Update on Life

It dawned on me that my last post was kind of crappy and maybe I should update the 2 or 3 readers I do have.   When last we met I was going for an MRI to assess what exactly was going on in my coochie.  My first MRI.  I was cocky as hell when they asked me, several different times, if I was claustrophobic.  "No, not at all," I said with swagger.  So off I went with my friend AS in tow for moral support.  To say everything leading up to the MRI was a debacle would be an understatement. I was sent to the wrong area of the hospital.  I had the wrong body part to MRI listed on my order. Everywhere we went there was no actual employee of the hospital, just volunteers who are minimal help.  And when we finally get to the MRI location, the volunteer there is a dead ringer for Fred Gwynne!  

After a brief wait, Herman Munster informs me that they are ready for me and a technician comes out to get me.  We go back, I put on some ginormous scrub pants because I foolishly wore jeans not thinking that the zipper can't go into the machine.  I'm lead to the the scary ass looking MRI machine, lay down and get some earphones.  I ask them to put on 91.3 the Summit because it doesn't have commercials and I would most likely hear something good.

OK... I'm ready, the table starts moving and suddenly my swagger is GONE!!!  My palms start to sweat, my head gets dizzy and I want to put my arms up and stop the table from moving into the big freaking iron lung looking thing.  OMG!   I had no idea I'd be so terrified by it.  But I was.   I really really was.   After a little reassurance from the techs, the table started moving again and I started to freak out, but then they said, "that's as far as we're going."  Phew!   My head was still out of the machine and I could see the ceiling.   I felt so relieved, still nervous and stuff, but relieved that I could see out.  That is until the radio came on and I heard these words, "And now John Fogarty in concert!"  Oh shit, are you telling me I have to listen to John Fogarty live for the next 40 minutes!? What have I done!   I couldn't change it now, they started.  Well luckily it was only one song and after that I actually heard some great stuff that helped calm me tremendously (Siouxie, Iggy, Echo and the Bunnymen, Bowie).  It is true that music can sooth the savage beast.  And after one little snafu, I was done in about 50 minutes.   My friend AS was getting worried and I think she ended up asking Herman Munster if I was ok.  He didn't know, of course.

My doctor called on Monday (since the MRI was a Friday) and indicated some worry.   It turns out that there was still no definitive answer as to what was lodged in my cooter, but she was certain it had to be removed and soon.  She also was sure this would be an OR situation because the size was even more significant than they expected.  I opted to have this done immediately, much to my doctors relief.  She told me later that she was thinking that this was something very very bad because the location was unusual and the tests were inconclusive.  Surgery was scheduled for the following Wednesday and I would be out of work for at least 2 weeks (I work Jan-Apr).

While all this was going on, Mom's dog was undergoing his own trauma.  Turns out he had been munching on his blankie on and off for who knows how long, weeks, possibly months.  So much so that he was no longer able to pass the wool that accumulated in his little belly (he's a toy poodle). This little guy was very very sick.  He ended up having surgery the day before I did.  Mom was supposed to come to the hospital with me, but now her other baby was sick and he was unable to do so.  Instead I decided I'd go visit her the night before my surgery and maybe we could calm each other down.  I was scared and worried.  The lingering idea that I might have cancer was still there. At this point I was no longer getting much reassurance from my doctor.

When I got to mom's she informed me that we had to go pick up the little guy from the vet and take him to the animal clinic so he could be monitored overnight and her vet didn't offer that service.  This might be the last thing I want to do the night before surgery but I do.  And it's insane.  The little guy had a huge ball of wool removed and a third of his intestines.  He's still pretty doped up but we take him and go to the clinic to drop him off.  This was not a quick and easy undertaking and it ended up taking, all totaled, about 4 hours.  At this point it is too late for me to eat so I never got dinner that night and I never got to express my own fears.  When I left my mom's at almost 10 pm, I cried the whole way home.  I was scared, upset and had gotten no reassurance or comfort because the pooch needed it more.  I'm not saying this because I'm bitter or blame my mom.  It's just how I felt at that time... scared, nervous.   I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am.  I was a mess of emotions, and yes worried about the pooch too.

The morning of surgery I took some anti-anxiety meds that I have since they told me I could and it helped tremendously.  After checking it, it all becomes a blur as drugs are administered and things get underway.  The last thing I remember is moving myself from the gurney to the OR table, looking up at the lights and then being woken up in the recovery room and having to pee like mad!  A nurse came and walked me to the bathroom, and this ended up being the first of several hobbly wobbly journeys to the restroom in recovery.

Luckily I was able to go home that afternoon and didn't have to stay overnight.  But to say my recovery was horrible would probably be an understatement.  In fact, now, 3 months later, I'm still not completely recovered.  I was unable to sit without leaning to the side for 2 weeks.  I had to use icepacks and take pain medications.  I said often that the irony of the situation is that I spent 50 years not having kids only to end up dealing with the aftermath of childbirth!   Just my luck.

Happily the baseball that was removed from my lady bits was nothing terrible.  In fact, the doctors don't even really know how/why I got it or what it actually was.   Oh they analyzed it and were able to determine that it was comprised of fatty tissue, fibrous tissue and hematoma, but there is no name for it other than vulvar mass and it was completely benign.  I'm extremely lucky and I know it and am so grateful for it.

The ordeal is behind me, but I can't help but have a small worry in the back of my mind that it will reappear.   I try not to, but it's difficult to ignore.  It showed up out of nowhere, with no explanation so who's to say it won't happen again?  And I do still have lingering sensation in the area.   In fact, sometimes I feel like a dude... constantly aware of my genitals.  But I'm good.  :)

How Do You Top January 28

Yesterday was without a doubt one of the worst days of my life that didn't involve losing a loved one.  Let's back up to December 30, when I discovered a lump in a delicate area, if you get my meaning *wink wink*.  That was a Wednesday and my primary doctor isn't in, so I called my gynecologist. There... mystery over ha!   Anyway, no one was available to see me that day but they could see me the next, which was weird because it was New Year's Eve.  I was nervous but glad they were able to see me quickly.  Trying to be logical I realized that this thing, whatever it was, wasn't there the day before and it couldn't be anything too terrible if I never noticed it before.  And believe me, it was noticeable.  So I go to my appointment the next day and I'm seen by a midwife since all the doctors had taken off.  There ya go, I knew it seemed weird they were open.  Anyway, she diagnosed what I had as a bartholin's cyst.  It's nothing worrisome and it's fairly common.  Cool.  It can sometimes be treated with antibiotics so she prescribed me some and I made an appointment for a follow up the next week with my doctor.   I was then told the size of mine was "significant".  This is a word I heard four times in regards to the size of my cyst.  It was said by the midwife, by 2 nurse friends I know and by my doctor the next week.

Significant:  sufficiently great or important to be worthy of attention; noteworthy

What can I say, I always strive to be the best and if I have to have a cyst, let it be the biggest most noteworthy cyst ever!

