Wednesday, January 25, 2006
So at 9 I try to call him, no answer. I think aww, maybe he's still at breakfast. I try him every 10 mins until 9:45, then I decide maybe the ringer on his phone is off - AGAIN - and call the front desk at his Assisted Living place.
"Assisted Living at XYZ, this is Liz...."
"Hi Liz, this is Sara, John B's daughter..."
"Oh yeah, he's sitting up here waiting for you."
"He says you were supposed to pick him up at nine to go to the doctor."
"Tell him I'll be there just after 11."
I worry this is an indicator as to how today will be. Ugh. I got a call from the VA yesterday - his bloodwork for his clot meds came back very high to the point where they are alarmed about it, and I am thinking his extra loopiness is probably because his blood chemistry is all jacked right now.
I get there shortly after 11, he's in his apartment. He has his shoes on and the godawful tan 1970's leather jacket with the butterfly collar on that he wore on HIS HONEYMOON WITH MY MOTHER. What is it with men and their obsession with ugly jackets, anyway? I mean, the thing is THIRTY YEARS OLD.
Anyway, he says "Oh, so you decided to show up, huh?"
I give him the don't fuck with me you crabby old ass look and say, "I told you I would call you. You must have forgotten."
"Well I suppose we're going to be late now."
Fuck you too, Dad, I think. Instead I say "Nope, appointment is at 12:15 - we have an hour to get there, it will be fine.
He literally doesn't say a word to me in the car on the way over. I don't really care because talking hurts my stupid throat so I just sit and listen to the radio. Drop him off in front and circle the parking lot for 30 minutes looking for a parking spot. This parking lot is the worst one EVER, the thought of it makes my blood rise. And 90 percent off the parking spots are for compact cars.
Now how many old Veterans do you know that drive compact cars? My hauling my dad's decrepit old ass around is exactly why I don't have a compact car - he literally couldn't get in it.
Anyway, I manage to park, scrape one of my mirrors pulling in, I don't care, its 12:10 and I have 5 minutes to get him up to the 8th floor.
The X ray goes off without a hitch, I go get us sandwiches downstairs in the cafeteria (which are phenomenally good, surprisingly...) and go to the Ortho appointment.
Get a decent doc this time, she basically doesn't try to whitewash everything and tell us the hip is 100 percent fine. It's healed, but its not 100 percent stable. To make a long story short, the pin collapsed into the socket, and bone grew around all of it - which in turn shortens all the muscles in the thigh, leading to extreme weakness and instability on that side. Great news for an already unstable Parkinson's patient.
She orders physical therapy for him, which was supposed to start in October when he got out of the hospital - but they screwed the pooch on that one initially. So that I'm happy for. Hopefully it will help.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Yesterday Dave was helping the Other Dave move, so I was on pseudo-mommy duty all day. The kids were completely well behaved for me, and I got a massive amount of stuff done as a result. I did 6 loads of laundry, packed about 10 boxes, posted some stuff on Craigslist for sale (Oh how I need the money too... augh), bought my mom flowers and met her over at BJ's for her birthday lunch, and generally ran around like a chicken with my head cut off.
When Dave got home around 6 I was pretty much shell shocked and wanted to lie down and go into a sleep coma for about a week. Dave and the kids hung out til like 7:45 so no time for a nap before the Sexy Cheese and I were to tear up a dance floor at Lola's for Hive - the Gothy night we are so fond of.
There was no cover, which made the $7.50 I had to pay for ONE drink (yeah, it wasn't cheap booze but whatever) a little less painful. Got there and there were a bunch of the hippies from whatever patchouli laced show upstairs at the crystal were hanging out. We knew within 1/2 hour of pounding industrial music that they would bail, and we were right. The bad news is the best music was played during the first 1/2 hour, and I always have to acclimate to the club before I can just get a groove on. Unless I'm drinking heavily, which in that case means I pound two vodka granades and its on. That wasn't happening, so yeah...
First amusing scenario: remember the guys that wanted me to join their band that sounded like Lydia Lunch? Yeah... they were there. Brie was drunk the night this happened and she was amused to finally figure out who that was, since that happened back in like, July and she wasn't sure.
Second amusing scenario: Gothic Bellydancers. This was the most boring, pathetic waste of 1/2 hour I'd ever seen. You would think Gothic Bellydancing would be cool. But I'm sorry - seeing a chubby chick with green hair dry fuck another chick with 47 tattoos to really slow, make you want to slit your wrists goth music just wasn't entertaining. It was like a really really bad soft porno, and I wasn't beyond vocalizing this either. Hahahah.
Third amusing scenario: I'm sitting over at our table, minding my own business, between dancing spurts. Brie is still out getting her groove on. I'm enjoying being lost in the music. Suddenly, the chair next to me is pulled closer with a sloppy screech.
I look over, "Hi, I'm Todd from Hillsboro. What's your story?"
"What do you mean, what's my story?" I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed already at the drunken brazenness of this dude. He REEKS of beer.
"Well you know..."
"That's a vague question."
"Well, yeah, you get to know people more by asking those kinds of questions," he says.
"Maybe you just can't think of any interesting questions. Excuse me."
So I go out, back to the dance floor for a few songs. I check out the table from the floor, its clear. Excellent. I go back. Within seconds he's back sitting next to me.
