To TRY to make a long story short: Wednesday when I was taking my math test, I turned the ringer off of my phone, and neglected to turn it back on when I was done. As a result I missed a call from Old Person Fuckwit Central - "Uh, Hi, your dad is out of Mirtziapine. Please being us more."
YES, this is the very same drug that I confirmed with the head nurse over there lsdt week that there was an ENTIRE NEW BOTTLE of it, just like I said, that they found.
Well apparently the Med Aid didn't find it because she's FUCKING DUMB and so yup - my dad didn't get his antidepressant on Wednesday night.
GAME OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I gave his 30 day notice, and then wrote a big long letter to the corporate office hammering out how that place is disorganized and really let my dad down. I've said it before, and I will say it again - don't fuck with my family!
So I talked to dad Thursday night and broke the news that he was moving. He basically completely melted down and freaked out, just total chaos, blah blah. BUT I did get an appointment at the new old folks home (for those of you remembering/caring - the nicer one that doesn't have advanced care, but was nice and CLOSE) for today...
I called my dad's cousin for reinforcements, as he's really good at telling Dad to shut up and listen to me because I've got this tish under control. So today he was calm, and we went over, looked at some apartments, and I decided to let him choose which one he wanted, because then he can't bitch at me later that I chose wrong. He chose the smallest one because (ready??) he liked where the A/C unit was. He could have had like 100 more square feet for $90 more but didn't want it.
Whatever.
So on the way back from the Couv to PDX as I'm on SR500 he tells me "Uh oh, I have to pee."
"No problem, I'll get off on the next exit."
"God damn it. I just pissed myself."
So I pull off the highway, get him to the nearest bathroom to have him finish, clean up a bit, etc. Got him home, changed and cleaned up.
My entire passenger seat was just soaked. *sigh* Well I guess the new car is broken in.
So then I went to the carwash and used the upholstery shampooer and got it pretty much cleaned up - I will of course have to treat it with Nature's Miracle or something to completely get it wiped of any smell. It wasn't as bad as I thought.
Anyway, we are moving him in on Feb 24th. Next order of business is to find him a twin extra long adjustable bed and a recliner chair.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Cancer Sucks.
It seems like I am hearing about someone else getting it every week now.
Anyway. The latest victim is an old family friend. From my mom's email:
"Guess who called me tonight? Paulette W****. She and Jim put an ad in the Hibbing paper to try and find you and they called the Hibbing Tribune and found Gramma's phone no. and called her and she gave her my number and yours. They didn't call you cuz they thought you wouldn't remember them. It was really good to talk to her. She said Jim is 70 now and he is dying of cancer and he said he would like to find his "Sasoo" and just talk to her. He had colon cancer 5 yrs. ago and now it is in his lungs and bones. He has just started chemo and finished radiation this week. I know they still think the world of you and they have no kids together and always thought of you like their's. They put in the ad that Auntie Paulie and Uncle Jim were looking for Sasoo. I told her I would tell you about them and that I was sure you'd call them soon. They are dying to talk to you. I told them all about our life etc. f rom when your dad left and they said you sound like a wonderful girl and they always knew you would be. "
Sassoo is my old childhood nickname. I just bawled when I heard this. I mean, they put a freaking ad in the paper in my Grandma's hometown trying to find me. My dad had a falling out with Jim way back when my parent's were still married (they divorced when I was 11) and my mom lost touch as a result.
I traded an email with Paulette this morning, cried through the whole thing. Gave her my phone number and school/work schedule, hopefully they will call when he's up to it. He's in Chemo today.
This makes me feel honored and special in a way that I never have... that it's the wish of a dying man to find the little girl of his ex best friend that used to come and visit some 20 years ago. I used to stay the night over there on occasion and they used to send me presents from their travels all over the world. I hadn't even thought of them in probably 15 years.
I guess I never really imagined I'd ever made that big of an impression on anyone. Very emotional today. Weird feelings all around.
If he's well enough to get visitors I feel compelled to go to him, and I'm not entirely sure why... what do you say? "Thanks for loving me all these years, sorry you are dying?"
Cancer sucks. I need to go to Colorado.