The next week I go see my regular gynecologist and she agrees that it is a bartholin's and gives me a different antibiotic since the "significant" size had not decreased.  If that didn't work, then she wold take a needle to it and drain it.  Ew!  But ok.  The antibiotic did not work, at least not on the cyst.  It did however get rid of the bronchitis that I had at the same time.  So, silver lining.

We scheduled my cystecomy (which I'm pretty sure is not an actual word and I think I might have just made it up) for January 28, yesterday.  I was ready.  While this bit of significance in my coochie was not painful or at all bothersome in any way, I really don't want it there anymore.  So I was ready to get rid of it.  Well, I got numbed up and the needle went in and nothing came out.  So a scalpel went in, and nothing came out (well some blood came out, but that was just from the incision).  My doctor was a little taken aback that nothing happened and decided that she probably shouldn't keep digging around down there and instead decided to send me to a specialist who may be more equipped to rid me of this thing.

While I was standing at the nurse's desk as the nurse tried to find me a specialist with an opening yesterday I heard her say this... "yes, gynecology oncology".   My eyes popped out of my head and landed on the desk.  This is nothing anyone ever wants to hear and not at all what I was expecting. And of course, the tears started to fall down on her desk.  And I couldn't stop them.  I'm in full blown freak out.  Oncology?  What?  I have cancer now? Are you kidding me?  I was told my fucking lube gland backed up!  That was the last I heard, not that I might have cancer!  The nurse is trying to be reassuring and saying that it's just precaution and not to get ahead of myself.  But I'm so far ahead of myself at this point I don't know what to do.  I leave the office with an appointment for 12 noon (same day, yesterday) with the gynecology oncologist.  And go to my car to cry some more.

I called the man, and told him and said I would be calling my mom to go with me.  He was obviously flummoxed and didn't know what to do or say.   I called my mom and told her I was on my way and what was going on.  She was on the spot, "I'll be ready when you get here."  So off I went, crying all the way, talking to my friend LP who has a calming way about her and has experienced many of the medical things I have so she's my most often go to when things get medical.  And she did calm me, somewhat.  But there was always that looming voice, "you have cancer" in the back of my head.  

After picking up mom and getting her the obligatory iced coffee, we were off.   While driving, the man texted asking where the appointment was and what the doctors name was so he could meet me there.  It takes awhile but he most often does figure out the right thing to do, and he did.  I waited until I arrived at the appointment and texted him to tell him the info and he said he would meet me there.  I was very early and he wasn't too far away, so it worked out.  I had a zillion papers to fill out as a new patient anyway.  So after I filled them out, I was called in.  My mom wanted to go in with me but the man had yet to arrive so I told her to wait out there for him.  

At this point, I am still bleeding from the wound in my coochie from the scalpel but it's not too bad. The oncologist came in and was like a dream.  She was the best I could have ever asked for.  She was kind, gentle, soothing and very reassuring.  And while her diagnosis wasn't definitive, she was "reasonably sure" that what I have is not cancer.  OMG, I could have kissed her!!  I had just come off several hours of absolutely panic, which by the way, reflected in my BP when they took my vitals. The nurse who took my vitals commented on my BP being high and I told her that they were closer to normal earlier in the day at my other doctors appointment but that I'm very nervous right now.  She reassuringly said, "honey, everyone who comes in that door is nervous."  And I don't doubt it at all.  So, I am having an MRI on Tuesday (2/2) to assess what it is, it's exact size and location and we will take it from there on the course of action.   It will be removed, she just needs to figure out if it can still be an in office easy peasy procedure, or a surgical not so easy peasy.  All I need to do is get a blood draw to make sure my kidneys are functioning normally.  They need to know this info because they use contrast during the MRI.

If I say the blood draw was fun, would you think I'm nuts?   It was kind of fun though.  The girl who was doing my draw was a student and when I rolled up my sleeve she caught a little glimpse of my Frankenstein tattoo.  Well, now her and her supervisor had questions, and wanted to see everything I had and were so excited by all my tattoos, especially my Sicily tattoo and my Grandma tattoo.  I was more than happy to show them and talk about something far more fun than cancer or blood or coochie lumps.  The amusing thing is, the supervisor kept saying "oh that was my favorite show!" when she was looking at Frankenstein and his Bride.  I think she thought they were the Munsters!  lol

Is that the end of the story?  Nope.  The rest of the day seemed business as usual.  Lunch, a little shopping, take mom home and then home.  It was a long day, I was very tired and emotionally drained and just wanted to be home, in my jammies, on my couch.  I was about 3 miles from my goal, when, while at a stoplight, fully stopped, I was rear ended by another car.  Are you fucking kidding me!?  I want this day to just go away!   January 28 fucking sucks donkey balls.  I was not hurt (a little sore today but that's standard) and neither was my car.  It's quite shocking actually because I was really really slammed, hard. The woman who hit me was hit by the kid behind her.  And yes, he was a kid.  A mere 18. Cute as can be and devastated beyond belief that this happened.   It was his second or third accident and he will most likely lose his license.  

The woman in the middle, however, was a complete raving bitch.  Granted, my first instinct upon impact was "WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!" and apparently it was hers too.  I didn't get out of the car the second it happened but I heard her screaming at the kid.  Screaming!!!   And he was probably in some version of shock. His airbag had deployed.  Mine didn't, hers didn't.  I know accidents are upsetting. This is the second time I was rear ended in several months.  There are a lot of emotions and anger is one of them.  And ok, her car was brand new (3 months old) it was really fucked up and so was his. But she continued to berate this kid over and over and over.  He was so upset and crying and she never relented.  I felt so bad for him.  He swore he wasn't texting.  His version is that he was trying to change lanes, turned around to see if any cars were coming so he could move over and didn't see that we were stopped.  

So it becomes a matter of waiting for police and then filling out police reports.  Me and the bitch sat in the back of the police cruiser filling out our papers and she kept making calls to tow trucks, to Nissan dealers (because dammit, her car had to be fixed with certified Nissan parts!).  The cop finally told her to get off the phone and do that later!   Thank you occifer, shut that bitch up already before I slap the shit out of her!  And after all that, I finally got to go home. All in all, my crapola day started around 8:30 am and ended a little after 7.  And it was the longest eleven-ish hours ever.  Fuck you January 28.  

Bullet Train to 50

Well, my lose 50 by 50 diet failed miserably.  No, that's not exactly true.  It started out great but then it failed miserably.  But this doesn't mean I won't try again.  I will.  But with only 10 more days to that big day, it's not going to happen on time.

I'm trying to come to terms with that number.  That 5, that 0.  It seems so evil.  50.  I guess my problem with it all is that I don't feel 50.  I really don't.  Mentally I feel about 18 maybe.   Physically, well sometimes I feel older than 50 especially this week *cough* *sneeze* *wheeze*.   Fifty means more than half my life is over.  It means I'm no closer to doing the things I want to do.  It means I have to start thinking about things like retirement funds and AARP and life insurance.  All that is just too adult.  I'd rather be going to a concert or thinking about that fabulous pair of Fluevog's I want to buy.   I don't want to think about who's going to take care of me in my old age.  

