I've had so little good luck lately that I still can't believe my good fortune in finding L., and chasing him until he caught me, as he likes to say. After the fiasco with J., sequestering myself from the world--my version of going to the mountaintop; you'd be hard pressed to find a hill around here--to the point of almost ruining the one (or is it 2, when it's a husband and wife?) really good friendship that I have, and spending that time doing an immense amount of soul searching, I came out into the light and almost literally bumped right into the guy I've been looking for for YEARS.
"They" say you find the "right" one when you're not looking. I can't honestly say I wasn't looking at all; my antennae are always up to some extent when I'm "available," I admit it. I will say I wasn't prepared or expecting to find anyone for a very long time. I was still struggling to have a little faith in the future. Now that I had sorted some things out, I had a pretty clear idea of how my brain works in "relationship mode," how foolish I'd been in assigning all of the qualities I wanted in a guy to J., and how hard it would be to find the guy that I really wanted in the real world. In fact, I had no idea how I was going to go about that, when the time came. I sure wasn't going to be doing anymore matchdotcomming. I only started going to the dog park as an escape, to get me out of the house and my own head, to make some sort of an effort to meet new people (friends, not boyfriends), in a relaxed non-intimidating atmosphere.
And it worked, on all counts. I started feeling better almost immediately. Then a few days into the visits, L. showed up. At first, I just thought he was nice, and really good with all the animals. Then I saw he wasn't just nice, but GOOD, all the way through. I've never known someone so kind, good, and unpretentious. As the attraction grew, I realized that, whether I was ready or not, this was the guy I thought I'd never find, not any time soon anyway. That it wasn't a "rebound" situation, but possibly the real thing, if I could manage to get his attention, and then not screw it up.
I recognize that this is the earliest stage, when each thinks the other is perfect, when all the "happy" love songs are written, when all is right with the world, inasmuch as it can be. My worry, however, is that he'll wake up and discover that I'm not the girl HE's been looking for. That I don't have all the qualities that he wants, that he just got caught up in the excitement of this new and unexpected romance, and that, in the end, I won't be good enough for him. I hope that worry fades over time, as we get to know each other better. I wouldn't be me if I weren't worried about something.
I wish there were some way of thanking Pancho and Timmy, without whom this wouldn't have happened, but their reward is just being able to go for a ride and run at the park.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
The Beginning of Something Good, I Hope
A miscommunication on Friday resulted in me missing a chance for my first date with L. However, we did finally connect and went out to lunch yesterday; he came down my place and picked me up, even though I offered to meet him somewhere (traffic was a bitch here yesterday). He brought me FLOWERS, took me downtown for lunch, held doors, held my chair, held my hand (in case I haven't said it before, I don't think I EVER held hands with J.)...in short L. seems to have all the qualities that I bestowed upon J. without a shred of evidence to support my wishful thinking. What WAS I thinking? It looks like all the things I thought about L., based upon my observations of him at the park, were pretty much on target. Go figure. Of course, he was probably on his best behavior, as I was. I have to say that, after 2+ years of screwing around (so to speak) with online dating, it was refreshing to go on a date the old-fashioned way, with someone I've known for a few weeks and have already established an attraction to and a rapport with. Unfortunately, because of schedules, it doesn't look like we'll be getting together again before the weekend.
I don't think a date has ever brought me flowers before.
I don't think a date has ever brought me flowers before.
Monday, May 21, 2007
More Uncertainty...
L. did show up at the park last night; I left again when he did, hoping for a shot at a date, or at least a chance to talk. He was saying he probably wouldn't be back at the park til the weekend, so I asked if he wanted to go get a bite to eat somewhere later this week. He said ok, but in a kinda sorta noncommital way, said Thursday was bad because of a work commitment. He asked about my schedule and I said any evening's ok (I guess that was a dumb answer), and I left not knowing who's supposed to call who. So I'm kinda scratching my head as to what to do. Also, it was a little uncomfortable because I could feel all eyes of everyone in the park watching us, out in the parking lot talking. I'm sure this is the juicy gossip of the week, even though nothing has happened! I'm sure he was even more aware of it than me, since he knows everyone fairly well.
So that was my night; happy to see him, but a little disappointed because 1) his response wasn't "Oh, I'd LOVE to, WHEN?" and seemed just lukewarm, 2) that no actual plans got made, and 3) I don't know who's supposed to do the calling. All of which led me to kick myself again, thinking I shouldn't have been the one doing the asking in the first place.
I was hoping to be able to get together BEFORE the weekend, so that it would be a short and sweet informal getting-to-know-you kind of date with a small "d," but it doesn't look like that's going to happen now. Since I'm back to doing the "strategy" thing, I figure it would be ok to call him on Wednesday night if I don't hear from him first, then maybe we can go out on Friday night or do something Saturday. I'd really like to have a REAL date, or just be able to see him away from the dog park so I can TALK to him in a more personal way, and not worry about what everybody is saying about it.
I'm trying to find a balance between the overeager me that scares 'em away, and a more patient me. But there probably won't be any miracle shifts in my ability to wait patiently. Which is why I made the "deal" with myself to wait just until Wednesday. As I said, I don't know who's supposed to do the calling; he may be waiting on me for all I know. I was also hoping that this would be easier and different than the norm, because this is truly a different sort of guy. But now it looks like all the usual rules apply, for awhile anyway. Still, I'm only going to take that so far. I'm not going to wait all week hoping he'll call. I'm going to do what feels "right" to me, and if one little misstep leads to scaring him away, then I guess he's not IT either.
So that was my night; happy to see him, but a little disappointed because 1) his response wasn't "Oh, I'd LOVE to, WHEN?" and seemed just lukewarm, 2) that no actual plans got made, and 3) I don't know who's supposed to do the calling. All of which led me to kick myself again, thinking I shouldn't have been the one doing the asking in the first place.
I was hoping to be able to get together BEFORE the weekend, so that it would be a short and sweet informal getting-to-know-you kind of date with a small "d," but it doesn't look like that's going to happen now. Since I'm back to doing the "strategy" thing, I figure it would be ok to call him on Wednesday night if I don't hear from him first, then maybe we can go out on Friday night or do something Saturday. I'd really like to have a REAL date, or just be able to see him away from the dog park so I can TALK to him in a more personal way, and not worry about what everybody is saying about it.
I'm trying to find a balance between the overeager me that scares 'em away, and a more patient me. But there probably won't be any miracle shifts in my ability to wait patiently. Which is why I made the "deal" with myself to wait just until Wednesday. As I said, I don't know who's supposed to do the calling; he may be waiting on me for all I know. I was also hoping that this would be easier and different than the norm, because this is truly a different sort of guy. But now it looks like all the usual rules apply, for awhile anyway. Still, I'm only going to take that so far. I'm not going to wait all week hoping he'll call. I'm going to do what feels "right" to me, and if one little misstep leads to scaring him away, then I guess he's not IT either.
This wasn't supposed to happen yet
I wasn't looking for this right now, I swear, but...the nicest guy on the planet ("L.," my dog park guy) gave me his phone number yesterday as we were leaving the park. I didn't "chase," though I did make it obvious, I think, that I was interested in him. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket as I was loading up the kids and handed it to me. You could've knocked me over with a feather (used-up cliche, my bad); I didn't even know what to say! So I thanked him and said yes, I'd like to get together. Then when I got home and settled in I called him, said thanks again, and gave him my phone numbers. I don't know if that was the "correct" dating protocol, but there's a point at which I just have to do what I think is right. So I called, and kept it short. He said he's off work today, so he'll be at the park this evening. Maybe we can make an actual date, or go somewhere tonight for a quick bite after the park.
He also discovered that Timmy can play fetch with a tennis ball. Now I've got a monster on my hands. He couldn't get enough, and L. couldn't believe I'd had him for almost a year and didn't know he could do that. Timmy is the best dog in the world; I can't believe I almost didn't adopt him.
So I've actually got a shot with the NICEST guy on the planet. I hope I'm right about this one, and that I can keep from screwing up this time. I'm so excited I could piddle on the floor.
He also discovered that Timmy can play fetch with a tennis ball. Now I've got a monster on my hands. He couldn't get enough, and L. couldn't believe I'd had him for almost a year and didn't know he could do that. Timmy is the best dog in the world; I can't believe I almost didn't adopt him.
So I've actually got a shot with the NICEST guy on the planet. I hope I'm right about this one, and that I can keep from screwing up this time. I'm so excited I could piddle on the floor.
Friday, May 18, 2007
It Might Just Work!
I think the first Writers' Meetup went rather well, in spite of my lack of experience and leadership ability. 5 of the 10 members came out and we had an informal sort of gathering at Panera, in which we all introduced ourselves and talked about the kind of writing we are interested in, the projects we're each working on, and the kinds of things we'd like to accomplish as members of the group.
We made some tentative decisions regarding days/time/place of future meetings, and decided that twice a month would be a good schedule to keep us all involved. I hope that the other members will be able to attend in the future. We're still a little uncertain as to how to structure our meeting time, but I think it's a good group with a lot of potential, and everyone has different genre interests and goals. It would be incredible if even one of us was able to get work published as a result of being part of the group. Without even going to Taos! Just a little writer humor there....
I can only imagine how disappointed Timmy and Pancho must have been to be shown into the kitchen instead of going for a ride last night. I missed the dog park, too. I'll make it up to them tonight and the rest of the weekend.
And Brother Bob is coming down for a rare sighting and drive-by visitation. We'll be doing lunch at The Pier, to give him his tourist-trap fix. And that'll be all the excitement this kid can stand for the weekend!
We made some tentative decisions regarding days/time/place of future meetings, and decided that twice a month would be a good schedule to keep us all involved. I hope that the other members will be able to attend in the future. We're still a little uncertain as to how to structure our meeting time, but I think it's a good group with a lot of potential, and everyone has different genre interests and goals. It would be incredible if even one of us was able to get work published as a result of being part of the group. Without even going to Taos! Just a little writer humor there....
I can only imagine how disappointed Timmy and Pancho must have been to be shown into the kitchen instead of going for a ride last night. I missed the dog park, too. I'll make it up to them tonight and the rest of the weekend.
And Brother Bob is coming down for a rare sighting and drive-by visitation. We'll be doing lunch at The Pier, to give him his tourist-trap fix. And that'll be all the excitement this kid can stand for the weekend!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Looks Like I May Have Started Something!
Tonight is my first Writers' Meetup ( http://writers.meetup.com/665/?gj=sj6 )! I'm excited but nervous, too. I created the group so I would have something to participate in, but I don't necessarily want to be its "leader." I don't even know what to do, never having been in a writers' group myself.
We're up to 10 members now, and 5 of us have RSVPed that we'll attend tonight. So I'm hoping that someone there will 1) know how a group like this "works" and 2) would be willing to be in charge or at least share that responsibility with me! Along with that, I guess the main thing would be to establish a regular meeting day/time/place, and set the next meeting. If we can accomplish that much, I'll be happy! It would be great if this group turned out to be successful; it would certainly be a boost to my self esteem, which has been in the sewer lately. It's also a way to meet some new people and, hopefully, get my writing off the ground.
We're up to 10 members now, and 5 of us have RSVPed that we'll attend tonight. So I'm hoping that someone there will 1) know how a group like this "works" and 2) would be willing to be in charge or at least share that responsibility with me! Along with that, I guess the main thing would be to establish a regular meeting day/time/place, and set the next meeting. If we can accomplish that much, I'll be happy! It would be great if this group turned out to be successful; it would certainly be a boost to my self esteem, which has been in the sewer lately. It's also a way to meet some new people and, hopefully, get my writing off the ground.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Dear Diary...
I started blogging with the hope of producing some worthwhile reading material, personal essays would be the idea I had in my mind. However, since the whole ordeal with J., I feel like I've reverted/regressed into "Dear Diary" mode, and it bothers me. I want the creative stuff back; the wisp of an idea in the back of my mind that I play with like mental Silly Putty, until I can turn it into a decent blog entry that a total stranger might stumble across and enjoy reading. I'm tired of my own endless whining over my failed-again romantic endeavor. But what can I do? Getting it out of my head helps. At least it feels like it helps. I'm writing stuff in a spiral notebook, too. You (my audience of 3?) don't even see the worst of it!
Going to the dog park, while not a huge accomplishment in itself, seems to help me a great deal, by virtue of keeping me in motion, getting me out of the house and out of my own head. I haven't spent this much time with my dogs since I've had them, and it's wonderful. But last week I realized I had another motive, a more selfish one. In spite of my own good intentions (Dear Diary), I discovered I had become attracted to one of the guys at the park. I didn't even realize it until he didn't show up a couple of nights last week and I found myself going home disappointed because he hadn't been there.
