Resolutions

I've posted before that my usual New Year Resolution is to have a hot krispy kreme.

This year, I made the realization that not only did I marry the Old Woman (seriously, the Phenom is more and more like her every year) but also I'm turning into her.

The Old Woman would have fits that we had too much stuff and just start throwing things away.  You'd have to have a keen eye for anything missing and be prepared to dumpster dive to retrieve it.

This year, my resolution is to bring a bit of order to my house and at least once a month throw a way a trash bag o'crap from the house.

I filled up a trash bag o'crap in the bedroom this weekend.  I've also ordered some shelves so I can add a bit more storage to get the clutter under control.

When I start taking Phenom's plate away from him while he's mid-forkful, I'll know I really have turned into the Old Woman for good.

1st world problem resolved

Now that the dark force that over took my work place has been vanquished, I can turn my attentions to real issues . . . what am I going to wear for fancy restaurants/bars in NOLA over Christmas?

Originally, I'd purchased a black lace skirt/sequined cashmere sweater (very much different than my usual wardrobe of frumpy and dowdy) and a purplish blue with black velvet scroll design dress for christmas wear.  Then, I started looking at the weather and it is going to be in the high 70s/low 80s next week.

I will sweat right through those outfits.

Monkey sweat is not pretty.

I found a nice button down, white shirt and bought a big, chunky necklace to wear Christmas Day and then I already have a wrap-around style shirt that can work with the lace skirt.   So, I wear the skirt to days in a row.  I'm not likely to be judged in the City that Care Forgot.

For some reason, the last few months I've been obsessed with party clothes.  This is very much unlike me.  I normally don't dress up.  I tend to have a "uniform" and just make slight variations from day to day.

Maybe, since I can't show off being a silver-back, I want sparkle and sequins instead.  Because that helps a monkey blend in, doesn't it?

Three times a loser

Poor Phenom is having a bad week. First, he's having to go back to a work schedule that requires him to be up before 10am and cuts off his 4X a day naps.  Poor baby.

Then, we've had this ongoing discussion about my desire to plant a couple of peach pits (my local peach farmer got only a handful of peaches this year and I was able to get four of them.  I saved two pits to plant.)  Phenom doesn't want me to plant them because he said it will be years before I get peaches and he doesn't want to mow around them.  Well, he lost that battle . . . but he might have won too because we think a squirrel might have claimed my pits.  sigh.

And, there is the clock.  I finally have the family heirloom clock.  It chimes every quarter hour and Phenom claims to hear it when I can't.  Phenom expects it will keep him up at night.   Although, it didn't bother him or keep him from sleeping when we'd visit the Old People.

I'm afraid I'll have to work more on acting sympathetic.  Monkeys are more into pointing and laughing than being sympathetic.

What's in a name?

Earlier this week, Phenom was trying to remember the name of a character in a movie.  He remembered the actor's name, but not the character.  We finally got it after I suggested "Tater."  It's "Spud."

And, as we often do when confronted with a fun name, Phenom said "I ought to start calling myself Spud."

Being the supportive spouse, I enthusiastically agreed.  There aren't many Spuds on the planet, and even fewer in The Phenom's chosen profession.  I promised to support his Spudness by referring to him in my social media as Spud.

It started yesterday.  Twice today.  And NO ONE has commented or asked.  Last night, we laughed and wondered by no one would even ask me privately about the sudden appearance of "Spud."

Then, it dawned on me.  What IF people have been thinking of Phenom as "Spud" all along and we are just now getting with the program?

I'm pretty sure MY Spud isn't gonna try to franchise me.  Probably better that way.

Tantrum

The Old Woman would call it "cutting off  your nose to spite your face."

On the heels of my recent "fade away" from the SMLF, I've decided that I'm going to, in the most juvenile way possible, "test" the humans I surround myself with these days.  Basically, I'm going to stop being so freakin' eager to perpetuate the friendship. I'm polite.  I inquire after their families and do the chitchat thing.  But, they need to invite me to actual interactions, like lunch.  I'm feeling the need to have someone reach out to me for once, rather than act like the little brother begging to be included.

I know, the only loser in this game is me.  Although, I'm hoping in the long run I might actually be pleased to see that I am appreciated for my own monkeyness rather than simply one of the group you invite because you can't very well invite one person from an office an not the others . . . especially if you're eating in that office and food that monkey prepared.

