I need to put up little post-its everywhere that say, "Exercise or die."

I have been trying to get exercising and with the rib and then subsequent tooth infection, I've not done squat. I feel HORRIBLE.

And the more I think about how to squeeze things in, the more upset and stressed out I get. When I suggested to Mike that I'd like to get up at the buttcrack of dawn and go work out he brought up that whole pesky lack of sleep thing.

I'm not getting sleep anyhow with worrying about not working out, so I might as well go swim. I can't walk because the freaking hillsides are bright yellow with blooming sagebrush and there's nothing worse than sucking in the desert air laden with sagebrush pollen for me.

Root canals hurt. They hurt a lot.

What's worse is that I am supposed to do a reading practicum tomorrow and establish rapport with a kid I've never met before and I feel like someone ran into my jaw with a steamshovel.

I was all happy I could drop the assessment class. I was wrong. My reading class is a licensure class and is considered undergraduate, so I have to keep all the classes for retaining my GA-ship. I got an extension on the assessment project due tomorrow, and lord knows, I've got more homework than I can shake big sticks at.

I don't know if I'm just hurting or what, but my husband has been a real butthole. He's been ill-tempered and cussing at me and I just wish he'd fuck off. No, I haven't told him that. He's been dealing for one stupid week with what I did for three freaking months -- single parenting while the other parent was unavailable. I was not a butthole while I took care of things. I didn't cuss him out. I simply did what had to be done and sometimes put some long hours in doing it. I thought for one week, he'd actually pitch in and be nice to me, but he hasn't. He's played computer games at every turn and been a total buttwipe about everything from doing laundry to cleaning floors. He promised that he'd help get the house in order when it was show week, but instead worked 3 of 5 days and managed to get in a whole bunch of computer game time, but the bathroom floor continues to have an odd texture. His answer, is that if I'd just tell him to do stuff, he'd do it. I feel like at 27 years old, I shouldn't have to treat him like one of the kids and ask him to do fucking everything. If you see filth on the floor, generally, that means, CLEAN THE FREAKIN' FLOOR, OK? Oh, and he can't understand why he's not getting laid. Yeah, the pain is a factor, but so is the overwhelm.

I'm too fucked up tired/sick/in pain with this stupid tooth and too buried in homework and work-work to deal with the usual "nag him til he pukes" scenario.

It would be miraculous if he'd actually just pitch in and do this shit on his own. I called and spoke to him at lunch today, but I don't know that it was worthwhile to have bothered. I had the distinct impression I'd been politely ignored.

All I want to do is cry right now, which I'm sure is because I'm frustrated and in agony. 1500mg of vicodan isn't helping the pain much, but the alternative is to send Mike to town for a prescription that may render me unconscious for my reading practicum.

Tomorrow, I get a root canal, but I did something more important.

I talked to my adviser about my classload vs. grad assistantship and said that with the infected tooth, I'd missed a lot of class and had a lot of catch up and that I was pretty sure that the assessment class was going to kick my butt. I explained that I had practicum in reading on Tuesday, as well as the turn-in for assessment and that both occurred after my root canal on Monday. What should I do?

I asked about the political implications of dumping a class on the GA-ship. She said there were more implications in getting B's or getting bad reviews on my GA-ship.

So I'm dumping assessment. The only uneasy thing about that is one of the professors I work for is the assessment prof. This prof is mean and condescending, so truthfully, I'm a bit scared of him. I'd rather be scared of him for 5 hours a week of work rather than a full 8 hours, plus homework per week.

I'll be working all day today to get his shit done and prep for my reading practicum. I am not too worked up about the practicum, but I want to have all my ducks in a row for it and I'd rather have the stuff done for the Meanie ahead, especially if I'm going to tell him I'm dumping his class.

I'm retaining the book for assessment and I'm going to read and reread the materials, so that when I take the class, I'm more comfortable. I know it sounds weird, but that's what I'm doing. The assessment prof isn't much of a people person, nor a good teacher, so the studying I do, should help me through this, when I take it later. I'm thinking of designing a curriculum for myself, so that I can manipulate the materials and understand it better. Because I work for him, I can take those materials and then ask him questions, so I've learned the material the way I need to.