I didn't want this, I'm not ready for anyone else yet. I still get upset, sometimes to the point of tears, thinking about that whole mess with J. I often feel like I have no idea, at the age of 45, how to have a decent relationship or how a good relationship works. I'm not sure I've ever really had one, to be honest. But I think this guy is the nicest guy I've ever met, maybe even the nicest PERSON I've ever met. He's a really GOOD person. He loves his dogs (3 chow rescues), and he loves ALL the dogs. He likes Pancho and Timmy, too, and doesn't even mind Pancho jumping up onto the picnic table and kissing all over him.
I have no idea if he's the least bit interested in me, or just being his usual nice self. And I'm certainly not going to be doing any boy chasing any time soon. This wasn't part of the "plan," not this soon anyway. I'm not about to do anything stupid; it is good to know that I CAN be attracted to someone who's nice (I was starting to wonder about that). It's also good to know that there is actually anyone nice left to like. And if he does turn out to be interested in me, I'd be an idiot to turn him down.
I'm already struggling with wanting to do something to "move things along," scheming about how to get a date and I barely know the guy. It's that all-or-nothing mentality of mine, which has caused me nothing but trouble. Once I cross that line in my head, I get obsessive about getting what I want, as soon as I can (I want my pony, dammit!). It's no wonder I scare them all away. But if I made the first move and got rejected, then there goes my dog park. I'd be too embarrassed to show my face there again. All those people are friends already; I'm a newcomer, and I should be glad that they've been as friendly and welcoming to me as they have without knowing me. And that's what I need to keep foremost in my mind. The objective was to meet people and make FRIENDS, not find a boyfriend.
I guess I should consider this my big chance to do things right.
Going to the dog park, while not a huge accomplishment in itself, seems to help me a great deal, by virtue of keeping me in motion, getting me out of the house and out of my own head. I haven't spent this much time with my dogs since I've had them, and it's wonderful. But last week I realized I had another motive, a more selfish one. In spite of my own good intentions (Dear Diary), I discovered I had become attracted to one of the guys at the park. I didn't even realize it until he didn't show up a couple of nights last week and I found myself going home disappointed because he hadn't been there.
I didn't want this, I'm not ready for anyone else yet. I still get upset, sometimes to the point of tears, thinking about that whole mess with J. I often feel like I have no idea, at the age of 45, how to have a decent relationship or how a good relationship works. I'm not sure I've ever really had one, to be honest. But I think this guy is the nicest guy I've ever met, maybe even the nicest PERSON I've ever met. He's a really GOOD person. He loves his dogs (3 chow rescues), and he loves ALL the dogs. He likes Pancho and Timmy, too, and doesn't even mind Pancho jumping up onto the picnic table and kissing all over him.
I have no idea if he's the least bit interested in me, or just being his usual nice self. And I'm certainly not going to be doing any boy chasing any time soon. This wasn't part of the "plan," not this soon anyway. I'm not about to do anything stupid; it is good to know that I CAN be attracted to someone who's nice (I was starting to wonder about that). It's also good to know that there is actually anyone nice left to like. And if he does turn out to be interested in me, I'd be an idiot to turn him down.
I'm already struggling with wanting to do something to "move things along," scheming about how to get a date and I barely know the guy. It's that all-or-nothing mentality of mine, which has caused me nothing but trouble. Once I cross that line in my head, I get obsessive about getting what I want, as soon as I can (I want my pony, dammit!). It's no wonder I scare them all away. But if I made the first move and got rejected, then there goes my dog park. I'd be too embarrassed to show my face there again. All those people are friends already; I'm a newcomer, and I should be glad that they've been as friendly and welcoming to me as they have without knowing me. And that's what I need to keep foremost in my mind. The objective was to meet people and make FRIENDS, not find a boyfriend.
I guess I should consider this my big chance to do things right.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Maybe Not-So-Bright Idea?
I know I allowed just a few days, but only 2 people have signed up for my writers' group so far. Only one of them could make it tonight, so I've postponed the first meeting until next Thursday. I sent out about 20 invites, to people that are local and interested in a writing group, but only 2 of them joined. I suppose I err in assuming that everyone is as connected to their computer as I am. I could reach out a little farther from "home" and invite some more people. I could also put an announcement on Craig's List, which I will probably do. I'm afraid that, in spite of my efforts, I'm going to be disappointed, that there will be no additional interest.
Meanwhile, back at the dog park, Pancho and Timmy continue to gain fans and wow the spectators! When I get home from work, they practically pee themselves waiting for me to get their leashes. People always ask me about Timmy's name, so I just tell them I named him for South Park's Timmy (and they think that's cool), rather than go into the REAL story and weird everyone out.
Otherwise, it's been a fairly ordinary kind of week. I'm glad I've been getting out of the house; that's the one thing that has made a difference in getting me back to "normal." I've got sewing groups, too, but I just haven't been able to get psyched up for them. I think it will happen eventually, but everyone I know knows what happened and that makes it harder for me to be around them. There is a certain feeling of embarrassment and humiliation that I feel when I'm with people who know the whole story and how hard I'm taking it. The dog park is perfect because no one knows me or what I'm going through. I can pretend that nothing's wrong. It must help on some level.
Meanwhile, back at the dog park, Pancho and Timmy continue to gain fans and wow the spectators! When I get home from work, they practically pee themselves waiting for me to get their leashes. People always ask me about Timmy's name, so I just tell them I named him for South Park's Timmy (and they think that's cool), rather than go into the REAL story and weird everyone out.
Otherwise, it's been a fairly ordinary kind of week. I'm glad I've been getting out of the house; that's the one thing that has made a difference in getting me back to "normal." I've got sewing groups, too, but I just haven't been able to get psyched up for them. I think it will happen eventually, but everyone I know knows what happened and that makes it harder for me to be around them. There is a certain feeling of embarrassment and humiliation that I feel when I'm with people who know the whole story and how hard I'm taking it. The dog park is perfect because no one knows me or what I'm going through. I can pretend that nothing's wrong. It must help on some level.
Monday, May 07, 2007
My Latest Bright Idea
OK, I sucked it up and formed the Meetup group for writers in the St. Petersburg area. At the moment, I'm the only member, but the Meetup.com people will be e-mailing all those in the area that have an interest in joining a writing group. I've gone to the web site countless times looking for a local group; finally I thought, "Why not start one myself?" There appear to be a number of people in St. Petersburg who would be interested in such a group; we'll see.
I scheduled the first meeting for Thursday, just to keep myself from having too much time to get nervous about it. If no one signs up, I'll just postpone it for a week. It is rather short notice. But now that I've taken the first step, I'm kind of excited about it.
I'm starting to feel a little better, more "normal," in spite of myself. I took the dogs to the park after work today and let them play for an hour or so. The various "park people" are always asking me how I came to have two such terrific dogs, because they're both so friendly and gregarious (Pancho likes to jump up on the picnic tables and kiss everyone sitting there). So I tell them about Fred, and how I went to the SPCA a couple of days after he died and found Timmy. I sometimes get a little choked up when I relate how it all happened, especially when I say how close I came to NOT adopting Timmy. I can't even imagine my life without this dog, he's such a wonderful companion. And Pancho is Timmy's sidekick, his little buddy. They even play together at the dog park, and it's so much fun to watch Timmy trying to chase down Pancho, who is actually pretty quick and has some great moves, too.
So it's been an ok day, for a Monday.
I scheduled the first meeting for Thursday, just to keep myself from having too much time to get nervous about it. If no one signs up, I'll just postpone it for a week. It is rather short notice. But now that I've taken the first step, I'm kind of excited about it.
I'm starting to feel a little better, more "normal," in spite of myself. I took the dogs to the park after work today and let them play for an hour or so. The various "park people" are always asking me how I came to have two such terrific dogs, because they're both so friendly and gregarious (Pancho likes to jump up on the picnic tables and kiss everyone sitting there). So I tell them about Fred, and how I went to the SPCA a couple of days after he died and found Timmy. I sometimes get a little choked up when I relate how it all happened, especially when I say how close I came to NOT adopting Timmy. I can't even imagine my life without this dog, he's such a wonderful companion. And Pancho is Timmy's sidekick, his little buddy. They even play together at the dog park, and it's so much fun to watch Timmy trying to chase down Pancho, who is actually pretty quick and has some great moves, too.
So it's been an ok day, for a Monday.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
A Change of Plans
I haven't really been following my "90-day plan" very well; I've been doing a lot of reading, self-help stuff to try and ensure that I don't do the same stupid things again in the future. I actually did go pull some weeds Saturday morning, but that's not much considering all that needs to be done. I'm not doing very well with the "housy" tasks.
I have, however, been very good about getting out of the house. Wednesday I went to Panera's for a pizza-like thing, and did some writing while I was there, and the rest of the week (Thursday through today, Sunday) I've taken Pancho and Timmy to the dog park. Ok, so it wasn't much of a variety. But simply getting out of the house regularly is a positive step, and keeps me from getting too down in the dumps. How can I be miserable while I'm watching so many dogs have a great time? There seems to be a core group of friendly "regulars," so there is an opportunity to meet some new people. I take a book with me, but have trouble reading, because I watch the dogs as if they were my children (imagine that), and I'm afraid the minute I take my eyes off them, one of them will take a dump. For the uninitiated, not picking up after your dog is the cardinal sin of the dog park.
The change of plans I referred to in the title came to me this afternoon. I thought it might be more realistic to go with a date range of June 1-August 31 (my birthday!) as a goal. Because I'm still feeling kind of poopy a lot of the time, and not very consistent in most of the areas I talked about previously, I thought that changing the dates would give me a few weeks for life as I know it to return to a more normal state. This will hopefully make me a little more motivated and more successful in achieving those goals. In the meantime, I can learn how to work the Gantt chart software I downloaded! This will make my inner geek very happy.
I've also been giving some thought to starting a writer's Meetup group in St. Pete somewhere. There are existing writer's groups in Clearwater and Tampa, but none really nearby. It's inexpensive to start, you get your money back if you can't get it going in 30 days, so it's relatively risk free. The only reason I'm balking is that starting the group would also make me its leader by default, and that kind of freaks me out. I'm not the leader type. The other thing (ok this is the second reason) is that I'd feel like a complete loser if no one showed up at all! So I'm still pondering that idea. But I think it's an idea that I'll ultimately end up trying, and if the writer's group doesn't work, maybe I'll try one for bloggers!
Comments, anyone?
I have, however, been very good about getting out of the house. Wednesday I went to Panera's for a pizza-like thing, and did some writing while I was there, and the rest of the week (Thursday through today, Sunday) I've taken Pancho and Timmy to the dog park. Ok, so it wasn't much of a variety. But simply getting out of the house regularly is a positive step, and keeps me from getting too down in the dumps. How can I be miserable while I'm watching so many dogs have a great time? There seems to be a core group of friendly "regulars," so there is an opportunity to meet some new people. I take a book with me, but have trouble reading, because I watch the dogs as if they were my children (imagine that), and I'm afraid the minute I take my eyes off them, one of them will take a dump. For the uninitiated, not picking up after your dog is the cardinal sin of the dog park.
The change of plans I referred to in the title came to me this afternoon. I thought it might be more realistic to go with a date range of June 1-August 31 (my birthday!) as a goal. Because I'm still feeling kind of poopy a lot of the time, and not very consistent in most of the areas I talked about previously, I thought that changing the dates would give me a few weeks for life as I know it to return to a more normal state. This will hopefully make me a little more motivated and more successful in achieving those goals. In the meantime, I can learn how to work the Gantt chart software I downloaded! This will make my inner geek very happy.
I've also been giving some thought to starting a writer's Meetup group in St. Pete somewhere. There are existing writer's groups in Clearwater and Tampa, but none really nearby. It's inexpensive to start, you get your money back if you can't get it going in 30 days, so it's relatively risk free. The only reason I'm balking is that starting the group would also make me its leader by default, and that kind of freaks me out. I'm not the leader type. The other thing (ok this is the second reason) is that I'd feel like a complete loser if no one showed up at all! So I'm still pondering that idea. But I think it's an idea that I'll ultimately end up trying, and if the writer's group doesn't work, maybe I'll try one for bloggers!
Comments, anyone?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
I Don't Want to Live This Way
I went to bed early again last night, not doing a whole lot after I got home from work (as usual). I went to sleep around 8:30, which is becoming my standard bedtime. It had only just gotten dark outside. The last thought I remember having before I fell asleep was, "I don't want to live this way." Actually, it was more like a quiet little voice, something I heard rather than something I thought. I kept waking up through the night with that sentence in my head.
It's significant because that was my "mantra" when I quit drinking again last year. After hashing and rehashing, knowing I was becoming obsessed by drinking once again, I just decided that I didn't want to live that way, my life revolving around my next drink and the associated anxiety. It was a simple "bottom line" resolution of my ambivalence regarding whether I was actually an alcoholic. It made it easy to quit again and saved me from drinking on a few occasions during the year, when Fred died, for example, and when I had to get treatment for my staph infection. Big picture thinking. From ME. Go figure.