So, I'm eating lunch alone a lot these days.  I did have a lunch invite from a friend this week.  Not one of the SMLF, but someone I enjoy conversing with on a regular.  So, it's not all navel gazing and pity parties.  Mostly, but not all.

Humbug

I'm not religious.  In that I don't like religions.  If you want to debate the existence of a "god" or whatever, I'll bite (when in the right mood . . . or drunk . . . or high).  But, just as I see patriotism as dangerous, I see religious fervor as dangerous.  Yes, dangerous.  Way too many people have died with religious justifications in the minds of their killers.  Way too many people have been harmed, "othered", scorned, made to feel less human, due to another's religious wackiness.

The Phenom and I do not really celebrate Christmas. . . other than to use it as an excuse to go on a drinking walk-about in NOLA.  We don't put up a tree.  We don't decorate our home.  We don't exchange gifts amongst ourselves (save for airline tickets and buying the next round).

And yet, I have a pretty elaborate holiday ritual of making fruitcakes.  This year, I made 40 and at least 34 were claimed before the first raisin hit rum.

And, I secretly tear up over christmas music.

And, when I get a chance to watch a video alone, I always have to watch A Christmas Memory.



The Old Woman and I always watched this movie.  Now that she's gone, I cry over it.  Frankly, as I get older, christmas is more about being sad than rejoicing.

Humbug.

My Mission

I love having a mission when I go to NOLA.  I mean, beyond drinking and eating lots and lots.

Today, I was chatting with a dear friend who lives on the left coast.  She is in the R&D phase of opening her own eating establishment.  She has worked, for years, in professional kitchens and is a fantastic home cook as well.  And, although she is from the snowy part of the country, she married herself a Cajun boy.  Her eatery will be NOLA foods.

She has asked me to find some specific art pieces for her new eatery, as well as take pictures she can use as decorations.  She's already culled through several collections of pictures I've taken in the past and found several she likes, and has given me some ideas for specific shots she wants.

And, she is going to repay me in food.  And, did I mention she lives in a state with legal recreational pot?

YIPEE!

Hating Change

So, ESK left me.  Something about having a baby that isn't half monkey.  Fine.  Be that way.

I've hired someone in her job.  This newbie is in no way, shape, or form anywhere close to replacing ESK.

a) I've lost count of the number of times she's rearranged her office.
b) her first assignment, she turned in less than half completed.
c) she copped attitude when I explained that she should schedule personal business on personal time. d) her normal mode of functioning seems to be passive aggressive.

BUT! the biggest oddity of the newbie is the tremendous volume of toilet paper she uses.  It's not like we see her bolting to the bathroom every 10 minutes . . . but she used a 6 pack of charmin double rolls in a week.  6 ROLLS IN A WEEK!!!

I know there was about a third of a roll in "my" bathroom when I left work last night but this morning, there is a new roll in its place.  I bought super mega rolls that a) the cheapest stuff you've ever seen in TP and b) each roll is about 9 regular rolls of TP.  She's used nearly a whole roll in one bathroom, and then the last of my roll of good stuff in my bathroom.  You'd think our toilets would be backing up with that volume.

But, fear not.  I have a 6 pack of the good stuff in my office cabinet.  It will probably last me to the end of the year . . . if not longer.

It's bad when an employee has you stashing the good TP in your office.  Well, it was bad that she put me in the position of even noticing the TP usage.  I'd rather not have an awareness of how much TP anyone uses.

(From now on, this person will be known as TP)

How syndromes get started

I was pretty fragile for about 6 months.  I had people hovering over me.  I had trained medical folks coming into my home to care for me.  I had multiple surgeries.  It was scary.  And, at the same time, it was easy to give up my care to nurses and the Phenom.  After my first surgery, I didn't want to get out of bed, ever.  I hurt.  I had tubes and wires attached to me.  I had devices taking care of my in takes and my outflows.  Even when they made me get up, I couldn't wait to get back into bed.  When they finally released me, I didn't really feel ready to go home.  In fact, the next morning, I could only cry because it was too overwhelming.

With subsequent hospitalizations, surgeries, it was equally easy to give up care to the nurses.  Truth be told, I liked being taken care of, even by strangers.  The Phenom did an equally good job of making sure I wanted for nothing.  It was so easy.