Sometimes I feel like I've missed out on some great times.  Actually I don't just think it, I know it. When the one you're with has no zest for life, no interest in exploring the world, no desire at all to do anything other than maintain the mundane life that he's leading, eventually a few things happen. You fall right into the same rut, which I did, for far too long.  Or you snap out of it and decide to do the things you want to do, with or without him.  Which is now what I have been doing.  Life is too short, far too short.  Yesterday I was making my First Communion in second grade and in 10 days I turn 50. WTF!?  

I have learned through the years to never declare something I am "determined" to do.  I think it sets one up for failure.  But I would like to secure a full time job (yes, still looking even though I have a pretty great temporary job that I will be going back to soon), I would like to travel, I would like to make a commitment to fun.  

I don't know, does that seem attainable?

A Bit Discouraged

My faithful 3 or 4 readers have probably been wondering why I haven't posted an update to the Lose 50 by 50 Challenge I gave to myself.  Well I have nothing to report other than falling off the diet wagon.  It sucks.  It feels so good to lose and to weigh myself and see loss.  And then to fall off so epically is just sad.  Sad sad sad!!!   Now granted, I had a few occasions to celebrate and they included going out and living it up.  You're allowed to do that, even on a diet. You can have special occasions.  You can cheat occasionally.  But you can't just keep cheating.  I feel like I've done that, in the "what's one more burger going to do?" kind of way.  And then I beat myself up and feel like shit and then find something to eat.  It's a viscous cycle.

I know now that I will not make it to 50 by 50.  I only have a little over 2 months to go and it's just not possible.  But I am going to try for 30 by 50!   Giving up completely is not an option.  After a visit to the doctor this week, I was told again that I should lose a few... well more than a few.  So the importance of this for my health will be a driving factor, in addition to the cute clothes I want to fit into.  Sadly, cute clothes is probably a bigger motivator, but that's neither here nor there.  Whatever works right!?   So it's time to jump back on the wagon... here we go!

A New Day, A New Attitude

My meltdown of a week ago is behind me.  I decided that dress was not meant to be... from the backorder, to the broken zipper, to a tear in the bodice (that I didn't even notice when I wrote my last entry).  It's sad because I loved that dress so much but it is what it is. And I won't be going out shopping for another one.  I will just make due with something I already have in my closet.  I'm just not at a point where I can buy something dressy and feel good in it yet.  I'm ok with that.  As my friend T so eloquently said to me this week...  

"We (myself included) tend to forget that weight loss/gain is a LOT like credit card debt. No one runs up $40,000 of credit card debt in just one year. It happens over a long period of time. You can't expect to pay off that much debt in just 6 months. Same with weight. You'll get there, I have faith."

I needed that reminder (although I think if I tried really hard, I could wrack up a $40,000 debt in one year on Fluevog's alone lol), thanks so much for that T and for everyone who messaged me or commented on my FB page. You all really did make me feel better after I spent a few days feeling like shit and beating the hell out of myself for not being where I want to be at this point in my challenge. I've been avoiding the scale and just feeling down about it all... the diet, some family stuff and other dramas that came out of nowhere. But if you know me, you know I can't be Debbie Downer for too long. It's just not me. I like to laugh too much. So I regrouped, tried very hard this week and discovered today that I am at a total of 12 lbs. lost! I was hoping to be closer to 20 lbs. lost at this point but I'll take it. In fact I'm pretty fucking thrilled. Onward and upward! I have 112 more days until the big day. I don't know that I can reach the goal but I'm going to give it my all! That's all I can really do right?

Emotions and Setbacks

You know that time you were on a diet and felt so good about it... so good that you couldn't wait to weigh yourself the coming week?  Yeah well my warm fuzzies about this diet have all but disappeared.  I've had some setbacks emotionally.  My attitude has changed a bit and I just don't feel as good about my progress as I was.

But then the big blow happened.  I decided to order a dress I've been eying online, to wear to the man's nieces wedding in October.  I even ordered it a size that I thought was too big so it can be altered.  I've been eying this dress a long long time.  And then it seemed to take a long time to get it. I contacted the company about it and they said it was backordered (um, a notice about that would have been nice).  But it seemed as though the backorder wouldn't be too long and I'd still have it in time for the wedding and if it needed alterations.

Well, the dress arrived today.  It arrived with a broken zipper, and even with the broken zipper, I tried to try it on.  Not going to happen.  There was no way this dress was going to get on my body, broken zipper or not.  And that is an emotional kick in the gut.  Especially when you think 1) you're doing so well and b) you bought it a size too big.

So now the dress goes back and I refuse.... REFUSE, to up the size.  I won't do it.  It's too mentally devastating when you're trying to make that number go down, to have to instead have it go up.  It hurts.  This now is reminding me of the time I was looking for a dress for my brothers wedding and I had crying jag after crying jag in dressing rooms of stores because that fucking number of a size devastates me so completely.

The funny thing is, most of the time I feel pretty good about myself.  Most of the time I think I'm pretty friggin hot in fact.  Today I feel like the fattest, ugliest person on the planet.  And all because of a number on dress with broken zipper, and I didn't even break it!

Is It So Wrong?

Here is a lose 50 by 50 update... I have lost a total of 8.2 lbs.  It's been a little over a month and I had hoped to average about 10 lbs. a month, but I'm not complaining!  It's been difficult.  Mainly because.....

Is it's so wrong that I like food?   I love cooking, baking, creating and eating.  I love going out to eat and trying new things and new places.  Why do these loves have to reflect on my waistline?  Why can't I be one of those people who can have whatever they want and never gain an ounce?  Eh, I'm not so instead I have to shhh.... diet

Honestly though, it hasn't been too bad.  I kind of get lost sometimes for lunch.  I mean really, how many salads can you eat?  I like salad and all, I just get bored with them after while.  

The truth is, I'm excited about this diet.  I feel good about it.  I don't feel like I'm putting too much pressure on myself.  But I did make one very drastic error that took the wind out of my sails for several days.  I was staying at my brother's for a few days while he and my sis in law were out of town, taking care of the dogs and the house.  The diet was just fine.  But without thinking I stepped on the scale in their bathroom.  I fell into an immediate funk because their scale was about 3 lbs heavier than mine, so it showed me at a rather substantial gain while I've been killing myself to eat healthy.  I just wanted to cry.  

It took several people talking me off the ledge and my own eventual realization that everyone has their own way of cheating, er, dieting.  And just because their scale read a certain way didn't make it so.  But when I came home I was too afraid to get on the scale so I waited a few days.  By then I was down and felt much better about it.   Lesson learned.  My scale, and my scale only!

I've been a little bad this weekend, it being a holiday weekend and all with cook outs and people visiting and all that stuff.  But hey, you have to cheat once in awhile.  I firmly believe that if you deprive yourself too much, you will only crave those things more and then you're in real trouble.   So I refuse to beat myself up over a little blip.  As Scarlett so famously said, "after all, tomorrow is another day!"