So now my "mantra" comes back to me. I don't want to live this way. Obsessed about something else I can't control. Working, sleeping, working, sleeping. All I want to do lately is sleep. But what do I do instead? My two "old" girlfriends don't answer my e-mails anymore, I can't go to Bonnie's house every day, and I don't have the money to take myself out to dinner every night. And I don't even want to think about exercising right now, although that's the one thing that I SHOULD be doing, and would probably make a difference in the way I feel. In fact, I know it would.
I don't know why I'm so stuck, except that depression does tend to do that to people. Even my "professional help" isn't helping right now. She also encouraged me to start exercising. I can't even visualize myself walking on the beach right now. It's all I can do to take the dogs to the park on Saturday morning.
I don't want to live this way. But what other choice do I have right now, when everything I've ever tried to do has been a failure? When I feel like a complete failure? When will I ever be successful at SOMETHING?
It's significant because that was my "mantra" when I quit drinking again last year. After hashing and rehashing, knowing I was becoming obsessed by drinking once again, I just decided that I didn't want to live that way, my life revolving around my next drink and the associated anxiety. It was a simple "bottom line" resolution of my ambivalence regarding whether I was actually an alcoholic. It made it easy to quit again and saved me from drinking on a few occasions during the year, when Fred died, for example, and when I had to get treatment for my staph infection. Big picture thinking. From ME. Go figure.
So now my "mantra" comes back to me. I don't want to live this way. Obsessed about something else I can't control. Working, sleeping, working, sleeping. All I want to do lately is sleep. But what do I do instead? My two "old" girlfriends don't answer my e-mails anymore, I can't go to Bonnie's house every day, and I don't have the money to take myself out to dinner every night. And I don't even want to think about exercising right now, although that's the one thing that I SHOULD be doing, and would probably make a difference in the way I feel. In fact, I know it would.
I don't know why I'm so stuck, except that depression does tend to do that to people. Even my "professional help" isn't helping right now. She also encouraged me to start exercising. I can't even visualize myself walking on the beach right now. It's all I can do to take the dogs to the park on Saturday morning.
I don't want to live this way. But what other choice do I have right now, when everything I've ever tried to do has been a failure? When I feel like a complete failure? When will I ever be successful at SOMETHING?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
An Ordinary Kind of Day
I'm at a loss for anything blogworthy to say the past several days. My mood goes up occasionally but remains mostly down. I haven't actively done anything toward achieving my goals during the last week or so. I'm probably going to have to revisit my timetable for that. I don't have a lot of motivation. I want to feel better, want to get this behind me, but I feel lost right now. I still feel very much like I'm just going through the motions. I get home in the afternoon and only do what is absolutely necessary, then go to bed, usually before 9. I saw my counselor yesterday, and the rehashing of everything just made me sadder.
I did get home earlier than usual and was finally able to make a few phone calls. I found out that my application is still under consideration for the job I applied for a couple of weeks ago. But a few calls to medical transcription agencies weren't very encouraging. It seems that medical transcription is not going to be very lucrative without experience, and it will probably be difficult to get the work without experience. That old "Catch-22." So that plan is going to have to be "Plan B." I'll be looking for something suitable, but it appears that full time work is out of the question until I somehow get some experience.
In spite of all that not so great juju, I've had the feeling all day that something good was going to happen to me. The feeling was so strong that I was anxious with anticipation all day. I didn't dare voice what I was feeling out loud. Nothing happened, of course. It was probably just the caffeine. A day when nothing bad happens seems like the best I can expect lately, so I guess I can't complain.
I did get home earlier than usual and was finally able to make a few phone calls. I found out that my application is still under consideration for the job I applied for a couple of weeks ago. But a few calls to medical transcription agencies weren't very encouraging. It seems that medical transcription is not going to be very lucrative without experience, and it will probably be difficult to get the work without experience. That old "Catch-22." So that plan is going to have to be "Plan B." I'll be looking for something suitable, but it appears that full time work is out of the question until I somehow get some experience.
In spite of all that not so great juju, I've had the feeling all day that something good was going to happen to me. The feeling was so strong that I was anxious with anticipation all day. I didn't dare voice what I was feeling out loud. Nothing happened, of course. It was probably just the caffeine. A day when nothing bad happens seems like the best I can expect lately, so I guess I can't complain.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Of Boobs, Boys, and Life in General
I had an appointment yesterday with the boob-o-matic machine (follow up mammogram/sonogram). Everything is "stable," but I knew all along that nothing was wrong. The "mass" that was biopsied has been there since my 20s, and I had forgotten all about it. Also, it's nowhere near the milk ducts, which is typically where breast cancer begins. As you all probably know, I was more afraid of the procedure itself than the results.
I learned something interesting, though. The doctor that performed the biopsy inserted a "marker" where the sample was taken, so when they do x-rays, they can see exactly where the procedure was performed. It looks like a little tiny breast cancer ribbon! I feel like I've been microchipped; if I ever get lost, they can at least take me to the nearest boob doctor. Or Big Brother Boob is watching. Or something.
While I was waiting in the lobby for my films, I was reading the brief bio which hung beneath the portrait of Susan Cheek Needler, the woman for whom the breast cancer center is named. She died 10 years ago at age 52. It made me think that, had the cosmic coin toss come up "tails," I would be fighting cancer right now, rather than doing preventive maintenance. I could be going there for treatments instead of follow up "well care," calculating my life expectancy and wondering if I would see my 50th birthday. I still might not have the 40-50 years ahead of me that I think I do. I guess that's my long version of "life's too short."
While it wasn't the life-changing revelation that it might have been, it was still a good reality check. I've wasted too much time already on people and things that aren't worth it. I've given away too much rent-free space in my brain to things I can't change, and not enough to changing the things I can (oh, gawd, you know what THAT sounds like). I have, in fact, put just about everything on hold during the last two years while I've been searching for Mister Right. I wasn't looking for a "savior," I just had my priorities mixed up.
When I invented my little self-improvement project a week ago, I was on the right track. Since then, I've been drifting back into that powerless, hoping-he'll-change-his-mind, hoping-he'll-call waiting game, a sort of mental prison that's been keeping me from making any real progress. I've been reading all the right books, analyzing the situation ad nauseum, what he did wrong, what I did wrong, what was wrong in general. What I could do to try and get another chance at this. I had actively been scheming to try and contact J. in a month or so, after we'd both had a chance to cool off. I finally realized what a futile waste of my time and energy that would be.
So last night, I wrote a semi-sappy goodbye letter to J., and sent it (I was going to use a "message in a bottle" metaphor here, but thought it was too cheesy). I asked him to reply, if only to let me know he's read it. I've heard nothing. He may have me filtered out of his mailbox and may never even get it. But it was the only thing I could do to give myself a feeling of having some control over this situation. I had to let it go. I think I have, in the practical sense of literally moving on. Emotionally, I'm not so sure. All I can do is try, and trust that time will take care of this hurt, too.
I learned something interesting, though. The doctor that performed the biopsy inserted a "marker" where the sample was taken, so when they do x-rays, they can see exactly where the procedure was performed. It looks like a little tiny breast cancer ribbon! I feel like I've been microchipped; if I ever get lost, they can at least take me to the nearest boob doctor. Or Big Brother Boob is watching. Or something.
While I was waiting in the lobby for my films, I was reading the brief bio which hung beneath the portrait of Susan Cheek Needler, the woman for whom the breast cancer center is named. She died 10 years ago at age 52. It made me think that, had the cosmic coin toss come up "tails," I would be fighting cancer right now, rather than doing preventive maintenance. I could be going there for treatments instead of follow up "well care," calculating my life expectancy and wondering if I would see my 50th birthday. I still might not have the 40-50 years ahead of me that I think I do. I guess that's my long version of "life's too short."
While it wasn't the life-changing revelation that it might have been, it was still a good reality check. I've wasted too much time already on people and things that aren't worth it. I've given away too much rent-free space in my brain to things I can't change, and not enough to changing the things I can (oh, gawd, you know what THAT sounds like). I have, in fact, put just about everything on hold during the last two years while I've been searching for Mister Right. I wasn't looking for a "savior," I just had my priorities mixed up.
When I invented my little self-improvement project a week ago, I was on the right track. Since then, I've been drifting back into that powerless, hoping-he'll-change-his-mind, hoping-he'll-call waiting game, a sort of mental prison that's been keeping me from making any real progress. I've been reading all the right books, analyzing the situation ad nauseum, what he did wrong, what I did wrong, what was wrong in general. What I could do to try and get another chance at this. I had actively been scheming to try and contact J. in a month or so, after we'd both had a chance to cool off. I finally realized what a futile waste of my time and energy that would be.
So last night, I wrote a semi-sappy goodbye letter to J., and sent it (I was going to use a "message in a bottle" metaphor here, but thought it was too cheesy). I asked him to reply, if only to let me know he's read it. I've heard nothing. He may have me filtered out of his mailbox and may never even get it. But it was the only thing I could do to give myself a feeling of having some control over this situation. I had to let it go. I think I have, in the practical sense of literally moving on. Emotionally, I'm not so sure. All I can do is try, and trust that time will take care of this hurt, too.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Hardly worth writing about - Day 6
This hasn't been a very inspiring or exciting week so far. I'm having my usual problem with sustaining my motivation. I did get out of the house this morning and took Timmy and Pancho to the dog park. I got home around noon and have been piddling around, sometimes just pacing around the room, for most of the afternoon. I sat in the sun for awhile, but haven't really done anything else worth mentioning (as if THAT was worth mentioning).
I had one thought that SHOULD help me get over J., if I would just WANT to get over him. And that is that even if he and I had a perfect relationship, my life much of the time would look just like today. Alone. He often tried to hammer that home to me, and I just brushed it aside, the fact that half my time in a relationship with him would be WITHOUT him. And I'm not the kind of person that would deal well with all that waiting on a regular basis. I'm not "needy" but if I'm in a relationship, I don't want to be alone, either.
I often complain that I don't have time to do this or that thing. Then something like this happens and suddenly an entire weekend yawning before me seems like something I can't possibly tolerate on my own. Prior to J., I would've accomplished great things during a weekend, or not, and it wouldn't have mattered a lot. Now I feel like an absolute failure if I don't have some project or chore to occupy my every minute, or the motivation to do it.
I probably seem a little schizoid in these recent postings, my mood and attitude about this thing changes from minute to minute sometimes. I'm not lying in bed crying all day, but I haven't exactly been the "new me" that I aspired to just a few days ago.
I had one thought that SHOULD help me get over J., if I would just WANT to get over him. And that is that even if he and I had a perfect relationship, my life much of the time would look just like today. Alone. He often tried to hammer that home to me, and I just brushed it aside, the fact that half my time in a relationship with him would be WITHOUT him. And I'm not the kind of person that would deal well with all that waiting on a regular basis. I'm not "needy" but if I'm in a relationship, I don't want to be alone, either.
I often complain that I don't have time to do this or that thing. Then something like this happens and suddenly an entire weekend yawning before me seems like something I can't possibly tolerate on my own. Prior to J., I would've accomplished great things during a weekend, or not, and it wouldn't have mattered a lot. Now I feel like an absolute failure if I don't have some project or chore to occupy my every minute, or the motivation to do it.
I probably seem a little schizoid in these recent postings, my mood and attitude about this thing changes from minute to minute sometimes. I'm not lying in bed crying all day, but I haven't exactly been the "new me" that I aspired to just a few days ago.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Progress Report - Day 5
I haven't done anything on the job front. I'm hoping that the job I applied for last weekend will materialize. In a month I should at least know one way or the other, and if it doesn't happen, I should be beginning to do some of the transcription work, for which I'll need to buy some equipment and software first. That will take a little time and research,but I'm going to try and make a phone call today about that, and find out how much it's going to cost me to get outfitted to do this at home. So, by the end of my first month, mid-May, I should have something positive to report on the job front.
My lovelorn weight loss plan is working beautifully. I can't eat a thing. I've now lost 6 lbs. since about 2 weeks ago. I choke down half a package of ramen soup at lunch, and that's about all I want, all day. Not the healthiest way to lose it, but I'll do it however I can right now.
I tackle the house decluttering a half hour at a time after work. I'm working on the laundry/ storage area now and have already made some headway. I just go through a couple of boxes every day and throw away what I can. I've put some stuff into the car to drop off at a Goodwill trailer at lunch time today. I may have the Salvation Army come pick up some old furniture, once I can decide what to part with.
I haven't started my yard work yet (will try to get that going this weekend), and I haven't gone out all week. But I've been reading and writing like crazy, and will be trying to post entries here at least every couple of days, even if they're not terribly inspired. I ordered cheap "student organizer" software that has a timeline builder in it. Hopefully that'll arrive early next week and keep me on task for the duration.
Not a lot of progress, but a reasonable start for the first week, IMHO.
My lovelorn weight loss plan is working beautifully. I can't eat a thing. I've now lost 6 lbs. since about 2 weeks ago. I choke down half a package of ramen soup at lunch, and that's about all I want, all day. Not the healthiest way to lose it, but I'll do it however I can right now.