Anyway. The latest victim is an old family friend. From my mom's email:
"Guess who called me tonight? Paulette W****. She and Jim put an ad in the Hibbing paper to try and find you and they called the Hibbing Tribune and found Gramma's phone no. and called her and she gave her my number and yours. They didn't call you cuz they thought you wouldn't remember them. It was really good to talk to her. She said Jim is 70 now and he is dying of cancer and he said he would like to find his "Sasoo" and just talk to her. He had colon cancer 5 yrs. ago and now it is in his lungs and bones. He has just started chemo and finished radiation this week. I know they still think the world of you and they have no kids together and always thought of you like their's. They put in the ad that Auntie Paulie and Uncle Jim were looking for Sasoo. I told her I would tell you about them and that I was sure you'd call them soon. They are dying to talk to you. I told them all about our life etc. f rom when your dad left and they said you sound like a wonderful girl and they always knew you would be. "
Sassoo is my old childhood nickname. I just bawled when I heard this. I mean, they put a freaking ad in the paper in my Grandma's hometown trying to find me. My dad had a falling out with Jim way back when my parent's were still married (they divorced when I was 11) and my mom lost touch as a result.
I traded an email with Paulette this morning, cried through the whole thing. Gave her my phone number and school/work schedule, hopefully they will call when he's up to it. He's in Chemo today.
This makes me feel honored and special in a way that I never have... that it's the wish of a dying man to find the little girl of his ex best friend that used to come and visit some 20 years ago. I used to stay the night over there on occasion and they used to send me presents from their travels all over the world. I hadn't even thought of them in probably 15 years.
I guess I never really imagined I'd ever made that big of an impression on anyone. Very emotional today. Weird feelings all around.
If he's well enough to get visitors I feel compelled to go to him, and I'm not entirely sure why... what do you say? "Thanks for loving me all these years, sorry you are dying?"
Cancer sucks. I need to go to Colorado.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Question.
How is it that I can be completely unafraid of death, and completely terrified of getting old?
Friday, December 15, 2006
Early Christmas
The only details that matter:
I'm sitting in my new jammies, with my new slippers on, wearing my new diamond earrings that Dave bought me.
And I'm drunk.
WOOHOO!
That is all.
I'm sitting in my new jammies, with my new slippers on, wearing my new diamond earrings that Dave bought me.
And I'm drunk.
WOOHOO!
That is all.
Wednesday, November 8, 2006
Down the rabbit hole...
On many occasions I've mocked my Yoga From Mars teacher. She's sooo out there and in her own world and I have really struggled with connecting. On many occasions I've bitched about that class, and rightfully so. Last night though, I was "pinged".
She came into class and told us all that it was her birthday, and that it was a bigger celebratory occasion than just her birthday. She told the class that she was going to tell us her "Infertility Story." This of course got my attention, given my recent medical diagnosis.
She had spread out around her, in frames, photos, all of which were of an Indian (as in Eastern, not Native American) boy - at various stages of his growth. She explained that this was her son, Elliott. She told the story about how she and her husband were number 26 on a waiting list to get a child from India.
On November 7, 1983 (her birthday) she received a call from a social worker, telling her that a premature boy had been born in India two days earlier, and offering him to her. She of course accepted, and began to make plans to bring her son home. She had to wait almost 2 months, because he was so premature, and then she went up to Seattle to get him.
There were 9 Indian babies on that flight, and there were two women escorting the babies. When her son was handed to her, the Indian woman told her "Of these nine, this one is special, you are blessed." She was so ecstatic that she was finally a mom that she didn't really pay too much attention. They had an instant and deep bond as mother and son.
When her son was three, he insisted on calling her "Little Mommy" and her husband "Little Daddy." When asked why he called them this, he stated matter of factly that he was older than they were on the inside. He also told her that he came from her. She explained to him, as best she could with his young age, that he didn't come from her body, he came from his India mommy's body, but she had wished for him and he came from her heart.
He told her, "No...no Mommy. I was in your body first, I just couldn't get out. So I had to go back up and come back down into my Indian mommy so that I could come and be with you." I JUST COULDN'T GET OUT. How does a three year old even think such things?
They say that children understand so much more than adults, and the "real world" beats it out of them.