I leave today with the biggest words of wisdom I have ever read...

She's Alive... ALIVE!!

Friday night I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland to see the documentary about the band The Damned, "Don't You Wish We Were Dead".   It was the only area screening of the film, it was about a band I love, and it was free.  What more could anyone ask for?  I'd been looking forward to this night for weeks.  The man even wanted to go.  Shocking I know.  The man has made it his life mission to never experience anything outside of Akron ever again, or at least it seems like.

From the moment we parked the car I knew it was going to be a great night.  I even found a rare, lucky free street spot near the Rock Hall, further solidifying that this is going to be a great night.  We took our seats, our friend V having come with us, and very soon a representative from the Rock Hall came out to speak for a few minutes, then he introduced the director, Wes Orshoski, who also spoke briefly.  Now it's time for the movie!

The movie was fantastic!  I loved ever single minute of it.  The attention to detail, the flow, the personalities, the history, and the music... oh my god, the music!   And while the outcome of the movie is a little sad, this fan was left very very happy with the experience.

But it's the aftermath that compelled to write today.  Being out, in Cleveland, the city I love, being a part of the music scene I love.  This is what it's about.  This is what makes me feel alive.  I didn't run into anyone I knew at the movie.  I didn't need to.  I just needed to be there, and feel all the feels.   And experience the music.  Be out.  Be involved.  Enjoy life.  It's times like these that I never feel more alive.  It may seem like a large reaction to just going to a movie, but it's part of a bigger picture. That feeling of being alive, it gives me peace as well as piece of mind in knowing that the decisions I have made for myself, the actions I'm going to take, are the right ones.  I'm addicted to feeling alive.  I crave the feeling.  I want it more and more.   So I have to ask myself again... if not now, when?  The answer is now.  Taking my life back is the best thing I ever did.

Progress

My lose 50 by 50 Diet officially commenced on August 3.  I had planned on starting it earlier than that but life gets in the way what with birthdays, graduations and all kinds of other events. Unfortunately the diet kind of got shoved off to the side.

But I'm in it to win it now and it's going rather well.  In fact I'm quite proud of myself.  I've dieted many many times before and for some reason, this time it feels different.  Maybe because of the goal. Lose 50 by 50 has a nice ring to it.  I like it. And I have another goal in mind, one that would lead to the same time frame.  I'm going to leave it at that for now, but suffice it to say it involves a dream of mine, and one that I want to make a reality around my birthday.  

And in that amount of time... 10 days to be exact, I have lost 6.6 pounds.  It feels good!   Losing makes me happy.  Stepping on the scale in anticipation instead of dread is an amazing feeling. I've been using the help of an app called MyFitnessPal.  It works a lot like Weight Watchers, where you are accountable for everything you eat.  But it also calculates your activity and gives you more calories for the day based on how much you move.  It's a handy little tool.   And it's free.

For the most part, I am following the aforementioned advice by my friend and dieting quietly (aside from telling all the world via this blog that is... or the 15 or so that read it anyway ha).  I don't make a big deal about it, I don't post about it on Facebook, I just go about my biz and quietly (hopefully) continue to lose weight.

I feel excited for the first time in a long time... goals are a good thing to have.  And while my work life is only slightly improved, my personal life is kind of in the shitter, I'm still feeling good.  I'm doing more for myself.  I came to the realization a few years ago, as I watched life passing me by, that if not now...when?  The answer is now.  I'm fabulous and I plan on living my life to reflect it!

Join me on the journey!   We're going to have a blast!!!!   

Lose 50 by 50

I don't want to be 50.  I know, I know... I've heard all the dialog.  "It's better than the alternative"  "50 is the new 40"  "You don't look 50"  and on and on and on.  Doesn't change the fact that I don't want to be 50.  I don't feel like I could possibly be that old.  I still listen to all the same music.  I still dress the same way.  I'm still a sarcastic asshole most of the time!

50 sounds so foreboding.  It sounds old. It's half a century.  More than half my life is over.  And saying it like that, more than half my life is over, makes me want to cry.   But I'm not here today to get all sadly introspective about the things I haven't done in my life yet.  I am here to talk about a goal I've set for myself.  I have until January 16, 2016 to lose 50 pounds.  Lose 50 by 50.  That's my battle cry!

It's not going to be easy.  I like to eat.  Sometimes it feels like one of the few joys I have left.  I love to cook and bake.  I love to go out and try new restaurants and revisit old faves.  But I've lost weight successfully before and I know I can do it again.  And I will do it sensibly.  I will not go on a no carb plan.  Nor will I go on an all one specific thing diet.  The only way I have ever been successful is to eat sensibly and move as much as possible.

A good friend of mine always told me that to diet successfully, diet quietly.  And I think that makes a lot of sense.  Telling everyone you know that you're on a diet is a recipe for failure.  And then when/if you do fail, you know they know you failed.  Whereas if you don't tell a soul, and you just go about your business of dieting, if you fail, only you know but when you're successful, it's a celebration. And with that in mind, why am I telling you here?  Well maybe about 4 or 5 people read my blog so I'll just deal with it.  And I want to chart my successes and failures.  I'm taking you on this journey with me so strap on your seat belts!

I think 50 by 50 is attainable.  At least, at this moment, right now, I feel optimistic about it.  As optimistic as someone as cynical as I can be anyway.  And if you want to join me in this journey, all the better.  Dieting sucks.  Watching what you eat blows.  But being fat is even worse.

My Brain Hurts

When things happen in this country that I have trouble understanding, I do my best to view it from all angles.  It's the way I live my life.  Nothing is ever simple.  Nothing is ever cut and dry so you have to be able to look at things through another lens.  If you don't, then you're part of the problem.

The latest mass shooting in Charleston once again brings up all the same issues.... Black vs. white.  Liberal vs. Conservative.  Gun Control vs. No gun control.  Media vs. Reader.  Religion vs. Atheism.  Politician vs. Citizen.  And that's the thing in this country, it seems you have to have an enemy.

If you're not Religious then you're wrong and you're a heathen and you're going to hell.  Or if you're not an Atheist then you believe in fairy tales and you're brainwashed.  If you think either of those ways, you're part of the problem.

There is a ton of crime in this country.  Tons.  And there are no racial boundaries to it.  There's black on black, white on white, black on white, white on black.  And that doesn't even scratch the surface or crime that centers around race.  There's crime that has nothing to do with race.  People are just hateful and evil and not necessarily any kind of racist.  No discrimination, they just hate everyone.  But there is no denying that there is a race problem in this country.  And if you don't understand that, then you're part of the problem.

You may not experience it, you may not see it.  That doesn't mean racism doesn't exist.  I am one of the people who doesn't see racism in my life.  I'm lucky.  I live in a predominantly black neighborhood.  We are the only white family on our block.  Not once in 14 years have I had any kind of problem with race.  I've never felt threatened or afraid.  I have had the best neighbors I've had of anywhere I've lived.  I feel completely at ease and feel like no around me cares that I'm white.   And yes, I do feel lucky to be in this environment because growing up was not like that.  I lived in a neighborhood where white flight took hold of everyone on our street.

