I'm tired.

The way I know this is that my hands are sore. Don't ask me how that makes sense, but if you'd been doing nothing but working at your job, and sewing, typing, laundry, and egg washing, your hands would be sore and you'd be tired, too.

I've been making egg money. I love making egg money. I just enjoy caring for the chickens -- food, water, egg collecting. I enjoy the "bocking" they do when they see me and when I toss segments of mandarins around the coop. I am currently in the hole on my egg making adventure, but the chickens are starting to lay more because the weather's warmer. They are also laying more because they are getting food and water on a regular and ongoing basis. I also talk to them and tell them they're good girls to lay so many eggs. I think that helps the most.

I wish it was spring and I could go buy apple trees and plant them on the hill. Lately, it feels like spring, but it's a January Thaw, which means that the snow and blow of winter will soon return. The ice will reform on the lake and twittering birds will be deterred, as will fruit tree buds, but while I wait for the wrens, swallows, and orioles to migrate to my acre and for the soft smell of the blossoms on the peach, pear, and apple trees, I have the soft clucking of my hens and the gentle tapping of eggs in my collecting basket as I make the rounds of the chicken coop. And that's enough to get by on.

It's some obscene hour of the night and the coyotes are howling and yipping at the chickens and the poor cat out in the shed. I'm sure it's coyote-ese for "damn, that smells like dinner" and "Wow, how can I get a nibble of that?"

I'm just depressed. I can't stop being mad at my husband. He wants sex and I would like sex, but I don't like the idea of every time I get a massage, a pat on the butt, or any kind of touch that it's a come-on. That's how I feel, though. He shaves, makes the bed, and never is it just for the sake of being shaven (which I like) or for having the bed neat (which I also like), but it's for the express purpose of getting some.

He thinks he's being all generous inviting me into the shower to "help him out" but all that does is leave me swinging in the wind and as much fun as that sounds like, it's not my idea of a great time. It double sucks that it does not occur to him that he could join me in my shower and do something like that for me. In fact, it has never occurred to him, ever.

And that's the thing. What I might like or need or be interested in, simply does not occur to him.

What's worse, is that tonight we got into this conversation about Jennifer Garner and it ended with,"Well, she's not exactly my type, but I'd do her." To which I snorted,"But you'd do anyone." He agreed.

Stupid man.

Then somehow sensing his stupidity, he said he wouldn't do just anyone because he was married. It was more that the institution was there, not that he loved his wife, which is what I'd really rather have heard at that point. I know I should just shut up about it because let's face it, he's a man and he backpedals badly. Well, and there's the whole thing that I am pissed off at him for saying he'd support me in grad school but that he dragged his heels and was a butthead about the whole thing.

I'm scared about the new semester. I'm scared about it becoming the total fiasco it was last semester.

I'm stressed out because Russell isn't doing well. I just dropped his medication dose because he is on so much friggin' medication that even if he's fucking up at school, which he is, I can't justify it in any form any more.

We took the chickens off his responsibility list because he's been underfeeding and underwatering them and they aren't producing eggs, and we've shown and show him, and told him and told him, and it's not getting through. All he has to do is work on school and care for the cat, which he was also doing badly. I told him I'd find a better home for the cat, but I love her so much that I can't bring myself to do it, so I'm just checking on her when I'm out feeding chickens and making sure that her litter's changed and that she's got food and water, and that he actually let her out.

Mike's stopped snoring, which means I'm keeping him up. He knows I'm sad and upset, and he knows I'm writing about it, but he has to work tomorrow, so I need to go lay awake in bed a couple more hours next to him. Nothing good comes out of fretting about things at this hour, but I am out of Ambien and Benadryl, so I'm frittering away the wee hours in flannel.

Last night, in the tiny hours of morning, Mike and I were talking about some aspects of my past. They were the kind of things I haven't withheld, but that you don't necessarily tell the man you're dating.

I used to have these times in my life when I was very very promiscuous. Those were the times that were loneliest at the end of my 2 year stint as a professional slut. I didn't have many friends other than those I knew from work, but men who I could have sex with were easy to find. I was pretty and knew a lot about how to pleasure a man physically, but more importantly, I knew a lot about how to manage their psyche.