After this discussion, we did some yoga poses and relaxation meditations, and she gathered us around again for birthday cake to celebrate her special day. She then told us, "All of these people in these photos, with the exception of my son and I, have one thing in common. This is my mother, this is my father, this is my husband, this is my brother, this is my grandmother..." she pointed them out in each photo.
"They are all dead."
She went down the row of photos, stating the ages of the people when they died - some were younger than others. When she got to the last photo, of her husband and her son, she said "And I lost my love, my husband, when he was 34."
She decribed how she very nearly went mad with grief, losing all of her family, except for her son, within 5 years. And she described that the one thing she learned through all of her pain was to live in the moment, and this is a big part of why she "doesn't hold back," which of course explains her loopy behavior in class.
Someone piped up in class and asked what happened to her husband (which I thought was intrusive, actually). She teared up a little, thanked her for her interest and refrained from answering. All she said was "my son and I never got the chance to say goodbye."
Then she asked us all, "What would you do if you discovered you only had 5 days to live? Because really, any of us could only have 5 days to live." My answer was to marry David, and go to Paris. She asked me "Why Paris?" I couldn't really specify WHY when asked, besides the fact that I've felt called there my whole life. She asked me what I wanted to do while I was there, I told her I wanted to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, ride the Metro, go to the Wine Country, shop in the market, be in Paris.
She instantly guessed that my life was fully of many responsibilities towards others - and my Paris dream is the part inside of me that wants to do something just for me - a yearning to be relaxed and on vacation, to be able to be a tourist and not have to have responsibilities. She of course knows nothing about my lifestyle, my dad, Dave's kids, how maniacal my life can get. And I realize on one level it's just basic psychology, but I suddenly felt very emotionally touched that she could see that part of me - that part yearing to be out and immersed in another world and culture, and the wanderlust explorer in me. She told me that the traveler in me needs to get out, that I need to be more in culture and be stimulated in that way.
She then asked me what was stopping me. I laughed, and said "Well, just like you inferred, responsibilities. Mainly money and time." She asked me what money was. I stated it was a form of exchange used to obtain goods or services. She laughed and said, "Yes, but what money really is, is compensation for your TIME. If you had five days to live, would it be more important to have more money or more time?"
And if you really examine the concept as money being traded for time from your life, it makes it seem very foolish to want more and more money, and more and more material things, because they just aren't important. We all know this on some level, that material things aren't important, but what do material objects actually represent? Our time and energy. Our possessions tell the true story about what is important to us. Whether our house is immaculate all the time, or we spend time playing video games, or we go hiking, those all are reflections about what is truly important to us.
She then moved on to another student, and asked them what their dream was, and I was left there with my thoughts racing a million miles an hour. And really, WHY HAVEN'T I BEEN TO PARIS?
I promise this to myself - by my 32nd birthday, I will have been to Paris.
I believe that fate is a window that appears, something you notice as you are about to walk through the door - if you are paying attention. Opportunity presents itself, and its up to us as intelligent beings to make the correct choices when opportunities are presented to us. Thinking about the story of how she and her son came together, I don't believe that was coincidental. I guess it helps that I believe in reincarnation, and the ability for "old souls" to show up when people are still children, and I believe that some people, some souls, are together because they are supposed to be together.
My teacher and her son were supposed to be together, and supposed to be brought together in such a meaningful way, because later when it seemed like they lost everything they had that to hold onto. Something still made sense, in all that seemingly unfair pain and abandonment. They were not alone. They were still a family. And it probably saved them both.
And I began to think about my own love story. About how I had been emotionally creamed by an asshole, bounced right back into a pointless "fluff" relationship that crashed and burned in an alcohol and jealousy infused mess, and how I just very much wanted to be left alone, and truly meant that with every cell in my body. My heart just wanted to rest.
And then completely by accident I met David. David who hadn't even legally disentangled himself from his ex-wife, with two small children that had been abandoned by their mother, and was as emotionally creamed and guarded as myself. I think about how we became friends, denied to everyone that would listen that we WERE NOT DATING, and yet craved to talk to each other and be around each other every day. How we had a bizarre courtship, from deciding we were a couple before we had barely even had the courage to touch each other, from barfing from nerves before our first "real" date, from completely finding all the answers in each other when we just decided to chill out, breathe, and just let things be.