When it came time to return to work, I was happy to not have the inconvenient items of the illness but I also didn't know if I were quite ready to jump right in.  (And, given the last hospitalization when I split open one of my scars, clearly I should have gone slower.)

Right now, I have a bit of an infection.  Nothing bad.  Nothing that keeps me from normal functioning (except the gym . . . I don't want sick people using the gym equipment I use, and so I show the same respect to them.)  But, at the same time, a little voice in the back of my head tells me that perhaps I should feign being sicker than I am so I can be taken care of again.

I'm pretty sure this is how Munchausen's Syndrome starts.  Although, to reference Bill Murray in What About Bob? . . . if you can fake it, you don't have it.  Darn.

Conflated

I have the irrational tendency to blend painful events together, especially when they happen within a similar time frame.  I think it gives me something tangible to be angry/sad/frustrated over when I feel helpless about life.

For example, several years ago, a person I thought of as a dear friend proved herself, in terrific fashion, to be anything but a friend.  She revealed herself not just to be not at all the person I believed her to be, but also she was vicious and horrible.  Shortly after this event, the Old Woman got sick and started her spiral towards her last days.  It was easier to be even MORE angry with my ex-friend than to shake my fists at the skies because one of the people I love most in the world was suffering.

Now that I have, pretty much, fully recovered from my bizarro medical issue, I find that not only do I have some delayed trauma reactions, but I've also tied, in my mind, some of the pain to the loss of my dear friend who committed suicide about a year ago.

In the last six months, I've experienced:

5 emergency room visits
2 ambulance transfers to another hospital
3 surgeries
3 CTs
3 radiology guided procedures
2 blood transfusions
10 staples
6 weeks of home health care
7 weeks with a wound-vac
4 hospital admissions totaling 18 days
and more needles, blood draws, IVs than I can count.

And, as I start to think about just exactly how serious my condition was, I find myself thinking more and more about how much I miss my friend.  Allowing myself to be sad over his death seems to be protecting me from being too freaked out about thinking about my whole abdomen being opened up.

Damn I miss my friend.

The Bestie

I have a friend who has been my friend, literally, forever.  It is rare that we go more than a few days without some form of communication (generally instant messaging since she's not a phone sort of human).  We live 3000 miles apart, but still manage to get together every couple of years.

The other night, she told me that she thinks of me as her sister. In fact, I nearly got to be her sister when the Grad Student was looking for a safe place to stash me.

The Bestie and I know all the intimate details of our lives.  We can complain and whine to each other.  We know when the other has a doctor's appointment or when to back off a touchy subject.  And, we can give each other shit like no one else.

Next week, Bestie and I are getting together in New Orleans.  We have a pre-arranged adventure I'll admit to later.  But, in a drunken text conversation last week, we set up the shit we are going to inflict upon each other next week.  At some point "hey, I have a nice ass.  Very kickable" got texted to me and "I will help you find your tongue" got texted to her.  Now, in an act of mutually assured humiliation, we are preparing t-shirts with those lovely sentiments on them.  heh heh.

Also, we like to play drinking games.  This trip, we're going to drink the alphabet.  There are prizes for the two people in our party who get the most letters checked off.  And, I need to remember to bring her the last liquor loaf.  She's that sort of friend . . . the one I'd give my last liquor loaf to.

A funny relationship

Only a few humans (and monkeys) like pain.  Oh sure, there is drama pain . . . too many humans go seeking that sort of pain out.  But I'm talking OW pain.

I'm a craven coward.  I assume everything is going to hurt.  And, when you hurt me, I'm afraid I may, involuntarily, kick you in the shins.

When I had to learn how to give my self shots, I asked to have an appointment with the health educator because I knew if it were up to me to stab myself the first time. . . we'd still be waiting.  (Only my super macho ego outweighs my cowardice.)

When they removed my PIC line in the hospital, first thing I asked was "how much is it going to hurt?"  (It was a little creepy to feel the wire coming out from my chest through my arm, but didn't so much hurt.)  When they took out the cumbersome, painful, and terribly annoying medical device the other day . . . even though I was THRILLED to be parted with it, I hesitated because I thought it would hurt.  (Apparently, I'd long since ripped the anchoring stitches and it pulled out super easy.  If I'd known it would come out so easily, I would have gotten rid of it a long time ago and just been all like "the what?" when they asked about it.)