And now, because of Charleston and some whackadoodle with a gun, all the same dialog starts all over again.  So here is what I believe....

1. If you use terms like Wingnut or Libtard, you're part of the problem.
2. If you think all Conservatives think one way and all Liberals think one way, you're part of the problem.
3. If you believe everything Rush Limbaugh or Bill O'Reilly or Bill Maher or Jon Stewart says, you're part of the problem.
4. If you think racism will go away if we ignore it, you're part of the problem.
5. If you think racism doesn't exist, you're part of the problem.
6. If you think having a Republican in office will change everything, you're part of the problem.
7. If you think having a Democrat in office will change everything, you're part of the problem.

I'm tired of all the bullshit.  It's no secret that my leanings are Liberal, but I look at the big picture.
Yes I believe in gay rights, I believe in equal rights for all actually.  And I believe racism exists.  I do not follow a religion anymore but I am not an atheist.  I think sensitivity has gotten way out of hand and find it absurd how easily people are offended by the stupidest things.  I have said for many many years, I do not offend very easily.... unless you abuse someone (child, adult, elderly) or an animal. That offends me greatly.   I believe in a woman's right to chose.  

I'm really truly exhaustedly tired by the us against them mentality in this country.  It doesn't matter anymore who holds the office of President because what has to happen no matter who it is, is that we have to work together.  Democrat/Republican, white/black, Religious/Atheist.  There is no one way. We have to come together as a unified people and work to make this country greater than ever. Working against the leaders is counter productive.  And if you don't get that, then you're part of the problem.

And just so you know, I don't think I'm above it all.  I'm pretty sure I'm part of the problem, somewhere/somehow.

Missing You

I miss you.  I want to text you so bad.  I want to talk to you.  I can't tell you again how much you mean to me.  You know.  I guess that's why you pushed me way so stupidly and so brutally.  You have to know that I get it, that you did what you did because for some reason you felt you had to.   I just wish you had gone the honest route instead of the cowardly one.  I hope it didn't feel good to hurt me so badly.  If it did, don't ever tell me so because that takes it to a whole new level of pain.

People in the know are glad, glad you have taken yourself out of my life.  But I never listened to anyone before and I'm not going to start now and I'm not glad.  I don't feel relieved.  I don't feel a weight lifted because you're gone.  I just feel sad, and empty and that something is missing.  You.  You're missing.  And I hate it.

How could you turn your back on me so easily?   Friends since 1987.  That is a long time.  Was it easy?  In retrospect if all feels so forced, planned.  That night, you were looking for anything to fight about.  What you settled on and what ultimately ended our friendship and whatever else we had is not something that would end a 27 year friendship.  And when I think about it, sometimes I'm crushed, other times I'm just angry.  So so angry that you turned your back on me.

It's been a month.  It's taken me this long to put these feelings on paper.  It's taken me this long trying to make sense of a senseless situation to realize there never will be any sense to it.  It took me 2 minutes after our fight to realize it was purposeful.  At the time, I was so shocked and going on instinct to fight you back, to try and hurt you back.  And I hate that I stooped to that level.  I hate that I said some of the things I said.  I was so upset, so crushed.  So decimated by you, again.  I console myself with that old saying.... you always hurt the ones you love.

No matter how many times I tell myself that I'm better off, my heart won't listen.  My heart wants you in my life.  My heart wants your friendship back.  You weren't always a good friend but at times you were the best friend.   At times you would say something to me that was so insightful, so right into my soul, that I thought there could be no one on this earth who knows me the way you do.  How you did that always blew my mind.  And no matter how many times you told me you're a dick, I didn't fully believe it until that night.  It was like an image you tried to keep going, but it never fooled me.  I saw that side of you that you don't show too many people.  And I still believe that, but I also will know that despite that other side, you're truly a dick too.  And that's ok.  A lot of times I feel like a total asshole.  But you saw the other side.  

You brought things out of me that I didn't know were there.  You were encouraging and supportive of me when I needed it most.  You made me love you again, not that I ever stopped.  And then you tore it away, again.  I didn't think I could ever live through the pain of losing you a second time.  But I guess I have.  But it's a pain that lingers.

Life is short.... I hope it doesn't take too long for you to find your way back, again.

Ask Me If I Care

More and more I find myself thinking, "ask me if I care" about any and everything.   I suppose that's a byproduct of the unhappiness I find myself unable to break out of.  At the same time it's troubling, yet liberating.  Troubling because it makes me think I've become cold and unfeeling.  Liberating because the reality is that I have stopped giving a shit about the people who don't give a shit about me.

Example, I saw today on Facebook that the man's niece got engaged.  Ask me if I care.  I don't.  Over the years it has become more and more clear to me that these two girls (the nieces) don't give a shit about me at all.  I have been in their lives since they were 5 and 6 years old.  I gave them gifts for every birthday and Christmas for all of those years until a few years ago when they started having kids and instead bought for the kids.  I have always been kind to them.  Have always treated them well.  But over the past few years I have backed away from them (and most of the man's family) because I never felt the same kind of care/respect in return.  For my 40th birthday the two nieces and their boyfriends gave me a single $2 instant lottery ticket.  I'm not saying they should shower me with gifts.  It's an example of the lack of interest/care that I feel from the man's family.   And when my dad passed away this past January, I heard nothing from them.   Oh I take that back, one of them posted on my Facebook.  The other did not, nor did she call me, nor did she send me a card, nor did she even acknowledge the fact that I lost my dad when I saw her two weeks later.  So excuse me if I'm not jumping up and down with glee over your engagement.

 

But it's more than just that, it's a lot of things.  I just can't muster caring about much of anything.  How is that liberating?  Well, I wasted a lot of time, a lot of heartache, a lot of energy on caring about things that in the big scheme ended up not mattering at all.  Friends who turned out not to be.  Situations that I should have avoided.  Family members who are assholes.  So to get to a point where I can say, "ask me if I care"?  Yeah, it feels liberating in a way.

Don't get me wrong, I still care about the people in my life that I know care about me.  I still love.  I still will do anything for the people who matter most.  Maybe when things change, when I finally get my life moving in the direction I want it moving in I will care again.  And hopefully I've learned enough lessons to spot those insincere phony people without investing too much of my precious time and the enormous amounts of love and friendship I have to give.

Or maybe it's my hormones.

Jobless Revisited

Having just received my gazillionth rejection from a job I applied for, I'm feeling like a big fucking loser.  I hate feeling that way.  I hate a "woe is me" attitude.  I hate feeling sorry for myself.  But it's so hard not to when I've been looking for 2 years.  Two years, no job, over 20 years of experience.   What is the problem?  Why will no one hire me?  What is it about my resume or me in general, that is off putting?  I don't know.  I had my resume analyzed and got a pretty good affective rating.  So what's going on?  The economy is supposedly improving.