I tackle the house decluttering a half hour at a time after work. I'm working on the laundry/ storage area now and have already made some headway. I just go through a couple of boxes every day and throw away what I can. I've put some stuff into the car to drop off at a Goodwill trailer at lunch time today. I may have the Salvation Army come pick up some old furniture, once I can decide what to part with.
I haven't started my yard work yet (will try to get that going this weekend), and I haven't gone out all week. But I've been reading and writing like crazy, and will be trying to post entries here at least every couple of days, even if they're not terribly inspired. I ordered cheap "student organizer" software that has a timeline builder in it. Hopefully that'll arrive early next week and keep me on task for the duration.
Not a lot of progress, but a reasonable start for the first week, IMHO.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Move along, nothing to see here
I want to write something postive, but I'm having an emotional "relapse" tonight. Regrets over my behavior with J., again. I'll ALWAYS regret the way this ended, and that I have no way to make it right. I've e-mailed and left phone messages, to the point of feeling like a stalker chick, and he just won't answer me. I hope I've learned something this time. I miss this guy in the worst way. He may not have been perfect, he may not have been Mr. Right, but now I'll never know for sure. And I had feelings for him that I haven't felt in a very long time. Years. This sucks.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
I Get Knocked Down (but I get up again)
Maybe that's not such a bad line after all.
Last night, I made an executive decision to pick myself back up and get my "house" in order, both literally and figuratively speaking. And to light a fire under my butt, I'm giving myself 3 months/90 days. My most ambitious self improvement project since I quit drinking. I plan to transform myself, inside and out, by mid-July. And in the meantime, NO BOY HUNTING.
I've made some progress this year so far, but I'm still in the same rut I've been in for 5 years. A lot of my big plans got sidelined last year due to all my health issues, but that in itself was a major personal victory over the phobias that have plagued me since childhood.
I generally can only concentrate on one thing at a time, but I need to change that. I've chosen the 90 day deadline (July 16) so that I will have a sense of urgency, but still be able to achieve some significant accomplishments. I roughed some things out on paper last night, and the main things I would like to accomplish are:
1. Get a new job
2. Get the house decluttered - throw away, give away, organize "stuff"
3. Get the yard in reasonable shape - I'm ashamed to say I've done next to no yard work in almost a year.
4. Lose 20 lbs. - This one's going to be difficult; there's really not enough time in 3 mos., especially with all this other stuff I'll be doing.
5. Get out of the house 4 times a week, for at least an hour, either for exercise, or just some activity to get me OUT. Dog parks, treat myself to dinner once in awhile, sewing at Bonnie's, etc.
6. Reconnect with my hobbies - sewing, cross stitch, and KEEP WRITING.
The progress I've made so far includes taking the medical terminology course, which will be over in a few weeks, and thanks to Phil's prodding, I've applied for a job at his company. He seems to think I'm a natural for the position (promotional writing/editing), but I haven't heard a peep from the HR gods yet. If that fails, I'll throw myself wholeheartedly into doing the medical transcription work, and hopefully be doing it full time by the end of the year.
I've got to get unstuck, and maybe that's one of the reasons I can't seem to find the right relationship. The ultimate (and ulterior) motive is, of course, to find THE long term relationship, and I feel a little guilty for relying on an exterior source of motivation, however, I'm also a big fan of "whatever works," and if thinking about a future Mr. Right gets me out of the gate, then so be it. That's how I began my successful weight loss campaign 6 years ago (we won't talk about how much I've gained back since then).
Of course, the possibility exists, as I've discovered many times before, that I'll come out on the other side of this not having accomplished much of anything, due to loss of motivation, or having been shown once again how very little control I actually have over anything. But I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
And I am totally sick of pumping $200 in gasoline into my car every month.
Last night, I made an executive decision to pick myself back up and get my "house" in order, both literally and figuratively speaking. And to light a fire under my butt, I'm giving myself 3 months/90 days. My most ambitious self improvement project since I quit drinking. I plan to transform myself, inside and out, by mid-July. And in the meantime, NO BOY HUNTING.
I've made some progress this year so far, but I'm still in the same rut I've been in for 5 years. A lot of my big plans got sidelined last year due to all my health issues, but that in itself was a major personal victory over the phobias that have plagued me since childhood.
I generally can only concentrate on one thing at a time, but I need to change that. I've chosen the 90 day deadline (July 16) so that I will have a sense of urgency, but still be able to achieve some significant accomplishments. I roughed some things out on paper last night, and the main things I would like to accomplish are:
1. Get a new job
2. Get the house decluttered - throw away, give away, organize "stuff"
3. Get the yard in reasonable shape - I'm ashamed to say I've done next to no yard work in almost a year.
4. Lose 20 lbs. - This one's going to be difficult; there's really not enough time in 3 mos., especially with all this other stuff I'll be doing.
5. Get out of the house 4 times a week, for at least an hour, either for exercise, or just some activity to get me OUT. Dog parks, treat myself to dinner once in awhile, sewing at Bonnie's, etc.
6. Reconnect with my hobbies - sewing, cross stitch, and KEEP WRITING.
The progress I've made so far includes taking the medical terminology course, which will be over in a few weeks, and thanks to Phil's prodding, I've applied for a job at his company. He seems to think I'm a natural for the position (promotional writing/editing), but I haven't heard a peep from the HR gods yet. If that fails, I'll throw myself wholeheartedly into doing the medical transcription work, and hopefully be doing it full time by the end of the year.
I've got to get unstuck, and maybe that's one of the reasons I can't seem to find the right relationship. The ultimate (and ulterior) motive is, of course, to find THE long term relationship, and I feel a little guilty for relying on an exterior source of motivation, however, I'm also a big fan of "whatever works," and if thinking about a future Mr. Right gets me out of the gate, then so be it. That's how I began my successful weight loss campaign 6 years ago (we won't talk about how much I've gained back since then).
Of course, the possibility exists, as I've discovered many times before, that I'll come out on the other side of this not having accomplished much of anything, due to loss of motivation, or having been shown once again how very little control I actually have over anything. But I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
And I am totally sick of pumping $200 in gasoline into my car every month.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Afterthoughts
I woke up again with that awful feeling. I thought I was feeling a little bit better, but this morning I've got that awful hollowed-out feeling again, just like that first day. I guess I'd been harboring some small hope that I'd hear from J. again, that there was some chance of "fixing" this. I'm probably never going to see him again. We never got a chance to do even a fraction of the things we talked about doing together, things like sailing trips and rollerblading, or just spending a whole day in bed. Things that were dangled before me in my mind's eye like carrots that got snatched away just as I was ready to grab. I always perceived that he was somehow "out of my league" which made me all the crazier about him, and all the more insecure.
I had valid reasons to be upset; the problem is that I haven't learned how to express anger/discontent in an adult way. I suck it up until I blow. I've replayed it over and over in my head. I did have legitimate gripes. As I did with other boyfriends that I've lost this way. I blow up the way I do because I assume that the relationship will end anyway when I air my complaints, so I may as well be certain that I have my say (be right rather than happy). And they inevitably do end, not necessarily because I have an issue, but because I can't sit down and work it out in a reasonable adult manner.
I read a little book yesterday called "He's Just Not That Into You," and J. fit neatly into a couple of the scenarios presented in the book. If the author (a guy) is accurate in his premise, it probably wouldn't have lasted anyway. As my counselor told me, I should have expressed my anger in a more constructive way; however, HIS behavior kind of set me up to behave/react the way I did.
So. It may never have been the relationship I wanted, but I hate like hell that my behavior gave him the "out" that he may have already been looking for, or I handed him a reason to want out. I'm tired of looking, tired of being alone. Tired of being responsible for my aloneness. I'm my own worst enemy; I seem to screw these things up just when the happiness I want seems to be almost within my grasp. Maybe the operative word is "almost." Maybe it never would have been within reach and that's part of the frustration.
I had valid reasons to be upset; the problem is that I haven't learned how to express anger/discontent in an adult way. I suck it up until I blow. I've replayed it over and over in my head. I did have legitimate gripes. As I did with other boyfriends that I've lost this way. I blow up the way I do because I assume that the relationship will end anyway when I air my complaints, so I may as well be certain that I have my say (be right rather than happy). And they inevitably do end, not necessarily because I have an issue, but because I can't sit down and work it out in a reasonable adult manner.
I read a little book yesterday called "He's Just Not That Into You," and J. fit neatly into a couple of the scenarios presented in the book. If the author (a guy) is accurate in his premise, it probably wouldn't have lasted anyway. As my counselor told me, I should have expressed my anger in a more constructive way; however, HIS behavior kind of set me up to behave/react the way I did.
So. It may never have been the relationship I wanted, but I hate like hell that my behavior gave him the "out" that he may have already been looking for, or I handed him a reason to want out. I'm tired of looking, tired of being alone. Tired of being responsible for my aloneness. I'm my own worst enemy; I seem to screw these things up just when the happiness I want seems to be almost within my grasp. Maybe the operative word is "almost." Maybe it never would have been within reach and that's part of the frustration.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Dr. Phil be damned....
...I guess I'd rather be right than be happy. This guy that spent a couple of days this week e-mailing me, trying to convince me to meet him, decided that our date tonight had to be postponed so he could go pick up his new fishing boat. And you know what? I told him to forget it, deal's off. I will not have a boat take priority over me EVER again, whether it's the first date or a fiancee. There was a time when I was pretty flexible about things like that; now I see it as a sign of things to come.
I'm fed up with broken dates and postponed plans, playing second fiddle to a stupid boat (or car), and being treated like I'm "disposable." So those are the buttons this guy pressed without even meeting me. So now he's not going to. I'm fed up with the dating "game." He hammered the final nail into my match.com "experience." I am never again going out with anyone who treats me like anything less than gold. I'm finished "settling" for losers, commitment-phobes and people that treat me like I just don't matter very much.
I'm fed up with broken dates and postponed plans, playing second fiddle to a stupid boat (or car), and being treated like I'm "disposable." So those are the buttons this guy pressed without even meeting me. So now he's not going to. I'm fed up with the dating "game." He hammered the final nail into my match.com "experience." I am never again going out with anyone who treats me like anything less than gold. I'm finished "settling" for losers, commitment-phobes and people that treat me like I just don't matter very much.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Go Figure
You've probably heard that old joke, "Why are you beating your head against the wall?" "Because it feels so good when I stop." Or words to that effect. I made a Big D. yesterday, to stop beating my head against the match.com wall. I decided that I'm done dating for awhile, maybe a long while.
Just prior to making that decision, I had made contact with one other guy. So I wrote to him and said only that I'd had a short relationship that didn't work out, but I was hurting, and not good date material right now. In spite of that, he continued to correspond with me, and finally talked me into meeting later this week.
He seems nice, but I can't fathom why anyone would want to go out with me right now. I didn't go into specifics, but was very clear about not having much enthusiasm for dating now, and I didn't want to waste his time. He must be a glutton for punishment, or an opportunist. I'm not sure what to think.
I'm still convinced that J. was The One, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary. I'm afraid that I'm always going to think of him as "the one that got away." And even if I do get over it at some point, I'll always regret the way it ended. And how I always seem to bungle a good thing because of my impatience and immaturity.
Just prior to making that decision, I had made contact with one other guy. So I wrote to him and said only that I'd had a short relationship that didn't work out, but I was hurting, and not good date material right now. In spite of that, he continued to correspond with me, and finally talked me into meeting later this week.
He seems nice, but I can't fathom why anyone would want to go out with me right now. I didn't go into specifics, but was very clear about not having much enthusiasm for dating now, and I didn't want to waste his time. He must be a glutton for punishment, or an opportunist. I'm not sure what to think.
I'm still convinced that J. was The One, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary. I'm afraid that I'm always going to think of him as "the one that got away." And even if I do get over it at some point, I'll always regret the way it ended. And how I always seem to bungle a good thing because of my impatience and immaturity.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
One more little whine...
After sleeping most of the morning, I put some clothes on and took Pancho and Timmy to the dog park. I watched all the animals joyfully bouncing around, unashamedly sniffing one another's butts, just happy to go for a ride and be around other dogs for awhile. Their people are all chit-chatting, enjoying the afternoon. Me, I feel like I'm in some kind of an invisible bubble, isolated from everything and everyone else. The hollow achey feeling won't go away, and I feel certain that I've just blown my last chance EVER at a relationship happiness. Who would want me now?
I'll try to come up with something worthwhile to post next time. I apologize (if anyone reads this at all) for the self-pity party.
I'll try to come up with something worthwhile to post next time. I apologize (if anyone reads this at all) for the self-pity party.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Suck it up
The Formal Period of Wallowing is now over. Life goes on...
I hope that someday I'll understand how this fits into the Big Picture. I hope it's worth all this.