We are both 180 degrees different before we got involved. I bonded with and fell in love with his children, who desperately need a mother figure in their life. Within a year, I'm brave enough to accept David's proposal. I think about how things go from calm and mellow to complete and total chaos, how sometimes loving this family is the hardest thing I've ever had to do because I love them 100% - completely, the ugly, broken, wounded parts of them that I want to protect while they heal. When they hurt I hurt. We are all wounded inside, it just takes the right people to be able to reach it when you trust them and let them in completely.
This year I realized that I wanted to become a mother, and then the doctor explains to me that it will be very difficult to make happen. So in a sense, this is my own infertility story, which could be seen as another woman's coincidence... or it could be something more. It could be that I'm just paying attention.
She came into class and told us all that it was her birthday, and that it was a bigger celebratory occasion than just her birthday. She told the class that she was going to tell us her "Infertility Story." This of course got my attention, given my recent medical diagnosis.
She had spread out around her, in frames, photos, all of which were of an Indian (as in Eastern, not Native American) boy - at various stages of his growth. She explained that this was her son, Elliott. She told the story about how she and her husband were number 26 on a waiting list to get a child from India.
On November 7, 1983 (her birthday) she received a call from a social worker, telling her that a premature boy had been born in India two days earlier, and offering him to her. She of course accepted, and began to make plans to bring her son home. She had to wait almost 2 months, because he was so premature, and then she went up to Seattle to get him.
There were 9 Indian babies on that flight, and there were two women escorting the babies. When her son was handed to her, the Indian woman told her "Of these nine, this one is special, you are blessed." She was so ecstatic that she was finally a mom that she didn't really pay too much attention. They had an instant and deep bond as mother and son.
When her son was three, he insisted on calling her "Little Mommy" and her husband "Little Daddy." When asked why he called them this, he stated matter of factly that he was older than they were on the inside. He also told her that he came from her. She explained to him, as best she could with his young age, that he didn't come from her body, he came from his India mommy's body, but she had wished for him and he came from her heart.
He told her, "No...no Mommy. I was in your body first, I just couldn't get out. So I had to go back up and come back down into my Indian mommy so that I could come and be with you." I JUST COULDN'T GET OUT. How does a three year old even think such things?
They say that children understand so much more than adults, and the "real world" beats it out of them.
After this discussion, we did some yoga poses and relaxation meditations, and she gathered us around again for birthday cake to celebrate her special day. She then told us, "All of these people in these photos, with the exception of my son and I, have one thing in common. This is my mother, this is my father, this is my husband, this is my brother, this is my grandmother..." she pointed them out in each photo.
"They are all dead."
She went down the row of photos, stating the ages of the people when they died - some were younger than others. When she got to the last photo, of her husband and her son, she said "And I lost my love, my husband, when he was 34."
She decribed how she very nearly went mad with grief, losing all of her family, except for her son, within 5 years. And she described that the one thing she learned through all of her pain was to live in the moment, and this is a big part of why she "doesn't hold back," which of course explains her loopy behavior in class.
Someone piped up in class and asked what happened to her husband (which I thought was intrusive, actually). She teared up a little, thanked her for her interest and refrained from answering. All she said was "my son and I never got the chance to say goodbye."
Then she asked us all, "What would you do if you discovered you only had 5 days to live? Because really, any of us could only have 5 days to live." My answer was to marry David, and go to Paris. She asked me "Why Paris?" I couldn't really specify WHY when asked, besides the fact that I've felt called there my whole life. She asked me what I wanted to do while I was there, I told her I wanted to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, ride the Metro, go to the Wine Country, shop in the market, be in Paris.
She instantly guessed that my life was fully of many responsibilities towards others - and my Paris dream is the part inside of me that wants to do something just for me - a yearning to be relaxed and on vacation, to be able to be a tourist and not have to have responsibilities. She of course knows nothing about my lifestyle, my dad, Dave's kids, how maniacal my life can get. And I realize on one level it's just basic psychology, but I suddenly felt very emotionally touched that she could see that part of me - that part yearing to be out and immersed in another world and culture, and the wanderlust explorer in me. She told me that the traveler in me needs to get out, that I need to be more in culture and be stimulated in that way.