---

Mike and I are working on the bedroom. It's kind of funny though, because I talked him out of using his big highboy dresser and using mine. His only caveat was that I move the clothes. I was positively gleeful last night.

However, when I told him, he was going to have to clear all his shit off the top of it and we were going to switch shit-storing on top places, he was not amused. I explained that having him slam and smash drawers as he usually does on his bureau, would not work on my bureau and that I was not having him slam and smash my pretties. He HARUMPHED. I snickered. I think we need knickknack shelves is all.

Then we got into a bicker about that I needed shelves and he whined a lot and said well, we agreed to "A." I explained that just because he wanted "A" very badly did NOT mean that we agreed it. He got the deer in the headlights look, knew he'd been caught, and cussed under his breath.

Dumbass.

I may have ADHD, but I am not stoooopid. Yeesh. So anyhow, after we get paid, there will be some investment in our bedroom taking place and some minor construction.

Wow them with reason and suffering I say. If all else fails, smack them with a pillow.

I finally saw the dentist and the dentist said I need a root canal and gave me a referral. I called the referree and they offered me an appointment on October 13. I explained that my antibiotics would be out next week and that I'm diabetic, so can't afford to wait very long. She offered to put me on a "call list" and assured me that I'd hear from the sooner than the 13th.

Yeah, whatever.

I called back the dentist and told her my plight, and they gave me other referrals. I have an appointment for Monday. Now, the problem is coming up with $700. Anyone need a liver? How about a kidney? I think Mike and I are going to take a lot of pictures of clothes I love but no longer fit in and I'll measure them up and they'll go for sale on ebay.

I'm still popping vicodan to slow the pain down. Geesh, it's awful! I think my favorite medication is the muscle relaxant. Of course, I wake up, talk to Mike and fall asleep mid-sentence, so the entertainment value alone makes that medication well worth the co-pay. Last night, I heard myself snore mid-sentence while I was trying to talk with Mike. He accused me of falling asleep, which I vigorously denied. He giggled at me and I harumphed and of course, fell back asleep.

I've managed to make one class this week. I'm a bad grad student. I have barely worked this week, which sucks, but I guess it leaves next week to be buried in work. On Monday, I'll be in pain, but nothing close to what I've experienced for the past 6 days. And the happy thing, I get laughing gas and novacaine, so for at least a few hours, I won't feel a damned thing and I'll be happy about it. I'll get about one more night of vicodan and then I can switch to the non-narcotic stuff, which would be lovely. I tried 800 mg of ibuprofen and it simply doesn't touch a raw exposed nerve in one's mouth.

Mostly, I'm bone-tired. All this pain wears a woman out. I'm stressed about how much work I don't have done, but what can I do?

Okay, nix that last post.

I have an absessed tooth, which my dentist blew off because my physician diagnosed it. It's one damned expensive tooth, too. So far, it's cost me a dental visit, an ER visit and a dr. visit. Crazy!

I'm going to bed now, until the antibiotics kick in, and I'm not leaving until the keflex stops the throbbing. And God Bless my Physician's Assistant for prescribing a muscle relaxant.

My damned crowns are not seated properly and my GOD they hurt. I am taking combinations of vioxx and codeine to keep pace with the pain. It's awful. I've been brushing my teeth with flouride like crazy, but to no avail. Some of it is that my stupid mouth guard doesn't fit right, so my teeth are getting shoved in odd ways, but some of it is that the teeth are hitting harder than they should.

All I know is that I'd give away organs to just have these crowns removed and replaced. They haven't been right for a year and now, they're worse than before.

I also fucked up something with work. I had all the information I needed given to me on a piece of paper. If you know me or ADHD people at all, a piece of paper is just one more damned thing to lose in the larger scope of things.

I've lost and found this thing 3 times. Right now, it's found. But who knows what tomorrow and a three year old will bring?

I turned 40 on Thursday.

It was the first time I've celebrated my birthday without a deep sense of mourning since the WTC thing. It was cool.