I hope that someday I'll understand how this fits into the Big Picture. I hope it's worth all this.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
More of the same
I've been miserable to be around; every other word out of my mouth is "fuck;" I was especially mean to the coworker from hell yesterday. I counted down the minutes until lunch time so I could get away from that place for an hour. I pulled into the Publix parking lot only to see a minivan with "Just Married" painted on the back window. I walked into the supermarket and Someone Saved My Life Tonight was playing on the Muzak; that line I love, "so save your strength and run the field you play alone," causes my eyes to fill up and I almost lose it right there in the meat aisle.
So I keep moving, to check out the markdown area, and there I see a shopping cart full of discounted wine. I didn't walk into the store thinking about alcohol, but there it was, and it was on sale. I forced myself past it, only to find another cartload on the other side of the store. Who would know? Who would care? I'm not going out of the house tonight. Nobody in this store knows I have a problem with it. I'm anonymous here. Why not? This is how easy it can be to throw years of sobriety out the window. In my case I'm just coming up on my first anniversary (April 24, after failing my drinking experiment last year), and I guess it's the thought of that that keeps me from doing it. I'd know, and I guess I still care about myself enough not to cheat on MY commitment to ME. I can't just go and get toasted every time I have a bad day. Or even a bad boyfriend.
I thought about it some more after I got home, so I took a shower and put on my jammies so it would be more trouble to leave the house. Bonnie called to see if I was ok. They tried to get me to come over, but I said I was already in my pjs and I needed a couple of days to myself anyway. I had my favorite Red Velvet Cake ice cream in the freezer, so I loaded up a bowl and had it for dinner. I still don't know that my sobriety is safe. I guess I'll have to be on high alert for awhile.
So I keep moving, to check out the markdown area, and there I see a shopping cart full of discounted wine. I didn't walk into the store thinking about alcohol, but there it was, and it was on sale. I forced myself past it, only to find another cartload on the other side of the store. Who would know? Who would care? I'm not going out of the house tonight. Nobody in this store knows I have a problem with it. I'm anonymous here. Why not? This is how easy it can be to throw years of sobriety out the window. In my case I'm just coming up on my first anniversary (April 24, after failing my drinking experiment last year), and I guess it's the thought of that that keeps me from doing it. I'd know, and I guess I still care about myself enough not to cheat on MY commitment to ME. I can't just go and get toasted every time I have a bad day. Or even a bad boyfriend.
I thought about it some more after I got home, so I took a shower and put on my jammies so it would be more trouble to leave the house. Bonnie called to see if I was ok. They tried to get me to come over, but I said I was already in my pjs and I needed a couple of days to myself anyway. I had my favorite Red Velvet Cake ice cream in the freezer, so I loaded up a bowl and had it for dinner. I still don't know that my sobriety is safe. I guess I'll have to be on high alert for awhile.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Regarding 04/03/07
It's actually a physical pain; it feels like they say a heart attack could feel. Like someone squeezing my heart in their fist, a pressure in the center of my chest that fills my whole chest. Not acute stubbed-toe or pulled-muscle kind of pain. It has its own feeling; an aching, hollowed out feeling throughout my whole upper body.
It's happened many times before, but it hasn't been this strong, this bad, in a very long time. I wonder again how I can feel like this and not die. How I can hurt like this and still live to allow someone else this power over me that will inevitably lead to another occurrence of this pain. I wonder if I take the rest of my antidepressants, will that make the hurt go away? Will I at least be able to die happy?
But I don't OD on anything. I don't get drunk. I just take an extra Tylenol p.m. so I can sleep through the night. Somehow I live through that first night, as I will the second, and then another until finally that pain recedes and I'm just living again. Just living.
And ultimately, ironically, I'll go LOOKING for the next person that I'll care about enough, the next person that will have the power to make me hurt like this again. Because if I don't I'm afraid I'll die on the inside, alone.
It's happened many times before, but it hasn't been this strong, this bad, in a very long time. I wonder again how I can feel like this and not die. How I can hurt like this and still live to allow someone else this power over me that will inevitably lead to another occurrence of this pain. I wonder if I take the rest of my antidepressants, will that make the hurt go away? Will I at least be able to die happy?
But I don't OD on anything. I don't get drunk. I just take an extra Tylenol p.m. so I can sleep through the night. Somehow I live through that first night, as I will the second, and then another until finally that pain recedes and I'm just living again. Just living.
And ultimately, ironically, I'll go LOOKING for the next person that I'll care about enough, the next person that will have the power to make me hurt like this again. Because if I don't I'm afraid I'll die on the inside, alone.
Monday, April 02, 2007
The face of an angel....
...the heart and soul of Dennis the Menace.
In a moment of what could only have been temporary insanity, I added a kitten to the menagerie a couple of months ago. I'd been toying with the idea for months, never too seriously, but since Pancho arrived, Felix (the incumbent cat) had been mostly ignored. Timmy and Felix got along from the very beginning. Felix loves dogs; I think he's secretly harboring the fantasy of actually becoming one (can you get a "species change" operation yet?). The two of them used to wrestle all the time. At first I worred that Felix would get hurt, but after watching a few of the matches, I realized that Timmy never played TOO hard, and Felix wasn't backing down, either.
Then Pancho came along and Timmy discovered he had a REAL playmate. A dog he could kick some serious butt with. Suddenly Felix became the redheaded stepchild. No longer the playmate of choice, reduced to "cat" status again. So I started thinking about a kitten again, this time a little more seriously, imagining myself perusing the kittens at the SPCA for just the right one. A buddy for Felix. The one that would stick his paw out of the cage and whack me on the shoulder; that would be THE one.
I belong to a local Freecycle Group (a Yahoo e-mail group), and there are occasionally pets up for grabs. I began noticing the cat offerings, and even responded to a couple of them. It occurred to me that it would be more noble to adopt a kitten BEFORE it ended up in the shelter. I always dragged my feet a little, hoping that maybe they had already found good homes before I wrote in. After all, I was really looking forward to that SPCA shopping spree. This strategy worked briefly. Then one day I saw this post for a six month old kitten:
"This girl is funny. She is very frisky and dear. I cannot keep due to allergies. Has carpeted stand, box, food and all shots up to date."
So I waited until much later, thinking that she would surely have a home already, then responded:
"Let me know if you have no takers...I'm looking for another cat, would have to have spunk and personality and not be a 'fraidy cat' as I have another cat and two small dogs. They all get along great, and I keep them all indoors except for when I'm home, then they can go outside into the back yard which is fenced (6 ft. stockade), so nobody escapes! If you have others interested, it's ok, consider them first...I'm not in any big hurry!"
A short while later I received this response:
"hi patty- i liked your email the best. she is a super spunky girl and makes me laugh. she is also very alpha and does bite a little. call me up- i'd like you to have her."
Aaaaaack! What happened to first come, first served? I thought that was the way this thing was supposed to work! What if she was afraid of her own shadow and would hide all day? What was I thinking, giving up my chance to choose the next kid myself?
Arrangements were made, directions given, and a few hours later I was heading home with a car full of cat stuff, and one very unhappy kitten named KC, who cried all the way home. When I looked at the paperwork, I discovered that the woman was actually the second owner. The first was some guy, the Einstein wannabe who named her "KC" (as in Kitty Cat). I desperately wanted to name her myself, but since she seemed to know her name already, I compromised by spelling it "KayCee."
After a couple of days of adjustment, her personality began to emerge. She was less afraid of the dogs than pissed off by them. I could tell she was thinking about what a sweet gig this would be if she could just off those dogs. She has the loudest motor I've ever heard, and an extremely outgoing personality. She set about trying to make nice with Felix right away. Felix wanted nothing to do with KayCee, but immediately claimed her scratching post as his own. He still sleeps on the top platform at night. They do play and get along pretty well most of the time.
She loves to tease the dogs, poking out of her "safe place" then ducking back into it when they come tearing after her. I try to keep her indoors, but occasionally she gets out. She's good at climbing trees, but not so good at getting back down. Pancho caught her off guard one morning and she ended up in the mango tree again. Once the dogs were penned up in the kitchen, she slid down a branch far enough so I could reach her and pluck her out of the tree.
Sometimes I wonder if KayCee is going to make it to adulthood! She had a near death experience last week, in that I almost killed her! She was in my bedroom, just hanging out, looking out the windows, being all cute and kitteny. I opened up my laptop and turned it on and left the room to go get a glass of iced tea. In the two minutes (max) that I was out of the room, she had picked 2 keys off of the keypad. I picked her up and yelled "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" AS IF it would help, fix it, or do anything but make her mad, which it did, so now I'm sporting a couple more scratches on my arm. With a pair of tweezers and a whole lot of patience (not my strong suit), I was able to reattach the kkkkkeys; I thiiiiiink they work ok now.
This morning I awoke around 4 to find her lying on my chest, purring. Things are settling down nicely. I thinkkkkk.
Then Pancho came along and Timmy discovered he had a REAL playmate. A dog he could kick some serious butt with. Suddenly Felix became the redheaded stepchild. No longer the playmate of choice, reduced to "cat" status again. So I started thinking about a kitten again, this time a little more seriously, imagining myself perusing the kittens at the SPCA for just the right one. A buddy for Felix. The one that would stick his paw out of the cage and whack me on the shoulder; that would be THE one.
I belong to a local Freecycle Group (a Yahoo e-mail group), and there are occasionally pets up for grabs. I began noticing the cat offerings, and even responded to a couple of them. It occurred to me that it would be more noble to adopt a kitten BEFORE it ended up in the shelter. I always dragged my feet a little, hoping that maybe they had already found good homes before I wrote in. After all, I was really looking forward to that SPCA shopping spree. This strategy worked briefly. Then one day I saw this post for a six month old kitten:
"This girl is funny. She is very frisky and dear. I cannot keep due to allergies. Has carpeted stand, box, food and all shots up to date."
So I waited until much later, thinking that she would surely have a home already, then responded:
"Let me know if you have no takers...I'm looking for another cat, would have to have spunk and personality and not be a 'fraidy cat' as I have another cat and two small dogs. They all get along great, and I keep them all indoors except for when I'm home, then they can go outside into the back yard which is fenced (6 ft. stockade), so nobody escapes! If you have others interested, it's ok, consider them first...I'm not in any big hurry!"
A short while later I received this response:
"hi patty- i liked your email the best. she is a super spunky girl and makes me laugh. she is also very alpha and does bite a little. call me up- i'd like you to have her."
Aaaaaack! What happened to first come, first served? I thought that was the way this thing was supposed to work! What if she was afraid of her own shadow and would hide all day? What was I thinking, giving up my chance to choose the next kid myself?
Arrangements were made, directions given, and a few hours later I was heading home with a car full of cat stuff, and one very unhappy kitten named KC, who cried all the way home. When I looked at the paperwork, I discovered that the woman was actually the second owner. The first was some guy, the Einstein wannabe who named her "KC" (as in Kitty Cat). I desperately wanted to name her myself, but since she seemed to know her name already, I compromised by spelling it "KayCee."
After a couple of days of adjustment, her personality began to emerge. She was less afraid of the dogs than pissed off by them. I could tell she was thinking about what a sweet gig this would be if she could just off those dogs. She has the loudest motor I've ever heard, and an extremely outgoing personality. She set about trying to make nice with Felix right away. Felix wanted nothing to do with KayCee, but immediately claimed her scratching post as his own. He still sleeps on the top platform at night. They do play and get along pretty well most of the time.
She loves to tease the dogs, poking out of her "safe place" then ducking back into it when they come tearing after her. I try to keep her indoors, but occasionally she gets out. She's good at climbing trees, but not so good at getting back down. Pancho caught her off guard one morning and she ended up in the mango tree again. Once the dogs were penned up in the kitchen, she slid down a branch far enough so I could reach her and pluck her out of the tree.
Sometimes I wonder if KayCee is going to make it to adulthood! She had a near death experience last week, in that I almost killed her! She was in my bedroom, just hanging out, looking out the windows, being all cute and kitteny. I opened up my laptop and turned it on and left the room to go get a glass of iced tea. In the two minutes (max) that I was out of the room, she had picked 2 keys off of the keypad. I picked her up and yelled "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" AS IF it would help, fix it, or do anything but make her mad, which it did, so now I'm sporting a couple more scratches on my arm. With a pair of tweezers and a whole lot of patience (not my strong suit), I was able to reattach the kkkkkeys; I thiiiiiink they work ok now.
This morning I awoke around 4 to find her lying on my chest, purring. Things are settling down nicely. I thinkkkkk.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Adventures in Health Care (not for the squeamish!)
"It's got gangrene, it'll have to come off." The words came back to me from some long ago Civil War movie in which one of the characters has an injured limb requiring amputation. The sick guy, usually lying next to the campfire soaked in sweat, is then given an anesthetic (bottle of whiskey) and a chunk of wood to bite on during the "procedure" to remove the offending limb. I shuddered, then snapped back into the present; I was looking at internet photos of wounds caused by flesh eating disease ("necrotizing fasciitis," if you’re into official terms). I'd had a nasty looking pimple on the back of my shoulder, which turned into a boil, which broke open after about 2 weeks and then became infected, rapidly progressing (that’s the only delicate way to say it) after that.
