found more of them. Same wall, different room. They were headed toward my dining table, and a half-eaten box of Panda Bear Licorice Bites. Hmmm... So Abbigale and I did our eat/squish and then rub/spray routine, and I found an article in a book that said ants hate peppermint. I sprinkled peppermint oil around like it was baking powder... and then had to air out the place for several hours so we could tolerate the smell. But it was worth it-- NO ANTS appeared on the day of the celebration. I figured if I stopped leaving sugar-heavy foods open and near THAT WALL, and occasionally sprinkled a little peppermint oil around, I'd be fine. And I was. Until the Friday before last. That's what- six weeks?

On Friday, I found about six ants in the living/dining room, and about six ants in the bedroom. They were all up near or on the ceiling, and they were definitely on a mission. A far-flung and widely ranging mission that seemed to be slowly making its way toward my kitchen. Not good. So I got out the bleach spray, and started squishing/spraying everything that moved (except the cat, who appears to be near sighted). On Sunday I admitted defeat, and went to the landlord. Turns out the outside of the buildings get sprayed on a regular basis, and it's no big deal to have the exterminator come inside and handle things there as well. And whadaya know, he was going to show up on Monday. I could wait another 12 hours.

On Tuesday, he showed up and though we didn't see any live ants at the time (of course), he sprayed about 10 feet of baseboard in each room-- along THAT WALL where I usually saw the ants. "They start from the bottom, and go up," says he. Okay. Fine. As long as they don't discover the kitchen, and stop disturbing my meals. Just to be safe, I did a thorough kitchen cleaning and put all my food in plastic containers or in sealed plastic bags, before the exterminator got there. It needed to be done, and I didn't want to eat poison in case he decided to bogmb the place. No bogms, just a nozzle and a carefully aimed spray. A totally useless, carefully aimed spray.

No ants Wed/Thur. I was so relieved. I hate the chemicals, but the peppermint oil wasn't cutting it somehow. And I hated worse to squish the ants, so it was good they were gone. Surely I could tolerate a little chemical spray for THAT! Yeah. Well. This last Friday, the ants were back. Six or seven in each room. On the ceiling. Some actually made it to the kitchen ceiling, even. Not cool.

Saturday night, last night, I was still doing the spray/squish routine, but the spraying wasn't even working anymore. I'd score a direct hit, and five minutes later the ant would crawl off to explore some other part of the house. Completely undeterred by a short refreshing little bath in the bleach water. There has got to be a camera recording my futile efforts to defy nature around here somewhere. Who ever heard of ants that could withstand BLEACH for cryin' out loud?! That night I dreamed about ants walking on my face. Whadaya know-- when I woke up, there WAS an ant crawling on my face. I could just picture the dream sequence being played out with the wavy lines on the TV screen and the gentle tickle of an imaginary feather being drawn across the central character's sleeping face, and then waking up screaming to the reality of the ants... There was definitely more swearing this time around.

I've reclassified the ants, by the way. They are not sugar ants. They are Invaders.
I
Feel
Invaded
!

So I let management know about the little resurgence --or insurgence, depending on your point of view. And I bought a bunch of ant bait. I feel like a murderer and a sell-out, but I feel worse squishing ants all the time... and I REALLY felt nasty waking up to one actually crawling ON me. Called my dad for advice on this one, too. Dads know about getting rid of ants and caulking windows and things. At least, mine always does. His perspective was that the ant was just exploring some new territory (my face)... but I should not use a spray. I should use bait, so the whole colony would die, and there wouldn't be any more fun little forays across my ceiling (or anywhere else) by any new little scout ants who didn't learn their lesson the last three times around. And since I haven't awoken to the cat's ecstatic wall-rubbing this month, I am assuming they've managed to find paths that avoid her. Thus eliminating my fears that she'll eat poisoned ants and get sick.

Now, I'm trying to be positive. I'm reading about how March 21-- the Spring Equinox-- celebrates the reunion of Kore and Demeter in ancient lore. (Mother and daughter Goddesses, they were separated by the god of the underworld (Hades) when he convinced the daughter to eat six pomegranate seeds while his captive, thus condemning her to spend six months of every year in the underworld. Kore --also known as Diana in some versions-- was so sad and angered by her daughter's kidnapping that she allowed all the crops to die and the clouds to cover the sun for many weeks. This was the ancient Greek and Roman explanation of Winter. So the return of Spring, and of Demeter, and of the spark of life to the land, were really a reason to celebrate!)

And did you know that March 25th was the Roman holiday of Hilaria? Yeah-- Laughing Day. A whole day set aside just to enjoy laughter, celebration, and JOY! Probably a good way to handle all that Spring Fever, too. And it got me thinking... maybe it's about time to have a really fun get together with some friends, and do something silly. Since I'm still on a dating time-out, I can't think of a better way to usher in Spring than to join together with good friends, and have a good laugh!

But first I have to go take another shower-- I feel crawly.

Esoteric

It's such a fun word. I don't have a post topic to go with it... but I really like that word.

About the insane asylum for the criminally manipulative... I'm still really glad I don't work there anymore. In fact, I am MORE GLAD NOW than I was four months ago. According to the Feds, I am supposed to receive my W-2's on or near the 31st of January at the latest-- by law. Well, I'm here to tell you that just finally today, I got them. Well, no. I didn't get them. I got a photocopy of my ex-boss's Copy D of my W-2's. Because after I contacted her about not getting them (the second time), she actually looked into it. (I'd like to point out that today is March 3rd.)

Apparently, it would have cost her $45 to get a new copy of MY W-2's sent to me from the company who does her office taxes... and she just wasn't willing to spend that kind of money to meet legal requirements for someone she never wants to see again anyway. And of course, how could that office (the Insane Asylum for the Criminally Manipulative) possibly pass up another last opportunity to fugk with me. I mean, really.

Did you know that "elfish" means "Elvish. Formerly also (of a thing), unmanageable." And that the page of my New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, volume 1, on which this definition is located has twelve other words I've never even heard of before?! Wow. I mean-- there are only 27 words on the page to begin with. That is a sad average. I'll just have to start reading the dictionary in my free time, that's all. The good news is that I have no free time, so I won't be doing that any time soon. I love setting realistic goals for myself.

Ahh... and here is the page in the dictionary where I learn that "essoteric" actually only has one S in it. I see. As an adjective, the word means "1. Of a philosophical doctrine, mode of speech, etc) designed for or appropriate to an inner circle of advanced or privileged disciples; communicated or intelligible only to the initiated; initiated into or belonging to an inner circle. 2. Not openly stated or admitted; confidential; secret." Then the definition goes on to state that "the magician is an esoteric figure-- part priest, part philosopher, part artist." Right. Okay. Esoteric. Hmm.

Shana, I swear I'm almost ready to start my homework. And I got a 9 of 11 on my intelligence quiz today, too. Which, according to the test results on the page you sent me, means I should have an exciting love life that will burst into full bloom any time now. I hope it waits until I graduate. I don't need any more distractions. Really.