I think that 40 should mean something significant somehow, but I feel just the same. I still get acne and I'm dying my hair as I have for over a decade.

My boobs don't sag any more than they did last year or even 5 years ago.

The only thing I'm struck by at all is that at 40, I'm over my median age, which means I'm getting a lot closer to dying than I used to be. That's a bit nervewracking.

To adequately address the wracking of nerves, I'm getting a membership to the YMCA, so I can work out. Mike offered me a black birthday party and I told him to stuff it. Hell, I'll be 50 before he turns 40, the little shit. As long as he thinks I'm hot and sexy, I don't care how old I am. As he says,"You're only as old as the person you feel."

I guess I'll be 27 for a while, then, and buying him hair dye shortly.

We're trying to get Russell's meds changed because he's not doing well on the focus stuff. I had to pummel him through his homework last night -- repeating, repeating, repeating. Sometimes, when he's this bad, I think in the back of my head that it'd be easier to just smack him through the work because I feel so frustrated. Then I feel guilty because it's got to suck for him, too. He hangs in there like a total trooper, but this has to suck for him.

His teacher sent an assignment home that he'd already done twice, so I just typed the body on the computer and had him fill it in on the computer. The teacher's note was,"Where do we go from here?"

I thought tearfully, we throw up our hands in despair, whimper in our tea, and keep going. When I called the pediatrician and said that I think his meds need to be increased, I felt like I'd sold my soul to the pharmaceutical companies. I just don't want another joy ride on the medication rollercoaster we endured last year.

I hate to even think about putting him into Special Ed classes because he's too smart for that. It would be an enormous disservice to him. I don't think homeschooling is a good choice either, but I don't know if we can afford private schooling for him. I'm just starting to feel desperate for him and heartbroken. I'm just not sure how to help him.

We are not between a rock and a hard place. We are teetering on the edge of a windy precipice and the nightmare rarely alters. I just want to protect him from the elements, you know?

Harsh Betty sent me the means to design my own hell. As a fervent and very old Red Sox fan, because I used to listen to them on the radio when Yaz played along with Carlton Fiske back in the day, you'll understand the worst ring.

Rude DMV Employees, Chicago Bulls Fans
Circle I Limbo

Saddam Hussein, Tobacco company executives
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

Republicans, Osama bin Laden
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

General asshats, Out-of-State gray-haired drivers going 20 mph below the limit
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Grad School, Oakland Raider fans
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

NRA Members, PETA Members
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

Creationists, Bigots
Circle VII Burning Sands

George Bush and all other hypocritical stupidheads
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

The New York Yankees, Child Abusers
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

If you ask me how I'm doing for the next 9 months (the length of this year of school-- don't get excited), just assume, "tired" is correct.

I've been losing weight. I often forget to eat or I'm running around so much that I don't have time to eat, so I just grab snacks here and there and already I've lost a size. I bought a dress a month ago before school and when I tried to wear it, it fit tightly, so I put it back in the closet and now, I'm able to wear it and it hangs properly. I have shorts I expanded out of that I'm back in. I have other shorts I'd like to wear before the season ends, but I'll take what I can get while I can get it. Mike and I actually managed to make a two-backed beasty today and he commented on the reduction in handholds he encountered. heh.

I'm swamped. I would love to volunteer in a classroom, but I'm having enough trouble keeping up with my paying job. I did settle things with Russell's teacher about how to do stuff for him in class, but we have to revisit the IEP and specify each thing, so that it's documented and the junior high transition won't be so hard later on.

I have to go clean and supervise cleaning or I'll be unhappy with the lack of cleaning. We've got the company picnic tomorrow, but the only reason Mike wants to go is that so that he can get in the drawing for the annual slot machine and try to win it for his grandmother. I told him he could take the kids because I was going to have to study and work. How luxurious it would be if I could also sleep without a perv monkey, or a little squeaky monky, or a bigger squeaky monkey disturbing my slumber.

Nyahhhhh. Sleep is for undergrads.