It was a Friday, and though I was changing the bandage often, putting all kinds of over-the-counter preparations on it, I had come to the frightening realization that, just during the past few days, it had gotten noticeably worse, not better. It was badly infected, there was a reddish area (which was growing larger by the day) extending from the wound about halfway down my arm, where the infection seemed to originate. My coworker gleefully predicted that I probably had blood poisoning, too. I was getting fever chills and was now convinced that the flesh eating disease MUST be what I had. Being phobic about needles and doctors, and never having been sick or injured a day in my life, I had the biggest scariest decision to make EVER. Was I going to go see a doctor about this, or take a chance and see if it would improve over the weekend?
Examining the wound after work in the mirror (the only way I could get a good look at it), I faced the obvious, that I had a "situation" requiring immediate medical attention. My arm was becoming the Grand Canyon right before my eyes. There was some greenish looking tissue near the opening; even my untrained eyes could see it was necrotic, or getting that way. Finally, my fear of becoming an amputee outweighed my fear of seeing a doctor. I drove up to the closest walk-in clinic and sat in the waiting room crying. The nurse practitioner that saw me immediately identified it as a staph infection, and forced me to dispense with my needle phobia long enough to take an antibiotic injection. Without it, she stated, I'd probably be in an emergency room, on an IV drip, before the weekend was over. She prescribed an oral antibiotic (Levaquin) and a topical (Mupirocin) to put on the wound itself.
She informed me that Staphylococcus aureus is a common bacteria found on the skin of many normal healthy people, usually causing no harm. It can, however, cause a variety of infections and lesions, ranging from minor to life threatening. This usually occurs when an injury or damage to the skin allows the bacteria to invade the body and overcome the body's natural defenses. An MRSA (Methicillin resistant Staphylococcus Aureus) is a strain of staph which has become resistant to traditional antibiotics such as penicillin, methicillin and amoxicillin.1 MRSAs are treatable with newer types of antibiotics, such as clindamycin, erythromycin, floroquinolones, rifampin, and tetracycline. The Levaquin that I was prescribed is in the floroquinolones class, and was, therefore, a fortunate choice for my infection.
Often the bacteria penetrates skin that has been damaged by burns, cuts, and insect bites.2 These community-associated MRSAs often appear on the skin as a boil or pimple (as mine did) that may be swollen, red and painful and have a discharge.3 In my case, I had burned my shoulder in that area weeks before; the pimple appeared after the burn had healed, but perhaps my natural immunity in that area may have been compromised by the burn.
The following Monday, after another trip to the walk-in clinic, I was dispatched post-haste to a wound care center, where the doctor debrided the wound, leaving a hole in my arm that resembled my idea of what a gunshot wound would look like. A tissue culture from my wound confirmed that I had a community associated MRSA, and the treatment included daily cleaning, packing, and periodic measuring of the depth of the wound, for the infection had tunneled some 5 cm. into the soft tissue of my arm.
The doctor and nurses were baffled that someone like me, healthy and relatively young, would walk in off the street with a CA (community associated) MRSA infection. Historically, staph infections and MRSAs occurred in institutional settings (hospitals, nursing homes), where an individual's immunity was already likely to be compromised, and the individual was living in close quarters with many others. However, an alarming number of staph infections, including MRSAs, are being spread throughout the community, infecting people who are otherwise normal and healthy.
Another tissue culture a couple of weeks later showed that the infection had indeed responded to the prescribed antibiotic. I was fortunate that debriding, the most painful aspect of the treatment, was only required on the initial visit, but the treatment and healing process lasted for another month.
And I lived to tell this tale.
NOTES
1 “Healthcare-associated MRSA,” <http://cdc.gov/ncidod/dhqu/ar_mrsa.html>, October 10, 2006, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. March 18, 2007
2 Davidson, Tish, Haggerty, Maureen, and Gale, Thomson, “Stapholococcal Infections,” Gale
Encyclopedia of Children’s Health, 2006, <http://www.healtline.com/galecontent/staphylococcal-infections>, 2007, Healthline Networks, Inc. March 18, 2007
3 “Antibiotic-Resistant Staph Now Epidemic,”<http://www.everydayhealth.com/PublicSite/ShowArticle.aspx?IsP=news/%20534/news534715.xml&dp=2006/09/01>, September 1, 2006, Everydayhealth.com, March 18, 2007
It was a Friday, and though I was changing the bandage often, putting all kinds of over-the-counter preparations on it, I had come to the frightening realization that, just during the past few days, it had gotten noticeably worse, not better. It was badly infected, there was a reddish area (which was growing larger by the day) extending from the wound about halfway down my arm, where the infection seemed to originate. My coworker gleefully predicted that I probably had blood poisoning, too. I was getting fever chills and was now convinced that the flesh eating disease MUST be what I had. Being phobic about needles and doctors, and never having been sick or injured a day in my life, I had the biggest scariest decision to make EVER. Was I going to go see a doctor about this, or take a chance and see if it would improve over the weekend?
Examining the wound after work in the mirror (the only way I could get a good look at it), I faced the obvious, that I had a "situation" requiring immediate medical attention. My arm was becoming the Grand Canyon right before my eyes. There was some greenish looking tissue near the opening; even my untrained eyes could see it was necrotic, or getting that way. Finally, my fear of becoming an amputee outweighed my fear of seeing a doctor. I drove up to the closest walk-in clinic and sat in the waiting room crying. The nurse practitioner that saw me immediately identified it as a staph infection, and forced me to dispense with my needle phobia long enough to take an antibiotic injection. Without it, she stated, I'd probably be in an emergency room, on an IV drip, before the weekend was over. She prescribed an oral antibiotic (Levaquin) and a topical (Mupirocin) to put on the wound itself.
She informed me that Staphylococcus aureus is a common bacteria found on the skin of many normal healthy people, usually causing no harm. It can, however, cause a variety of infections and lesions, ranging from minor to life threatening. This usually occurs when an injury or damage to the skin allows the bacteria to invade the body and overcome the body's natural defenses. An MRSA (Methicillin resistant Staphylococcus Aureus) is a strain of staph which has become resistant to traditional antibiotics such as penicillin, methicillin and amoxicillin.1 MRSAs are treatable with newer types of antibiotics, such as clindamycin, erythromycin, floroquinolones, rifampin, and tetracycline. The Levaquin that I was prescribed is in the floroquinolones class, and was, therefore, a fortunate choice for my infection.
Often the bacteria penetrates skin that has been damaged by burns, cuts, and insect bites.2 These community-associated MRSAs often appear on the skin as a boil or pimple (as mine did) that may be swollen, red and painful and have a discharge.3 In my case, I had burned my shoulder in that area weeks before; the pimple appeared after the burn had healed, but perhaps my natural immunity in that area may have been compromised by the burn.
The following Monday, after another trip to the walk-in clinic, I was dispatched post-haste to a wound care center, where the doctor debrided the wound, leaving a hole in my arm that resembled my idea of what a gunshot wound would look like. A tissue culture from my wound confirmed that I had a community associated MRSA, and the treatment included daily cleaning, packing, and periodic measuring of the depth of the wound, for the infection had tunneled some 5 cm. into the soft tissue of my arm.
The doctor and nurses were baffled that someone like me, healthy and relatively young, would walk in off the street with a CA (community associated) MRSA infection. Historically, staph infections and MRSAs occurred in institutional settings (hospitals, nursing homes), where an individual's immunity was already likely to be compromised, and the individual was living in close quarters with many others. However, an alarming number of staph infections, including MRSAs, are being spread throughout the community, infecting people who are otherwise normal and healthy.
Another tissue culture a couple of weeks later showed that the infection had indeed responded to the prescribed antibiotic. I was fortunate that debriding, the most painful aspect of the treatment, was only required on the initial visit, but the treatment and healing process lasted for another month.
And I lived to tell this tale.
NOTES
1 “Healthcare-associated MRSA,” <http://cdc.gov/ncidod/dhqu/ar_mrsa.html>, October 10, 2006, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. March 18, 2007
2 Davidson, Tish, Haggerty, Maureen, and Gale, Thomson, “Stapholococcal Infections,” Gale
Encyclopedia of Children’s Health, 2006, <http://www.healtline.com/galecontent/staphylococcal-infections>, 2007, Healthline Networks, Inc. March 18, 2007
3 “Antibiotic-Resistant Staph Now Epidemic,”<http://www.everydayhealth.com/PublicSite/ShowArticle.aspx?IsP=news/%20534/news534715.xml&dp=2006/09/01>, September 1, 2006, Everydayhealth.com, March 18, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Odyssey 2007?
For the first time this spring, tonight I was able to leave the windows in my room open without the dog barking at every single little noise. It was another very pleasant evening with a nice cool, not cold, easterly breeze. At some point I became aware of a noise, loud but some distance away, that gradually worked its way into whatever dream I was having as my smoke alarm going off. As I woke up to the sound, a steady, annoying drone, I realized that it was the fire alarm at the Lido, a condominium at the end of my street.
As I became more and more aware of, and annoyed at the sound (it persisted noticeably even after I closed the windows), and I realized I hadn't heard any sirens on Gulf Boulevard (imagine THAT!), I thought, "That sounds like something else." But what?
It took about 10 more minutes of that awful sound piercing my semiconscious brain, then I remembered. One image found its way into my now fully conscious brain: The ape throwing the bone into the air in 2001: A Space Odyssey. It was that same sound, the sound that emanated from the monolith that indicated the presence of the aliens and drove the apes, well, ape-shit.
SO. If anyone reading this heard what I heard at around half past midnight (am still hearing and now it's almost 1 a.m.), and you don't live within 500 feet of the Lido's fire alarm, then we may now be under the aliens' control! Get your Nikes! Be prepared to evolve! Or something.
As I became more and more aware of, and annoyed at the sound (it persisted noticeably even after I closed the windows), and I realized I hadn't heard any sirens on Gulf Boulevard (imagine THAT!), I thought, "That sounds like something else." But what?
It took about 10 more minutes of that awful sound piercing my semiconscious brain, then I remembered. One image found its way into my now fully conscious brain: The ape throwing the bone into the air in 2001: A Space Odyssey. It was that same sound, the sound that emanated from the monolith that indicated the presence of the aliens and drove the apes, well, ape-shit.
SO. If anyone reading this heard what I heard at around half past midnight (am still hearing and now it's almost 1 a.m.), and you don't live within 500 feet of the Lido's fire alarm, then we may now be under the aliens' control! Get your Nikes! Be prepared to evolve! Or something.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Musical Musings #1 - REALLY Good Lines
I've been working on a little project with my CD collection for the past week. I guess that means it's not such a "little" project. I've taken my entire collection of discs out of their variously filthy, cracked and broken jewel cases and filed them in several bulky, unweildy CD binders. Doing so has sparked a bunch of blog-worthy topics, such as best and worst of, most embarrassing, my "eclectic" tastes, passing fancies, etc. I may do a bunch of posts, or just a few. I would LOVE to get some comments/contributions, if anything comes to mind!
One of the topics I found myself contemplating recently was REALLY good lines from songs. I could only come up with two, but they're SO good, I just had to write about them. In fact, saying they're good, or even REALLY good, doesn't do these justice:
From "The Long December" by the Counting Crows: "All at once you look across a crowded room and see the way that light attaches to a girl..."
And, from Al Stewart's "Year of the Cat:" "She comes out of the sun in a silk dress, running like a watercolor in the rain..."
Both of these lines hit me right between the eyes with images so powerful I could paint a picture!
So, if anyone has anything to contribute, I'd love to read them. But keep it real! If anyone writes, "Our house, in the middle of our street," "I get knocked down, but I get up again" or anything from "My Sharona"...instant death. You get the picture!
And I'll keep thinking, too.
One of the topics I found myself contemplating recently was REALLY good lines from songs. I could only come up with two, but they're SO good, I just had to write about them. In fact, saying they're good, or even REALLY good, doesn't do these justice:
From "The Long December" by the Counting Crows: "All at once you look across a crowded room and see the way that light attaches to a girl..."
And, from Al Stewart's "Year of the Cat:" "She comes out of the sun in a silk dress, running like a watercolor in the rain..."
Both of these lines hit me right between the eyes with images so powerful I could paint a picture!
So, if anyone has anything to contribute, I'd love to read them. But keep it real! If anyone writes, "Our house, in the middle of our street," "I get knocked down, but I get up again" or anything from "My Sharona"...instant death. You get the picture!
And I'll keep thinking, too.
Piercing Pagoda Redux
You gotta watch me every minute! I got my ears pierced (a second time) during my lunch hour today. I was on my way from the Bath & Body Works store to Yankee Candle, and was passing by the Piercing Pagoda (how '70s is THAT?), so I stopped just to peruse their earrings. Then I was chit-chatting with the clerk, and before I knew it I had two more holes in my head!