So, of course, I'm concerned about pain and pain management with this upcoming surgery.  I've already discussed my options for pain management with the doctor . . . and expressed my preference for having as much control as possible.

The doctor says they want to keep my pain in the "2-5" range on a 10 point scale.  Thing is, I am lousy at expressing my pain on that scale.  There are different kinds of pain.  I have a terrible time deciding if something is the most pain I've ever experienced .  .  . or could there have been something more painful I don't remember?  Also, I've been on pain meds for arthritis for years, and I have come to realize that I don't experience pain the same way humans must.

Last time, in the hospital, they kept offering me drugs and I kept turning them down because my usual meds took me from being "in pain" to "just uncomfortable" and I didn't see the point of taking more drugs for "just uncomfortable."  Apparently, humans never turn down drugs.

To assist in expressing my needs to the medical staff, I have made up a handout from Hyperbole and A Half's Better Pain Scale.  I've made up extra copies because I assume the nurses may want to keep it.  And, given the mean, horrible things they plan to do to me, I totally expect to accept all drugs.

Typecasting

Ever see the movie What About Bob?  The main character lived by the mantra, if you can fake it, you don't have it.

As a result of my most recent drama, I find that people have demonstrated an outpouring of support and kindness and generous offers.  People have offered to cat sit . . . to fix us food. . . to act as delivery services. It has been heart warming to realize that years of being "decent" has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated.

Today, alone, I received three different tokens of concern from three very different sources.

First, ESK gave me a pint glass that said "Today I snuck a bunch of booze to work using my stomach."  (Phenom wants to borrow it for the office.)

Then, I got a card from a relation that referenced margaritas.  (A specialty of this household.)

And, I received a book from a friend who has moved to another state but we still work to keep in touch on a regular . . . Cocktails for a Crowd.

If folks actually thought I'd crossed the line from being a delightful drunk monkey to full blown alcoholic, they wouldn't joke about boozy drinks with me, right?

Now, I need to get well super fast because I'm itching for a cocktail party.

Getting exactly what I want,

with maximum fuss.

Or, my first world problems.

This morning, I woke up about 20 minutes before my alarm was due to go off.  But, I needed to pee and 20 minutes is really miserable when you're fighting a bladder and wanting sleep.  So, I got up, went fast, came back to bed so I could recoup at least most of those 20 minutes.

When I got to bed, I realized Phenom wasn't up yet.  I convinced myself that I'd read the clock wrong and it must be 3:11 not 5:11.  YAY!!! TWO HOURS MORE SLEEP!!!!

And, in 20 minutes my alarm went off.  It's Thursday.  Phenom doesn't get up early on Thursdays.  GRRRRR

My brain said "I don't wanna go walk."  My brain said "we'll walk extra tomorrow." and after a few minutes, my reason overruled my brain, and I got up, got dressed, grabbed my phone and iPod to go walking.

Only to find it raining. Great.  I get to go back to bed . . . which is what I wanted, but now I'm fully awake and it's only 45 minutes or so from when I'd normally hit the shower.

So I read.  Which made me sleepy.  And I fell asleep 5 minutes before second alarm went off.

At least it's payday. And I work from home tomorrow.  And I have Monday off.  But, I still feel cheated.

Crushed it.

If you do something you thought was out of character for yourself . . . for a t-shirt . . . are you a whore?

PS. . . those are scorpions in the tequila.

My Bad

In the interest of keeping karma intact, I owe the folks in my immediate vicinity an apology.

I've been working on "getting into shape" since January.  This has meant cutting out many carbs and getting up ridiculously early to exercise every morning.  I could tell a huge difference.  Once I can pull jeans/dress pants up and down without unbuttoning them, they get tossed up to the top shelf of the closet.  I have a few pairs of pants I could adjust the waist on so that I didn't have to go naked.

But, NO ONE commented.  I tried to chalk it up to surrounding myself with people who are totally aware of the body issues one can inflict with focusing on weight over health.  But, surely, SOMEONE would notice, no?

Poor Phenom was regularly forced to reassure me I actually looked like I were in better shape.

Then, last weekend, I had to buy a few items to wear.  I was quickly running out of clothes . . . and "shopping" in my closet wasn't providing enough wardrobe.  I've been reluctant to buy lots of new clothes because I'm not quite where I'd like to be and I don't want to spend money on clothes I won't wear very long.