I feel like I am very professional on the phone and in interviews, when I have them.  Am I too old at 48 to be hired?   Do I have too much experience, therefore leading prospective employers to assume I will want too much money?  Or am I totally fooling myself into believing that I have marketable skills at all?  I really don't have the answers.

This most recent rejection really hurt.  I applied to it and two days later received an email with a test in it.  There was an editing test (it was a few paragraphs describing the business that needed grammar, spelling, punctuation etc. corrections) and a composition test (a lot of information in no format and asked to compose a business letter out of it).  I received this test early in the afternoon on the Friday before Memorial Day and asked to return the test completed within 24 hours.   Quite frankly I thought this bullshit mainly because I really doubt anyone would be looking at it before Tuesday of the next week.  But I did it.  I sat down and very carefully completed the tasks they asked of me and sent it back before end of business on that same day.

Not only did I not get the job, I never even got a call for an interview.  Nothing.  I completed their stupid convoluted task and they didn't even bring me in for an interview.  I didn't send it in blind either.  I had the man look over everything I did before sending it.  I received zero feedback on what they thought of the way I completed these tasks.  I received nothing at all but a brief note that said the company hired someone this past Friday and thanks for your interest.

When things like this happen, this is how I feel...

I try very hard to get to the "everything happens for a reason" place.  To that "when one door closes, another opens" place.  To remember that I'm smart, skilled and that any prospective employer should be thrilled to have me in their employ.  But sometimes, even if it's for a few hours or a few minutes, I just have to wallow in the idea that I may never work again and that is unacceptable.  I have a very strong desire to change several aspects of my life and I cannot do that without a job.  So as much as I'd like to, at this moment, give up and come to terms with joblessness forevermore, I won't.  I can't.  The rest of my life is waiting.

Ode to the Former Friend

Sometimes I really miss you.  I want you to know that.  I do.  And sometimes I wonder why we are former friends and not friends.  Were the issues really that severe that you had to cut yourself off from me?  And while we're at it, what were those issues?  With some former friends, I don't have a clue why things fell apart.  When I think about that I can't help but think how stupid it all is.  How does someone who you know cares about you, who you had no argument with, who you shared so much with, suddenly become persona non grata?  And how do you not even give them the courtesy of telling them why?  That pretty much tells me the friendship didn't mean much to you at all.  That's kind of sad.  I'm not talking about a natural transition, a drifting apart.  I'm talking a sudden abrupt change with no explanation.

Is it wasted time?  Did I waste my time being your friend, calling you, talking to you, listening to you and letting you listen to me?  Was it a big mistake confiding my innermost secrets with you?  Is there something somewhere that you will hold over my head somewhere down the road?  Something I said that can be used against me?  Granted I don't have a lot of secrets and at this point, I'm not sure what you know and what you don't know.  But I felt so close to you that I may have said something, sometime that I shouldn't have.  Eh, I can't worry about it.  I will just have to assume that since you decided I suck, that you will disregard everything I ever said.

Was it a waste of time?  There is a saying that people come into our lives at certain times to fulfill a certain purpose.  I'd like to believe that but I'm having a hard time figuring out what the purpose is in these cases.  Cases, plural.  It's happened to me more than once.  Which of course, makes me think it's me.  I'm doing something to drive people away.  I curse too much.  I talk about sex too much.  Are those actual reasons to dump a friend?  Seems petty.  But I know I have never intentionally maliciously hurt someone.  Not to my knowledge anyway.  If I had, I would definitely hope that the person wronged would say something so that I could right that wrong.  Since they haven't, I again go back to assuming I just suck.  Suck as a human being.  Suck as a friend.  Suck to the highest heights of suckage.

I don't want to think of you as a waste of time but I'm grasping at straws for the lesson in the friendship.  Maybe I learned more about myself.  Yes that's probably true.  That right there makes the relationship not a waste of time.

You know what former friend?   I'm starting to wonder why I miss you.  YOU dumped me.  YOU didn't tell me why.   YOU took away your friendship and threw away mine.  And you know what, I don't suck as a friend or a human being.  It just so happens that I'm not perfect.  I make mistakes.  I say fuck and cunt when I feel like it.  I like talking about sex, reading about sex and engaging in sex. I love my tattoos.  I love dying my hair weird ass colors.  I'm 48 years old and I can do whatever the fuck I want and I should never ever be made to feel less than because of someone else.  I fucking rock!  I'm a great friend and would always be there for my friends no matter what.  I'm not afraid to express my opinion, even if it differs from yours.  A true friend respects that and doesn't stop being your friend because of it.

I guess this wasn't much of an ode to you former friend.  Sorry about that.  Well no, I'm not.  This is my exorcism.  To once and for all remove you from my thoughts, remove you from my life the way you removed me from yours.  Sorry you're going to miss out on all the fun, humor, and friendship I still have left to give.

Continuing to Comtemplate

There were so many things that were said the night I met my friend R for drinks.  And so many things I keep thinking about.  So many questions that he asked me that I am now asking myself.  He knows of my unhappiness and my desire to change my life.  But knowing that leads to more questions.   Questions like, are you prepared to be alone for the rest of your life?  And I wonder, am I?  Because that's a possibility I have to face.

On a daily basis I feel bad for feeling how I do.  For wanting this big change knowing it's going to hurt someone who doesn't deserve to be hurt.  That nagging guilt for wanting more punishes me.  I wonder if I can ever truly move on when I feel this way.  Questions lead to more questions and none of them have answers.  Will I punish myself forever for being dissatisfied?  Is it better to live a life you are unhappy in than to hurt someone else?  Do I need to sacrifice forever for the happiness of someone else?   Is it selfish that I want to make myself happy?

A strange thing happened this weekend.  We were at our accountants office to hand in our tax information.  As we talked to him about what's been happening in our lives this past year I started to feel incredibly trapped.  We were talking about my job search and how I've been unable to find a job for so long.  He was encouraging and sweet, as he always is.   And the more he talked the more trapped I started to feel until I really thought I was just going to burst into tears right in his office.   I felt it coming on.  My eyes started to water.  I felt my face flush.  I kept taking deep breaths to keep the tears at bay.  It was really difficult.  I kept wiping my eyes over and over and over.   I don't know if anyone else in the room saw that this was happening, but bursting into tears in my accountants office is not something I wanted to happen.

Trapped.  It's how I felt in that moment and it's how I've felt for far too many years now.  Trapped is not a good feeling.  Nowhere to go.  Nowhere to turn.  No help to be had.  No means to make my life better.  Trapped sucks.  Trapped hurts.

But don't get me wrong, this isn't constant.  I still experience good things.  I still have wonderful friends who are there for me in the best ways they can be.  I still have family who are as supportive as anyone can hope for.  I still have fun and I still laugh.  And the one I don't want to hurt loves me with all his heart and would do anything for me.  But wait, there is it is again… the guilt.  Because he would do anything for me and it's not enough.  That guilt.  That self doubt.  Those moments when I hate myself for feeling how I feel.  They creep back in.