She then asked me what was stopping me. I laughed, and said "Well, just like you inferred, responsibilities. Mainly money and time." She asked me what money was. I stated it was a form of exchange used to obtain goods or services. She laughed and said, "Yes, but what money really is, is compensation for your TIME. If you had five days to live, would it be more important to have more money or more time?"
And if you really examine the concept as money being traded for time from your life, it makes it seem very foolish to want more and more money, and more and more material things, because they just aren't important. We all know this on some level, that material things aren't important, but what do material objects actually represent? Our time and energy. Our possessions tell the true story about what is important to us. Whether our house is immaculate all the time, or we spend time playing video games, or we go hiking, those all are reflections about what is truly important to us.
She then moved on to another student, and asked them what their dream was, and I was left there with my thoughts racing a million miles an hour. And really, WHY HAVEN'T I BEEN TO PARIS?
I promise this to myself - by my 32nd birthday, I will have been to Paris.
I believe that fate is a window that appears, something you notice as you are about to walk through the door - if you are paying attention. Opportunity presents itself, and its up to us as intelligent beings to make the correct choices when opportunities are presented to us. Thinking about the story of how she and her son came together, I don't believe that was coincidental. I guess it helps that I believe in reincarnation, and the ability for "old souls" to show up when people are still children, and I believe that some people, some souls, are together because they are supposed to be together.
My teacher and her son were supposed to be together, and supposed to be brought together in such a meaningful way, because later when it seemed like they lost everything they had that to hold onto. Something still made sense, in all that seemingly unfair pain and abandonment. They were not alone. They were still a family. And it probably saved them both.
And I began to think about my own love story. About how I had been emotionally creamed by an asshole, bounced right back into a pointless "fluff" relationship that crashed and burned in an alcohol and jealousy infused mess, and how I just very much wanted to be left alone, and truly meant that with every cell in my body. My heart just wanted to rest.
And then completely by accident I met David. David who hadn't even legally disentangled himself from his ex-wife, with two small children that had been abandoned by their mother, and was as emotionally creamed and guarded as myself. I think about how we became friends, denied to everyone that would listen that we WERE NOT DATING, and yet craved to talk to each other and be around each other every day. How we had a bizarre courtship, from deciding we were a couple before we had barely even had the courage to touch each other, from barfing from nerves before our first "real" date, from completely finding all the answers in each other when we just decided to chill out, breathe, and just let things be.
We are both 180 degrees different before we got involved. I bonded with and fell in love with his children, who desperately need a mother figure in their life. Within a year, I'm brave enough to accept David's proposal. I think about how things go from calm and mellow to complete and total chaos, how sometimes loving this family is the hardest thing I've ever had to do because I love them 100% - completely, the ugly, broken, wounded parts of them that I want to protect while they heal. When they hurt I hurt. We are all wounded inside, it just takes the right people to be able to reach it when you trust them and let them in completely.
This year I realized that I wanted to become a mother, and then the doctor explains to me that it will be very difficult to make happen. So in a sense, this is my own infertility story, which could be seen as another woman's coincidence... or it could be something more. It could be that I'm just paying attention.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Another milestone.
I - the woman who has been accused multiple times by multiple people of "driving like a grandma" - received my very first speeding ticket yesterday.
And it was for.... ready?
Driving 65 in a 60. HAHAHAHAHAH!!!! Thank you Clark County Copper for literally making me laugh out loud. I was in the SLOW LANE and people were PASSING ME. Apparently I should have been actually speeding to avoid being detected. Claims he clocked me the first time at 73 and was "giving me a break". I was accelerating up a HILL on I-5 to avoid being clobbered, what the HELL?
And it was for.... ready?
Driving 65 in a 60. HAHAHAHAHAH!!!! Thank you Clark County Copper for literally making me laugh out loud. I was in the SLOW LANE and people were PASSING ME. Apparently I should have been actually speeding to avoid being detected. Claims he clocked me the first time at 73 and was "giving me a break". I was accelerating up a HILL on I-5 to avoid being clobbered, what the HELL?
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Milestone.
Anyway, I have an important milestone in my life... For I have officially failed my first college test. That's right, friends - the test that was over the stuff I missed so much on when I was sick last week I got a 35% on.
Oops.
Oops.
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