The making love ritual is so clumsy when you're tired. Your spouse resorts to saying stupid things like,"Wanna do it?" Which immediately makes you feel cheap and nasty when what you want to feel is pretty and princessy because what you already feel is like a semi ran over you and then backed up and went back and forth a few times. You try to smartass him out of saying such things, but he repeats it every time, despite the fact that in 7 years it really has never worked.

You get hopeful because he spoons with you in bed that you're going to get your neck kissed. That hope shines brightly and is suddenly dashed when he starts to breathe deeply and drool on the back of your neck. At which point, you roll over on your comfortable side, kiss his cheek and fall asleep yourself.

At 523AM, someone's goddamn fucking OHMYGODWHATTHEHELL *IS* THATNOISE bird creature wakes you out of a sound sleep. You think hard, I mean REALLY FUCKING HARD about hooting like a Spotted Owl because they are natural predators of geese or WHATEVERTHATFUCKINGTHINGWAS to shut them up but decide that it will probably bring the tired husband upright in bed, and then will potentially yank kids out of bed, so you shut the damned window, cursing under your breath because your husband never wakes up to hear you cussing.

At 630AM you finally drop off. At 632, your husband's alarm clock goes off, so you smack him to get him out of bed and fall back to sleep, content that everything is right in the world.

I'm in grad school, which means without reservation that I am back to being coffee's biatch. I am enjoying my coffee quotient, though. Coffee good. Coffee necessary. Um, could you move now, you're blocking my view of the coffee pot. I figure it's only going to get bad if I start thinking of using whole coffee beans as ben wa balls. If I get to there, just call the coffee cops because that's abuse and neglect of coffee beans. I don't need caffeine there.

My husband's job is kicking it up a notch. All the games are due by next Monday, which means all of next week, he'll be working on finishing up other people's games because I can guarantee you that he'd rather chew glass than not have his games done. That means he'll be a grumpy unbearable tired beasty for the next few weeks and we'll be falling asleep holding hands because we'll both be too damned tired to make the two-back beasty.

Heck, I'm already too tired for that.

Damn, I need some more coffee.

I just want to say, "Happy Birthday, Sue!" May your whapadang be longlasting and may your linguists be cunning. I bought you a present, but as usual I'm late, so I'll mail it tomorrow. I hereby give you a gift certificate for a tonsil hugging fellating, at your whim. For those of you who don't know our relationship, nor our long linguistic history (Eric degreed in French, me in English, Sue in German and we all have the gift of languages -- you know where you can pick one up pretty quick on the fly?) -- we decided a long time ago that it was hardly fair that men got to say something rude like "suck my dick" and that the equivalent "suck my clit" just didn't have the same gutteral sense to it, so we started saying "Suck my dick" to each other, which amounted to some level of social and linguistic freedom at the time. Of course, when Llisa from Hell tied one on and used to holler it loudly at attractive frat boys, Harsh Betty and Red Neck Ruby used to cringe at the loss of attractive potential sex partners. It's a different world now to be so damned grown up and monogamous in retrospect. I am not gay, nor is Betty, though if we were gay, she'd be the lesbian I'd pick. Whapadang, baby!

***

So we celebrated Russell's 10th birthday on Saturday. We were going to do this take the kids swimming and then feed the parents and kids at our house, but we ended up moving it and staying at a local lake and hanging out with our redneck friends. All the women were speaking Spanish, so I struggled through with my lousy Spanish and they filled in the vocabulary I didn't know and it was an awful lot of fun.

Russell had a ball and we ended things on Sunday with a pinata bashing on the beach, complete with kids beating the snot out of each other for candy. Mike took both kids on a jet ski, which they loved. This means at some point, we'll be getting a trailer and a jetski and trying this out ourselves, because they loved it. I didn't dare do it because with my luck I figured I'd reinjure my rib, so despite pleading from Mike, I didn't go. I did fart around in the water, wrapped in styrofoam noodles and paddling around, which was all I really felt up to. I would have preferred to be smooching Mike in tent somewhere, but we're too noisy.

***

Finally, today I'm getting caught up on all my homework and web work and bills. I feel so efficient. I also took my concerta today, which was a terrific idea. Focus is good.