I hate that I have no answers.  I hate that years go by without answers.  And I have to keep asking myself, is being content and complacent the best I can hope for and should I just suck it up and make the best of it?

Contemplative

Last week I went out for drinks with an old friend.  More and more I realize that old friends are the best friends.  Which is not to say newer friends suck, they don't!   But old friends, there is something special about them.  They know you better than anyone else and they love you and have loved you for so long that it's probably never going to change.  There's comfort in that.  If you get into an argument it's so much easier to get past it because you know how much you love that person and how the argument is inconsequential to the big scheme of things.  What I mean is, an old friend isn't going to read this blog and say, I don't know, decide they can no longer be my friend because I write something risqué or I write something they don't agree with.  They will tell me they don't agree with it and we'll discuss the whys and the hows over a cocktail or a whatever.  But in the end the friend will realize that I'm still the person they have always known and it doesn't matter if I write about sex or sadness, or love, or hate or whatever I write about.  Like I said, there's comfort in that.

That's a bit of a digress from where I was going with this entry, but hey don't hate me because I digress! lol   As I was saying, I was out for drinks with an old friend and there was a lot of discussion about what I want in life.  And I didn't have a solid answer.  Maybe because I'm at a standstill.  I can't go up, I can't go down.  I have nowhere to go at the moment.  I have no job and that limits any kind of plan I can ever make for a future.  But since that day, I have been thinking about that question over and over and over. "What is it that you want?"  

This is what I've come up with. I want joy.  I want a life lived.  I want more than getting by week after week and doing the same things.  I want to be happy.  I want good sex.   I want to create great dishes and eat fine food.  I want to laugh and laugh and then laugh some more.  I want to listen to great music.  I want to take pride in what I'm doing for a living and not just exist in a job.  I want to travel and see things I've never seen.  I want more great tattoos.  I want to give love and get love in return.  

Maybe thats a big order to fill, but I don't think it's impossible.  Time probably isn't on my side unfortunately.  I am 48 years old.  Is it too late to live the life I want and think I deserve?  Is it too late to start living for me and not everyone else?  

Nessun Dorma

Nessun Dorma, "none shall sleep."  It was my dad's favorite, when done by Pavarotti.  It's one of the things that will always remind me of him in such a good way.  He wept whenever he heard it, and now I do as well.  He passed away on January 7.  I've been wanting to write about him since it happened, but quite frankly I didn't know where to begin, what to say, how to pay tribute.  I'm not sure this will end up being a tribute but I hope you can read the love I had for this man despite some very shaky years.

In those shaky years it was very apparent that my dad and I could not relate to each other.  He didn't understand me and I didn't understand him.  He had good camaraderie with my brothers and my sister because they all loved sports.  Me, not so much.  I guess maybe I was a little resentful of that, mainly because my mom used to say things like, "learn to like sports and you will have a bond with him."  Well why couldn't he learn to love something that I was into and bond with me?  It's that stubbornness that I inherited from him I guess.  So growing up I really didn't have much of a relationship with my dad.  In fact, it wasn't until after I moved out at 21 that I even really remember having many conversations with him.  When I came back home to do laundry or visit or have dinner, we talked.  Actual conversations.  We found common ground.  We both loved nature shows.  We both dreamed of going to Alaska.  He never did, but I hope I get to someday, for both of us.  And when I was 30, I got my very first "I love you" from him.

I guess when someone passes away you aren't supposed to talk about the bad times.  When my brother spoke at the funeral, he spoke of family vacations, sports, and Saturday morning breakfasts my dad used to make for all of us kids.  And those are good memories.  But the truth is there are a lot more bad memories than there are good.  I'll leave those for another time though, because the fact is he's gone and I miss him.  So instead I'll tell you about his last day.

My dad was ill, and he had been for a long time.  He had lost a leg to diabetes seven years ago, and while recuperating from that surgery, he had a stroke.  The stroke affected his ability to speak clearly.  He knew what he was trying to say, but he often was garbled in his speech and no amount of therapy seemed to help.  In addition, his amputation was so far up he had difficulty ever walking again even with a prosthetic.  He did, with the help of a walker, but it was difficult and he spent a lot of time in and out of rehab.  In addition to all this, he had already had atrial fibrillation, or a-fib, an irregular heartbeat, and received a pacemaker/defibrillator several years ago to treat this.  So yeah, he wasn't in good shape.

Since I haven't worked in forever and still can't seem to find a job, I was looked to often to help out with him.  I was glad to do it, most of the time.  My mother could not handle him on her own all the time.  We went to many doctors, many hospitals, over the years.  It seemed to be never ending.  It was frustrating to say the least, most of the time because as years passed he got less and less interested in doing much to help himself.  No amount of talking to him, reasoning with him, telling him how it was, didn't help.  And it became apparent that he would have to go into a nursing home.  My mom fought us on it, but there was really no other way.  He was no longer walking at all and at 82, my mother couldn't care for him herself anymore.

At the time, he was in rehab and they were trying to help him walk.  It wasn't going well at all.  He had a toe amputated off his remaining foot and since then he didn't want to get up at all.  He was in bed, in rehab for 3 months when we got the call saying he was unresponsive.  Off we went back to the hospital to meet him in the ER.  My mom was beside herself but I have grown accustomed to being solid, the rock, the strong one and I told her that dad has nine lives.  And it was true.  There had been several times over the years when I thought he was not going to make it.  The most recent was Christmas, when he was in the hospital with pneumonia and a staph infection.  But he bounced back, just like he always had.  I told my mom that when we got to the ER he'd be sitting up in bed and saying, "what took you so long to get here??"  And you know, it was almost like that.  He was sitting up, he was talking.  He was not right, and we could see that, but he was making sense mostly, talking sports with my brother.  As the doctors came and went, we were told very little but informed they would be admitting him to ICU.  At this time they weren't sure but they thought he may have had a heart attack.  Dad was looking tired so mom told him to go to sleep if he wanted to since we didn't know how long it would take to get him into a room.  Soon after, he did sleep and we decided to go grab a quick bite to eat, not knowing how long we would be at the hospital.

Things felt different, in retrospect, but at the time, we were feeling it was business as usual.  When we got back to the ER, he was still there, still sleeping.  And my aunt and uncle (dad's brother) had arrived.  The nurse tried to wake him at this point and was unable to.   He was still breathing though and the room up in ICU was ready.  While they were moving him I went to the ER parking lot and moved my car to the hospital lot.  It's winter and cold and I figured it would be a shorter walk when we left the hospital.  When I got up to ICU, my family was still in the waiting room but my mom was crying and my aunt was comforting her.  What did I miss??  The ICU doctor had come out while the nurses were getting dad settled and he said he saw very little hope for him and there was nothing they could do.  Dad had a DNR and all they could do for him was keep him comfortable.  Was this really happening?  This moment that I had been preparing myself for for years, was it really here?  I wasn't prepared at all.

It was about 6 pm, and my brother and I took turns calling my sister and my other brother who live out of state, updating them on what was happening.  My sister had called our aunt (dad's sister) to tell her what was going on and then my aunt phoned me and asked me if I thought she should come to the hospital. I told her yes, so she and her husband came.