There was considerably less drama surrounding this event than the first one, which occurred two days before Christmas, in a mall jam-packed with Christmas shoppers. My friend Bonnie gave me the earrings/piercing as a Christmas gift. She had been pestering me for weeks to do it. On this particular night we had dinner at one of the mall restaurants and then segued into the trip to the Piercing Pagoda. Yes, they tricked me with food.
I was actually pretty nervous, being the weenie that I am regarding needles. Then this mom and her little girl happened by, and Mom told daughter to watch and see if she wanted to get her ears done. So in exchange, I asked her if she'd hold my hand, and she did! So Bonnie held one hand, a little girl held the other, and then it was done.
So I offered to hold the little girl's hand next, and she said, "I think I'll wait until I'm nine."
Such a big girl I am. I went and did this all by myself. Of course it WAS an impulse kind of thing, but how surprising that I would do such a thing on my own, on the spur of the moment, without someone to prevent me from fleeing at the last minute!
There was considerably less drama surrounding this event than the first one, which occurred two days before Christmas, in a mall jam-packed with Christmas shoppers. My friend Bonnie gave me the earrings/piercing as a Christmas gift. She had been pestering me for weeks to do it. On this particular night we had dinner at one of the mall restaurants and then segued into the trip to the Piercing Pagoda. Yes, they tricked me with food.
I was actually pretty nervous, being the weenie that I am regarding needles. Then this mom and her little girl happened by, and Mom told daughter to watch and see if she wanted to get her ears done. So in exchange, I asked her if she'd hold my hand, and she did! So Bonnie held one hand, a little girl held the other, and then it was done.
So I offered to hold the little girl's hand next, and she said, "I think I'll wait until I'm nine."
Such a big girl I am. I went and did this all by myself. Of course it WAS an impulse kind of thing, but how surprising that I would do such a thing on my own, on the spur of the moment, without someone to prevent me from fleeing at the last minute!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Timmahhhhh......
Timmy is at the doggie beauty parlor this morning, being "coiffed." He gets his hair cut more often than I do, and it's more expensive! But like the lovelies in the L'Oreal commercials, he's definitely worth it. It's awfully quiet without him in the house; the cats are basking in the calmness and safety of his absence, and Pancho, for this brief moment in time, is The Alpha Dog.
People think I named him after South Park's Timmy (prounounced "Timmahhhh," using a voice like the Budweiser "Wassup" guys--a little hard to explain if you haven't seen it), the paralyzed kid confined to a wheelchair who is unbelievably cool, in spite of his disabilities and the fact that his own name, "Timmahhh," is the only word he can say. And that's ok, it's fun when people ask his name and I say "Timmy," and they respond with "Timmahhhh," then we both say "Timmmahhh," and it's like a little inside joke that makes me feel kind of cool, too, for giving a dog such a clever name. But that's not the real reason for his name.....
I'd had a pug named Fred since he was a puppy; he was almost 8 (not that old), and he'd been like a sick child all his life with various health problems, the curse of the "puppy mill" dog. His last malady was an apparent inner ear infection, causing him to run around in circles, lose his balance, etc. He seemed to be responding pretty well to the treatment for that, but he woke up sicker than usual one morning (didn't want food, no energy at all). I went off to work anyway and made arrangements to leave early because I planned to take him to the vet as soon as I got home.
When I got home, he had died. Hours earlier. When I left for work that morning, I had a dog. When I got home, I found this thing on the kitchen floor, this awful, dead, thing. I kept circling around him, not wanting to touch him, not quite believing that this happened, that he was really THAT sick. That he was really dead. I called the vet, and they said I should put him in a trash bag and bring him in. A TRASH BAG? How could I take my Fred to the vet in a trash bag? But I did what they said, then I stuffed that into a gym bag, with some difficulty, and hopefully no one knew I had my dead dog in it, the dog that died because I was a crummy parent.
The next day, I went to work but was pretty useless...the following day began my "summer vacation." Not only was I devastated at the unexpected loss, but I was feeling a lot of guilt over going off to work and leaving him, not realizing how sick he really was. I was even more guilty because waited way too long to take him to the vet in the first place, so I felt responsible AND guilty. A pretty heavy load.
I had a doctor's appointment up in Clearwater that first day of my vacation, June 30. I stopped at the SPCA on my return trip, since it was on the way, "just to look." The SPCA, had only one smallish dog up for grabs, a cocker-poodle mix called a cockapoo. He was a handsome but frou frou-y fellow with white curly hair, reminiscent of a muppet. He seemed to have a friendly disposition, we went outside to the play area and he ran around a little bit, behaving very noncomittally, as was I, because I really just wanted my Fred back. Of course the price was right, and I knew if I left to think about it, he'd be gone when I got back. And, if it didn't work out, I could "return" him. So, without a whole lot of conviction, but knowing it wasn't an un-doable decision, I adopted him on the spot, deciding that I wasn't ready for another pug anyway.
I spent the next couple of days trying to decide what to name him. He came with a name, "Beji," which turned out to be a typo for "Benji." I didn't like it with or without the "n." I ran through all of the cool names I could think of: Spike, Chester, Max, Fozzie, Oscar (the cat's name is Felix), Zippy, Einstein, Scooter, even Timmy (the South Park Timmy), but nothing seemed quite right.
Finally, sitting in the back yard one afternoon, I was pretty much down to "Spike" because of my weird sense of humor, or "Fozzie" because of his muppet look. Then, out of nowhere, I found myself thinking about a friend of mine that had died sometime the previous year. An old bartender friend named Tim who had moved up north a few years earlier and ended up dying of liver failure. He was a good natured heavy drinking Irishman who apparently drank himself to death.
Tim had the same color hair as the dog. White-white. I thought what a nice tribute it would be to Tim's memory if I named this dog after him. So then (and here comes the weird part) I went to the archives of the local paper and looked up his obituary. While I was waiting for the page to load, I got this weird, pee-shiver kind of feeling. There was going to be something freaky about this, I just knew it. The obituary finally appeared, and there it was. He had died on June 30 of the previous year (2005), ON THE SAME DATE I got this dog.
He was Timmy from that moment on, and (I swear I'm not making this up) he responded to the name from the first time I uttered it. Some things just have no explanation other than synchronicity, and this is one of them. This frou-frou muppet dog was sent to me.
There is another pug now, but that's another story....
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Ch-ch-ch-changes...
Yesterday was like Christmas in my world, a geeky girl's dream come true! I know I'm probably the last computer literate person on the planet to do it, but I FINALLY got a DSL internet connection! I have no idea why it took me so long. Well, yeah I do. Resistance to change, the comforting and reliable sound of the static and whining of a modem connecting to its server, and the fear that getting switched over was going to involve extreme pain and suffering at the hands of a telephone repairman, with a Snake River Canyon butt crack, poking around my computer and phone line .
There was a repairman involved, but I never saw him. Apparently the rocket scientists at the "Central Office" cut off my phone service while they were enabling the DSL. So they sent someone over yesterday to check the service coming into the house, couched with many dire warnings of the extreme charges involved if the guy actually had to go into the house to do any work, due to my (utterly irresponsible) lack of insurance coverage on the inside lines. The repairman called me at work mid-morning and told me the problem had been fixed, no inside-the-house-butt-crack-revealing activity or home equity loan required.
When I got home, I had my phone line back AND my DSL up and running. A short while later I was all hooked up and actually sent an e-mail and made a phone call AT THE SAME TIME. But wait! That's not all! I had a router that I got free with my laptop, never thinking I'd actually use it, but hey, it was free. So I found my box of mostly useless old computer stuff, dug around til I found the router, connected it, and now I have WIRELESS access, too! To test that, I sat IN MY BED with my laptop, unconnected to anything, really far away from the router (well, it was probably about 15 feet), and sent an e-mail WIRELESSLY! So I sat in my bed for the rest of the evening sending wirelessly generated e-mails, just because I could! It boggles the mind. My mind, anyway. Not ONLY because I'm blonde, but because my house is over 50 years old. Nothing EVER happens this easily in MY house.*
I wonder if I'll be able to cancel my dial-up ISP account that easily.
*My new cooktop, for example, is still seated inside an opening that's approximately 1/4" larger than the cooktop. That is to say, the opening in the counter is 1/4" larger than it's supposed to be, so now I have to figure out how to shim the cooktop in, somehow, without it looking like, well, like I shimmed it in myself.
There was a repairman involved, but I never saw him. Apparently the rocket scientists at the "Central Office" cut off my phone service while they were enabling the DSL. So they sent someone over yesterday to check the service coming into the house, couched with many dire warnings of the extreme charges involved if the guy actually had to go into the house to do any work, due to my (utterly irresponsible) lack of insurance coverage on the inside lines. The repairman called me at work mid-morning and told me the problem had been fixed, no inside-the-house-butt-crack-revealing activity or home equity loan required.
When I got home, I had my phone line back AND my DSL up and running. A short while later I was all hooked up and actually sent an e-mail and made a phone call AT THE SAME TIME. But wait! That's not all! I had a router that I got free with my laptop, never thinking I'd actually use it, but hey, it was free. So I found my box of mostly useless old computer stuff, dug around til I found the router, connected it, and now I have WIRELESS access, too! To test that, I sat IN MY BED with my laptop, unconnected to anything, really far away from the router (well, it was probably about 15 feet), and sent an e-mail WIRELESSLY! So I sat in my bed for the rest of the evening sending wirelessly generated e-mails, just because I could! It boggles the mind. My mind, anyway. Not ONLY because I'm blonde, but because my house is over 50 years old. Nothing EVER happens this easily in MY house.*
I wonder if I'll be able to cancel my dial-up ISP account that easily.
*My new cooktop, for example, is still seated inside an opening that's approximately 1/4" larger than the cooktop. That is to say, the opening in the counter is 1/4" larger than it's supposed to be, so now I have to figure out how to shim the cooktop in, somehow, without it looking like, well, like I shimmed it in myself.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Is there hope for me yet?
I've been reading A Three Dog Life, by Abigail Thomas. It's a personal memoir about Thomas' life in the years after her husband was hit by a car and suffered irreversible brain damage. I started reading and in the beginning thought, "I won't be able to relate to anything in this book." For one thing, she didn't write enough about the dogs, IMO. However, it is the kind of book I could see myself writing. A memoir/personal experience type of book surrounding a particular subject.
Reading it reminded me once again of how envious I was when I read about the publication of Julie and Julia ( http://tinyurl.com/3dt67u ), in which the author, Julie Powell, sets out to cook all of the recipes in Julia Childs' famous cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. In a year. In a kitchen even crappier than mine. At the time I was heavily into cooking as a hobby, learning new things and experimenting on an almost daily basis. I once spent a whole weekend and several dozen eggs making (and ruining) souffles. I had discovered foodie writers like MFK Fisher, Ruth Reichl, Michael Lee West, and Laurie Colwin (I liked Colwin best because she seemed so "ordinary"). As I spent time goofing around in the kitchen with different things, I even began drafts of a handful of essays, with the idea of coming up with a collection of 30 or so to try and sell as articles or publish as a book.
But something was missing. I couldn't come up with a good "hook." In addition to a killer hook, J&J had a number of other themes running through it, too, such as Powell's attempt to get pregnant, her job as a temp at Ground Zero after the 9/11 attacks, her online blog about the cooking project, and frequent dramas involving her friends. Plus, the whole thing was hysterically funny. Without some other thread of readerly interest running through it, I couldn't imagine that anyone would want to read about my souffle experiment or anything else I had written. And I certainly had nothing notable going on in MY life.
I also did too much research. The more I researched, the more discouraged I became about my potential for getting anywhere without some sort of formal culinary training or restaurant experience or connection to someone in the publishing world. Even Julie Powell had a kind of "connection," her husband is the editor of a national magazine (Abigail Thomas, I just discovered, is the daughter of Lewis Thomas, a science writer whose works I've read and enjoyed immensely).
Eventually my enthusiasm for my idea waned, and I drifted off onto something else, some other pastime. I still cook from time to time, but nothing like I did during that year. I guess my problem is that I don't really have any one subject that I'm passionate about or an expert on, nothing that has held my interest over the long haul. I flit from hobby to hobby and I usually bail out at the point when I could actually get good, or progress beyond the novice stage.
Anyway, last night, as I was finishing A Three Dog Life--it's short, a small book of less than 200 pages, I came to the part that I SWEAR was written just for me. Thomas wrote: "I didn't start writing until I was forty-seven. I had always wanted to write but thought you needed a degree, or membership in a club nobody had asked me to join. I thought God had to touch you on the forehead, I thought you needed to have something specific to say, something imortant, and I thought you needed all that laid out from the git-go. It was a long time before I realized that you don't have to start right, you just have to start. Put pen to paper, allow yourself the freedom to write badly, to get it wrong, stop looking over your shoulder. You idiot, I would say to myself after half a page. What makes you think you can write, and then I'd crumple it up and aim for the wastebasket....that's the voice I need to banish every morning."
If I can keep that in mind, maybe there is hope for me yet.