"You know, I had to have seven beers before I could come talk to you tonight," he says. "You're a really good dancer." He's slurring his words. I believe him on the seven beers, but not on the liquid courage part. He's straightlaced, probably intellectual when he's not plastered. He's one of those looking for a little taste of the wild side, which I wouldn't play any part of if I wasn't involved with someone. You can smell these ones a mile away. They treat you well but like a novelty. It gets real old real fast.
"Thanks," I say. He babbles more about psychology, and books I should read, and all this stuff, I'm trying not to be completely rude but he's getting the shortest answers possible from me.
Brie blessedly comes over and says "You ready to go? We can go."
So I say "Bye" to Todd, put my sweater on. He grabs my arm as I start to walk away, and he says "Oh wait, can I have your phone number? I'd really like to take you out sometime."
I say "Thanks, but no - I don't think my boyfriend would like that. I'm seeing someone."
He lets go, and flashes two fingers and says "Peace," then proceeds to pound the rest of his beer.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Decided my case of cold feet was simply side effects of this glorious latest round of dysthemia... I get paralyzed in making decisions when I have bad days. I literally couldn't tell you where I wanted to eat for dinner. Making decisions paralyzes me when I'm having an "episode." So I just talked myself off the proverbial ledge - reminding myself I made this decision when I did have a completely clear mind and I'm only psyching myself out in typical self-defeating behavior and I need to just knock it off and quit waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because waiting for it to fall will just will it so, and I'm not interested in that bullshit. I already know the end of that road, and if I have a chance to stay off of it I should.
Also decided my fears of losing my identity again are completely unfounded, because this is completely under my control - I will always be able to go out with my friends and carve out alone time when I need it, and that I won't be losing my individuality. I am learning the difference between sacrifice and compromise. I choose to believe in the karmic cycle and believe I will be able to make choices that I need that affect our little tribe when I really need them to happen.
I really believe that if you are acting out of your own heart and your own kindness that it is never wrong... it is only not right if it is at the expense of your very core, your very soul... and this isn't happening this time. I had to give myself a swift kick in the head and remind myself I haven't been down THIS road before - I was down another road, just as scary, which had very bad results for me... but it wasn't the same... and so I won't punish this chance at happiness out of fear of the past.
Called my dad about an hour ago - he gave me a mini heart attack. Told me he told the med nurse he wasn't going to take his yellow pills 4 times a day anymore. Legally, they can't make him do anything, legally *I* can't make him do anything. He hates taking pills. This freaked me out because the yellow pills are the carbidopa/levodopa for his Parkinson's, and obviously they are important, and obviously the every 4 hour dosage in his waking hours is uber-important.
Finally I figured out he was talking about his scheduled Tylenols - they are RED and yellow... heh. So I'm like, fine, don't take those, but take the rest.
So I went through his meds with him again, one by one, what each pill looked like, what each one did and why they were all of utmost importance. I think he's chilled out now. But I'm calling the head nurse over there first thing in the morning to make sure that his meds are as scheduled (minus the Tylenol if he wants that - pick your battles...) because well, you never know...
Friday, January 13, 2006
Sometimes we have to visit the past to remember how far we've come... but we should never dwell there too long.
What a difference a year makes... there's one obstacle left that I can't control. Everything else I can ensure happens. I will focus on that. My life a year ago is not even recognizable to me. I don't know who that woman even was. It is like a sad movie I saw once upon a time.
New beginnings aren't easy - they are worth it though - its like giving birth to yourself again, only this time your eyes are open.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Why is it so hard to get what I really want? I mean, all of it, all at once? Do people just not to have it all? Is it all some big myth that we are all being suckered into buying into? Am I being totally unrealistic?
Why is it that to have a relationship I am the one that is always making sacrifices at the expense of my needs? Am I doing this again? Am I setting myself up again?
Why is having everything I need to be happy so fucking elusive? Why can't I live in the city, go to school, get it done, be with the man I love and get a job I like? How am I going to get all of this? I'm not even done with the first move and I've got a second and a third looming and I am OVERWHELMED. How many times am I expected to adjust, take it with a smile, and just leave my comfort zone? Is this even healthy? What if I am happy where I am? What if I get happy being in Vancouver? Then ANOTHER move. What if I don't want to? Then it's over. And then what's the POINT?
Why is it that I will do ANYTHING for someone, but I am easy to leave behind? Maybe this is WHY I'm easy to leave behind. Maybe if I was inflexible and closed off then I would be considered "worth it."
I don't fucking know.
Why is it that no matter what I do I feel like a screaming failure?
I swear to God if this ends up blowing up in my face it will fucking destroy any sparks of hope I have left... color me done. Because I can't keep continuing to do this and have my heart broken again and again, and I can't keep falling in love with other people's children, raise them for a few years, and then have to say goodbye.
The more I think about this the worse I feel... I'm psyching myself out, big time. I hardly slept last night. I just cry and cry and that's so counter productive. I just want to go to sleep for a month and wake up and have someone tell me what to do... because I'm tired of thinking about it. I'm tired of second guessing myself and tired of being scared and feeling like a failure...
and for the first time in several months I feel very alone. I think I may be my own worst enemy.
Wednesday, January 4, 2006
My news is thus:
I am tired of being afraid of taking a chance.
And so, I am moving to Vancouver.
Yes, into Dave's place.
um... in February. I'm giving my notice at my apartment tomorrow.
If anyone has any Kevlar I can borrow I would like to borrow it when I tell my mother and she shoots barbs at me about how I am fucking up my life. Thanks.