Now we are waiting.  Waiting for him to die and it feels strange.  He is unconscious the whole time and unaware of what is happening and that's a blessing.  My mom wanted a priest from her church to come and administer Last Rights, so I called and before I could leave a message my sister phoned me.  So after talking to her I asked her to call the church back for me and ask a priest to come.  She did, and the priest called me not even five minutes later to say he was on his way.  He said prayers and anointed him and it was all quite beautiful.

The nurses there were extremely kind and brought us a cart with coffee, sodas, cookies and other snacks.  And chairs.   ICU rooms don't have chairs for visitors because they don't want visitors to stay in the ICU long.  But they brought us, all seven of us, chairs.  And we sat, or paced.  Cried, and talked.  Even had some laughs.  For instance, before we got chairs, my uncle broke down crying and sat down on the toilet.  It's a toilet in the room, with a big pad over it to make it look like a chair.  My mother went to him to comfort him and as she leaned down to hug him, she leaned up against the flusher and WOOSH! She flushed the toilet!   Yes, we did all laugh.  And it felt good because we were all so wound up and nervous.

Another moment was when the priest left.  He was a very young, very handsome priest.  And when he left I turned to my mom and I said, "he's young!"   She said yes, he was one of the newer priests at her church.  I told my family, "we had a name for priests like him when I was in school…. Fr. WhatAWaste!"  And we laughed again.  You need those moments because staring at my dad and counting how long it is between breaths can drive you mad.  So we had those moments, and others as we talked and reminisced and told stories about him.  And then, at 10:10 pm, all was silent.  He was gone.  It took about 6 hours from the time he went to sleep for him to stop breathing.  A blessing really. The doctor came in and declared him gone, and we said our goodbyes.  Now we had to go home and go about the task of getting on with life.  I spent that night with my mom.  I just couldn't leave her alone.  She lost the man she'd spent 57 years with.  It was going to hit her, and hit her hard at some point.  So I stayed.   Again being the rock.  Holding in my tears, holding in my sorrow, so she could have hers.  I've been doing it for so long I don't really know how not to.

I miss him.  But the truth is, I've missed him for years.   He hasn't been the guy I knew for quite some time.  He stopped caring about anything.  He stopped wanting to do anything.  He existed but had very little quality of life these past few years.  So I'm glad he's free.  And hope wherever he is, he found his joy again.  Love you forever dad.  xoxo

Suddenly

Suddenly this morning as I was in the shower this old song popped into my mind and I started singing it.  Then it dawned on me, this is my life.

I Could Be Happy

by 

Altered Images

I would like to climb high in a tree
I could be happy, i could be happy
Or go to Skye on my holiday
I could be happy, i could be happy
Maybe swim a mile down the Nile
I could be happy, i could be happy
All of these things i do
All of these things i do
To get away from you
Get away, run away, far away, how do i?
Get away, run away, far away, how do i
Escape from you?

I Have a Life

I've had to go through this my whole adult life.  The idea by others that I don't have a life because either I'm not married, or I don't have kids, or I don't have a job.   Well here's a newsflash, I have a fucking life!!!  I have a pretty full life in fact.  I'm so tired of that mentality I could just scream.  I guess because right now, this minute, it is happening again.

I don't get a say in what time holidays are celebrated because before I was married, I was single and had no life.  Now it's because I don't have kids and have no life.  My plans, my life, they are never considered when family plans are made.  And now it's because I don't have a job.

If you're a regular reader to this blog, you probably know that my father is ill.  He is not going to get better but he could make things easier on himself if he actually did the things the doctors suggested.  He doesn't. When people ask me if he's given up, I tend to say yes.  He has a very poor quality of life which consists of sleeping, eating occasionally, sitting in chair and watching Bonanza reruns or sports, and going to doctors.

Most of his care falls on my mother, and then me.  My mother needs someone to help her get him to appointments.  He is a lot to deal with and she is 82 years old.  He has lost one leg, wears a prosthetic and uses a walker or wheelchair.  He is now facing losing part of his good leg, so there are a lot of doctors and tests and appointments.  It's endless, tiring, stressful.

Herein lies the issue.  Because I don't have a job, it is automatically assumed that I am available to go to these appointments with my mother.  I have 3 siblings, but 2 of them live out of state.  So ideally and logically, these appointments should be split between my brother and I.  I am even willing to take on more because I don't work.  But my brother seems to think that I should do everything.  And when I ask him to do something, he has 100 excuses why he can't.  In fact, he does nothing in regards to helping out with my father.  Nothing.  Last year my mom asked me to take her to Chicago for her aunt's 90th birthday party.  Bro never even offered to come check on OUR father.  And when asked, it was the same thing occurred, more excuses.  Mom had to hire people to come in and check on him, make him meals, etc.

Yesterday was the first of what is going to be many appointments trying to safe dad's leg.  This appointment was 6 hours long.  About 4 hours longer than I had anticipated.  Anything I had planned for that day was void.  When we were leaving that appointment we were told that he will need another next week, and basically to plan on a long visit then too.  Yesterday's appointment was extremely emotionally taxing.  I'm glad I can be there to support them, but I shouldn't have to do everything all the time.  When I got home yesterday I was spent.  Physically drained, emotionally overwrought and truly not in the best of moods.  So I poured myself a glass of wine and went to go relax.  I promptly missed the coaster and the wine went flying.  poured on me, all over the rug, and the glass shattered on the coffee table.  And it was red.  It's at this point that I sat there in a puddle of wine and cried and cried.  It was all too much.

I am not an only child.  I have a life.   I am trying to find a job.  I do job searches every single day.  I apply for jobs almost every day.  I am having trouble with my marriage.  It's all so emotionally draining and I need for someone (ahem.... my brother), to take some of the burden off me.  And he won't.   He just won't.  And it's not fair.  Yesterday I told him he needs to go to some of these appointments and that I can't do it all the time.  His reply was, "you can do it easier than I can!"  So there it is.  I don't have a job, therefore I have no life and this is what... my obligation?

What happens when I finally do get a job?  True I've been looking for a year and half.  But eventually I do expect to get a job.  Then what?   My mom acts the martyr.  While she does understand that we need my brother to step up, if I ever say I can't do it, she will either cancel the appointment he needs or she will say something absurd like they'll just take a cab to the appointment.  But its not just about driving.  It's about going into the exam room with them and listening, taking notes, asking questions.  My mom does none of that.  She is of a generation that blindly accepts whatever the doctors say.  You cannot be that way in this day and age.  I have told her endlessly that she needs to be an advocate but you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.  And here's the clincher... bro's wife is a nurse.  If they went to some of these appointments with them, they would know much better what questions to ask.  As it is, when I do go to appointments, he asks me a million questions and did I ask this, did I ask that.  It's all so fucking annoying and stressful.

How do you get through to people who don't want to listen, don't to step up and do what they should, and then act like it is someone elses (i.e., mine) obligation?