Reading it reminded me once again of how envious I was when I read about the publication of Julie and Julia ( http://tinyurl.com/3dt67u ), in which the author, Julie Powell, sets out to cook all of the recipes in Julia Childs' famous cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. In a year. In a kitchen even crappier than mine. At the time I was heavily into cooking as a hobby, learning new things and experimenting on an almost daily basis. I once spent a whole weekend and several dozen eggs making (and ruining) souffles. I had discovered foodie writers like MFK Fisher, Ruth Reichl, Michael Lee West, and Laurie Colwin (I liked Colwin best because she seemed so "ordinary"). As I spent time goofing around in the kitchen with different things, I even began drafts of a handful of essays, with the idea of coming up with a collection of 30 or so to try and sell as articles or publish as a book.
But something was missing. I couldn't come up with a good "hook." In addition to a killer hook, J&J had a number of other themes running through it, too, such as Powell's attempt to get pregnant, her job as a temp at Ground Zero after the 9/11 attacks, her online blog about the cooking project, and frequent dramas involving her friends. Plus, the whole thing was hysterically funny. Without some other thread of readerly interest running through it, I couldn't imagine that anyone would want to read about my souffle experiment or anything else I had written. And I certainly had nothing notable going on in MY life.
I also did too much research. The more I researched, the more discouraged I became about my potential for getting anywhere without some sort of formal culinary training or restaurant experience or connection to someone in the publishing world. Even Julie Powell had a kind of "connection," her husband is the editor of a national magazine (Abigail Thomas, I just discovered, is the daughter of Lewis Thomas, a science writer whose works I've read and enjoyed immensely).
Eventually my enthusiasm for my idea waned, and I drifted off onto something else, some other pastime. I still cook from time to time, but nothing like I did during that year. I guess my problem is that I don't really have any one subject that I'm passionate about or an expert on, nothing that has held my interest over the long haul. I flit from hobby to hobby and I usually bail out at the point when I could actually get good, or progress beyond the novice stage.
Anyway, last night, as I was finishing A Three Dog Life--it's short, a small book of less than 200 pages, I came to the part that I SWEAR was written just for me. Thomas wrote: "I didn't start writing until I was forty-seven. I had always wanted to write but thought you needed a degree, or membership in a club nobody had asked me to join. I thought God had to touch you on the forehead, I thought you needed to have something specific to say, something imortant, and I thought you needed all that laid out from the git-go. It was a long time before I realized that you don't have to start right, you just have to start. Put pen to paper, allow yourself the freedom to write badly, to get it wrong, stop looking over your shoulder. You idiot, I would say to myself after half a page. What makes you think you can write, and then I'd crumple it up and aim for the wastebasket....that's the voice I need to banish every morning."
If I can keep that in mind, maybe there is hope for me yet.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
I Loved the 70s, too...
One of my recent afflictions is the inability to get songs out of my head (is it OCD or Old Age?). All I have to do is hear a stray chord from, say, "Rubber Band Man" on my coworker's radio, and (I can Name That Tune in one note) I'm stuck listening to the whole song over and over again in my brain, til another comes along to take its place. And this station plays Margaritaville EVERY SINGLE DAY, and WAY too much Fleetwood Mac. The strangulated sound of Stevie Nicks' voice makes me want to pierce my eardrums with a knitting needle. But I digress.
Anyway, yesterday I found myself thinking about Helen Reddy. So I did a quick search, and there it was, her official web site. Yes, she's still alive and a "practicing hypnotherapist" in Australia, near Sydney. "I Am Woman" plays while I peruse lots of photos and the promotion of her autobiography, "The Woman I Am," which I promptly reserved at the library, and the latest greatest hits CD. She doesn't look much like her glam shots from the 70s, but I think there's something to be said for just growing old the way we're intended to. I was appalled to see recent photos of Barbara Eden, who still looks much like she did back in the Jeannie days, but her skin is so taught and shiny you could bounce a quarter on it. Plus she has this one droopy looking lip going on that kinda gives it all away...but I digress.
SO. Last night in a feverish fit of nostalgia, I dug through my CDs, which had been packed up when I put the house up for sale (that's another story), and selected my Helen Reddy's Greatest Hits, along with Boz Scaggs' Greatest Hits, and America's "Horse with no Name," another greatest hits compilation, thankfully without the inclusion of "Muskrat Love." I haven't listened to much music during the past few years, since I evolved from my techno phase and got sick of Partridge Family tunes for the second time around (yes, I admit it; I actually have remastered CD versions of most of the Partridge Family albums).
I've always been a fan of one hit wonders. My absolute FAVE was Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods. Remember that annoying "Billy Don't be a Hero" song? (HA! Now YOU can suffer like I do--I'll bet you my David Cassidy Fan Club certificate that you'll be hearing THAT one all day!). They had a couple of other songs that I really dug, songs I'll bet YOU'VE never heard of, like "Who Do You Think You Are?," "Don't Ever Look Back," and "Deeper and Deeper." These songs are Vintage bubble gum, chartmaking singles and, in MY humble opinion, truly should have elevated this band beyon OHW status. Bo Donaldson was cute and multi-talented. I clearly remember being awed watching him playing a keyboard with one hand and a trumpet with the other on the late Bob McAllister's "Wonderama." But I was in love with Mike Gibbons, the lead singer. Actually it was his voice I was in love with, typical 70's, Bobby Sherman meets Rob Grill (The Grass Roots, think "Temptation Eyes").
On a whim, I typed "Bo Donaldson" into my Yahoo search engine, and there they were. www.bodonaldson.com , the Official Web Site. The Official promo shot shows five 50-somethings with short hair and dorky suits--Bo's blazer is fire engine red (the rest are black, unmatched), their last known gig on New Year's Eve in (where else) Las Vegas. Bo is still kinda cute, but alas, the Voice, Mike Gibbons, is no longer with the band. But they now have a Greatest Hits CD AND an Official Newsletter. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, signed up for the newsletter, and ordered the CD but stopped short of buying a T-shirt and an autographed band photo. I can admit this stuff here because no one will ever read it. It's as good as writing it in a little pink diary with a lock you can open with your fingernail.
Anyway, yesterday I found myself thinking about Helen Reddy. So I did a quick search, and there it was, her official web site. Yes, she's still alive and a "practicing hypnotherapist" in Australia, near Sydney. "I Am Woman" plays while I peruse lots of photos and the promotion of her autobiography, "The Woman I Am," which I promptly reserved at the library, and the latest greatest hits CD. She doesn't look much like her glam shots from the 70s, but I think there's something to be said for just growing old the way we're intended to. I was appalled to see recent photos of Barbara Eden, who still looks much like she did back in the Jeannie days, but her skin is so taught and shiny you could bounce a quarter on it. Plus she has this one droopy looking lip going on that kinda gives it all away...but I digress.
SO. Last night in a feverish fit of nostalgia, I dug through my CDs, which had been packed up when I put the house up for sale (that's another story), and selected my Helen Reddy's Greatest Hits, along with Boz Scaggs' Greatest Hits, and America's "Horse with no Name," another greatest hits compilation, thankfully without the inclusion of "Muskrat Love." I haven't listened to much music during the past few years, since I evolved from my techno phase and got sick of Partridge Family tunes for the second time around (yes, I admit it; I actually have remastered CD versions of most of the Partridge Family albums).
I've always been a fan of one hit wonders. My absolute FAVE was Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods. Remember that annoying "Billy Don't be a Hero" song? (HA! Now YOU can suffer like I do--I'll bet you my David Cassidy Fan Club certificate that you'll be hearing THAT one all day!). They had a couple of other songs that I really dug, songs I'll bet YOU'VE never heard of, like "Who Do You Think You Are?," "Don't Ever Look Back," and "Deeper and Deeper." These songs are Vintage bubble gum, chartmaking singles and, in MY humble opinion, truly should have elevated this band beyon OHW status. Bo Donaldson was cute and multi-talented. I clearly remember being awed watching him playing a keyboard with one hand and a trumpet with the other on the late Bob McAllister's "Wonderama." But I was in love with Mike Gibbons, the lead singer. Actually it was his voice I was in love with, typical 70's, Bobby Sherman meets Rob Grill (The Grass Roots, think "Temptation Eyes").
On a whim, I typed "Bo Donaldson" into my Yahoo search engine, and there they were. www.bodonaldson.com , the Official Web Site. The Official promo shot shows five 50-somethings with short hair and dorky suits--Bo's blazer is fire engine red (the rest are black, unmatched), their last known gig on New Year's Eve in (where else) Las Vegas. Bo is still kinda cute, but alas, the Voice, Mike Gibbons, is no longer with the band. But they now have a Greatest Hits CD AND an Official Newsletter. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, signed up for the newsletter, and ordered the CD but stopped short of buying a T-shirt and an autographed band photo. I can admit this stuff here because no one will ever read it. It's as good as writing it in a little pink diary with a lock you can open with your fingernail.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
A Glimpse of my Future?
See what happens when Patty can't get a date? This is how it starts, innocently enough, with a new kitten, a "rescue" from someone on Freecycle, another pet to keep her company during the cold, lonely February nights. Kittens are SO hard to resist. Heck, even the WORD "kitten" is cute! Eventually there will be another, and another, maybe a red one, then a brown tabby to round out the set. Somewhere along the way Patty forgets to have one of the females spayed and, well, accidents will happen...
Several years later, she enjoys a fleeting moment of fame as the poster child for the "I've fallen and I can't get up" advertising campaign. She had also become something of a cult icon for her handmade sock monkeys, crafted with the classic "Red Heel" socks, renewing the popularity of the vintage toy. Meanwhile, the cats are reproducing like bunnies since that one female became pregnant, because Patty can no longer afford to have them all neutered, and her money from the commercials was embezzeled from her by a dishonest organ salesman.
Patty crosses that thin line into the land of the clinically weird (that's a technical term) when she gives up Ramen soup and starts eating the cats' food. She develops a particular fondness for Friskies' Tuna & Egg in Sauce. She abandons her once successful sock monkey venture and starts cutting up her bed sheets and towels, now spending her days sewing articles of clothing for the animals. She uses her trusty Pfaff machine, the only thing of value remaining in her house. By now, even the organ has been reposessed.
Eventually the neighbors alert the authorities about an unpleasant odor emanating from the house, which is in a complete state of disrepair. The appropriate agency arrives, finds Patty living in squalor and filth, the litter boxes having gone unused for months, the unneutered males preferring to relieve themselves in various corners and on the musty old furniture. She is surrounded by her cats (now numbering over 2 dozen) and Timmy, her ancient but beloved cockapoo. Pancho, the pug, succumbed some time ago to a digestive disease arising from his unfortunate habit of snacking on the contents of the litter boxes.
The cats are confiscated, leaving only Timmy. A construction Dumpster is delivered along with a deadline date to have the premises restored to a habitable condition or condemnation will ensue. Patty ignores the warning, a month later the house is condemned and she is committed to an assisted care facility where she is abused by the nursing staff and fed nothing but Jell-O and Cream of Wheat until she is found one morning, clutching Vincent (the first sock monkey she ever sewed, so named because of one somewhat deformed ear) in her cold dead hands.
Is this how it will end?
Several years later, she enjoys a fleeting moment of fame as the poster child for the "I've fallen and I can't get up" advertising campaign. She had also become something of a cult icon for her handmade sock monkeys, crafted with the classic "Red Heel" socks, renewing the popularity of the vintage toy. Meanwhile, the cats are reproducing like bunnies since that one female became pregnant, because Patty can no longer afford to have them all neutered, and her money from the commercials was embezzeled from her by a dishonest organ salesman.
Patty crosses that thin line into the land of the clinically weird (that's a technical term) when she gives up Ramen soup and starts eating the cats' food. She develops a particular fondness for Friskies' Tuna & Egg in Sauce. She abandons her once successful sock monkey venture and starts cutting up her bed sheets and towels, now spending her days sewing articles of clothing for the animals. She uses her trusty Pfaff machine, the only thing of value remaining in her house. By now, even the organ has been reposessed.
Eventually the neighbors alert the authorities about an unpleasant odor emanating from the house, which is in a complete state of disrepair. The appropriate agency arrives, finds Patty living in squalor and filth, the litter boxes having gone unused for months, the unneutered males preferring to relieve themselves in various corners and on the musty old furniture. She is surrounded by her cats (now numbering over 2 dozen) and Timmy, her ancient but beloved cockapoo. Pancho, the pug, succumbed some time ago to a digestive disease arising from his unfortunate habit of snacking on the contents of the litter boxes.
The cats are confiscated, leaving only Timmy. A construction Dumpster is delivered along with a deadline date to have the premises restored to a habitable condition or condemnation will ensue. Patty ignores the warning, a month later the house is condemned and she is committed to an assisted care facility where she is abused by the nursing staff and fed nothing but Jell-O and Cream of Wheat until she is found one morning, clutching Vincent (the first sock monkey she ever sewed, so named because of one somewhat deformed ear) in her cold dead hands.
Is this how it will end?
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