Apparently, the lack of comment was my own damn fault.  Wearing the same clothes left people wondering if I'd lost weight or what?  Once I started to wear things that fit . . . they no longer were questioning . . . and the compliments came flying.  YES!  I totally needed a touch of external validation. (I know, I know . . . it's not the weight but the health.)

I go to the doctor this week . . . and hopefully she will give me extra gold stars.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

I don't know if this is a flaw or compassion, but I find myself sugar coating a lot.

Example:  recently the freeloader mama cat had a litter of kittens.  She is the worst kitty mama we have ever encountered.  She is just not cut out for motherhood.  And, if we could catch her, we'd get her fixed.  She had 5 kittens.  All beautiful variations of black and white.  We knew one died pretty quickly.  Then she started moving them around.  She will typically leave one behind when she moves them.  Late last week, I observed that she'd moved them, and abandoned the ones that were left to die.  Later that day, I did observe that they had all died, but their little bodies were inaccessible for me to retrieve to bury.

Since then, Phenom has been looking for the kittens.  Phenom thinks she might have moved them under the house in the rain.  I'm playing along, because I don't want the Phenom to be sad/angry over their fate.

Example:  I have a good friend who has struggled for years with mental illness.  He suffers from physical ailments that contribute, some.  Recently, my friend has fallen back into the pit.  I'm not sure how much I'm sugar-coating his situation . . . or am I just being kind?

And, when all else fails, I'm not afraid to use manipulation.

It's a tangled web.

Ahhhh Spring

I've gone a little spring crazy.  It was a long, cold winter.  The weather still doesn't seem to want to turn.  I still have not done the annual winter to summer wardrobe switch.  But, I get afternoon sun in my office, and I have the window office.  So, I have a "window farm."

Last week, we had the smallest cilantro harvest ever.  This week, I will need to snip back the parsley.  Soon, I'll have basil for my tomato sandwiches.

Also, in the past week, the strawberry patches have opened up.  I'm a believer in eating seasonally.  I particularly like eating fruit in season.  More precisely, I eat the fruit while it's in season until I'm sick of it.  Then, I'm good until the next year.

I have to confess. . .  I've spent almost $40 on strawberries in the last week.  I might have a problem.

Meh . . . probably not.

I didn't even have to stick my finger in her ear

Years ago, I developed a mostly untested theory that I can mind meld with humans by inserting my index fingers in their ears while they stick their index fingers in my ears.  I've offered several humans the opportunity to get a quickie glimpse into the inner workings of my mind before they commit to the full on mind meld.  This far, no takers.  I nearly got the favorite 11 year old (back when she was the favorite 9 year old) to try it on the offer that I already know my multiplication tables.  Unfortunately, she decided that taking short cuts wasn't worth the other possible side effects.  (I suspect she was unduly influenced by The Phenom in this decision.)

Anyhoo, yesterday, one of my minions discovered "the good grocery store."  This gave me the opportunity to fan her new found love with little perks you might not think to ask for in a regular grocery store.  And, then, she said it .  .  . that someday she wants me to take her to ALL MY FAVORITE STORES.  It will mean a full day road trip . . . but she'll thank me.  And a happy minion is an obedient minion.  

I knew this one had real potential when she brought my whole office cupcakes on the mildest of suggestions.  

Sneaky Spiral and an update

Well, first the update.  Intern got on my last nerve today.  Maybe it was because she showed up 10 minutes before she was scheduled to leave.  Or maybe it was realizing that she still has at least a quarter of her hours and only weeks left.  Or the fact that we realized that she was claiming on her time records that being in our office from 12:30 - 2:00 is 2.5 hours.

I told her I didn't see any way for her to pass her internship.  That even if she managed to finish her hours, our evaluation of her was likely to be so poor she wouldn't pass.  I gave her the choice to seriously kick it into high gear in an effort to convince us to give her a better evaluation or cut her losses.  She decided to cut her losses.

I feel bad in that it will, undoubtedly, create a crisis in her educational path.  She wasn't scheduled to graduate this spring, but likely she won't be able to complete a degree in this major.  But, I'm also glad that we won't have the disruption in our office each day, wondering if and when she'll show up.

But, switching subjects . . . the sneaky spiral that wastes way too much of my time . . . the related stories headlines at the bottom of news stories.  I find my self clicking on story after story.  Darn this monkey curiosity!