I was telling Mike about some of the transition, after I'd quit the business and gotten a real job as a delivery driver in the Bay Area. I'd had the job a month and my parents snatched me back east because they wanted to save me. Only, I didn't need saving of the physical variety. I needed saving of the spiritual variety. I couldn't get to my church easily without a car and the Catholic church, while similar to the Episcopal church, wasn't my church, and they weren't helping, as they were sure I was manic depressive, versus just plain depressed.

I joined a volleyball group at the YMCA, where I met a guy named Bill. Bill saved my life. At some point, when my parents finally harrassed me into trying lithium for a few months, Bill said,"Look, you need to get off this stuff. You aren't you on this shit. And all the things your parents are saying about you just aren't true." He started running down the list and showing me how wrong they were. And I fought back. I went off the lithium with his support and I realized he was right and that he knew and loved me better than anyone, including me. After a couple years, my college degree, and a couple of boyfriends, I found a better therapist who switched me onto wellbutrin, knowing that I had ADHD, but because of the diagnostic labels was not able to give me that diagnosis. I stayed on that stuff for 1.5 years and then just stopped taking it (under his direction). I had figured out how to grow up.

I still struggle with the viewpoint that things that aren't fucked will be soon -- I think of it as my Eeyore attitude. But I know who I am now and God and I are on loving and speaking terms. And I really am married to my best friend, but I've dated a bunch of dear friends on the way here.

Bill, if I never said thanks, I should have. Your love and knowledge of me saved my spirit and my life. Thanks for teaching me about pure love!

It's day 4 in Winter Wonderland and it's the first day it hasn't snowed. There's blue sky as far as the eye can see, but it's colder than a witch's tit. (I would know, I have those.)

The icicles on the eaves are not melting. The snow is bright and shiny.

Mel and Dan are going to come tonight and play games with us. We didn't know they were coming til this morning. Mel was going to call, but she forgot. Now, I have to clean the house like a banshee on crack.

Ever seen a fat woman move fast? There's a lot of sweat involved. That's all I know.

You know it's time for your kids to go back to school when you....

• think you might have played monopoly for a total of 8 hours today and the Christmas tree is still up in the livingroom and the ornaments didn't make it anywhere but off the couch


• didn't shower until 430 this afternoon, which was about an hour before your husband was coming home from work


• didn't give the kids lunch, but gave them a snack of coffee cake and milk


• can't remember all the shit you're supposed to do, but know the rules to Candyland by heart


• have seen Elmo's Christmas 47 times and still think Elmo's the most annoying little red piece of fuzzy ever


• realize your own room is thrashed and has remained thrashed for at least 3 weeks running


• go hunting for duct tape, when the kids ask for tape because you think you'd like to restrict their movement a little


• have a headache and are just too damned lazy to walk down the hall and find the bottle of ibuprofen


• swear if you hear the kids bouncing about the house excitedly telling you about the various details of the current state of snow flurries outside that you'll stuff one of them in a snow bank


• are looking forward to taking your classes and working

I must have been uber-naughty this year.

For Christmas, Santa gave me bronchitis. As a result, I think Santa is a vicious elfen asshole who should be strung up by his jingle bells. If he'd kept to the usual coal, I'd have been annoyed, but I would have taken my lumps. (Yes, of course, Virginia, the pun was intended.)

I didn't send anyone but my mother and brother Christmas cards. If you were wonderful and sent me a Christmas card and are cursing my name that I didn't send you one, just know that I was coughing green chunks out of my chest and thinking of you. I spent the eve of Christmas Eve sleeping in the recliner in the livingroom because when I laid down in bed, my chest whistled. My doctor said that my chest sounded "like an orchestra." Thus, I didn't listen to Handel's "Messiah" this year because I was doing my own version

I have gifts I didn't ship yet to people. I haven't even mentioned them because I'm still tired and if I say anything, then I have to mail the damned things, so I am simply just shutting up about it. Those of you who were supposed to get stuff, you'll be seeing something for St. Patrick's day.

We're buried in snow. It's been a blizzard here all day. Several of the main highways are closed or have chain requirements. We had one and a half foot drifts in the driveway and driving conditions could be described as "mentally disturbed" because you'd have to be to drive in this slop.

I think Mother Nature and Santa Claus are having a dirty little affair.

I know. You're saying to yourself, "Oh, so you think you'll just come back here after ignoring us for months on end and stick in a blog." Yes, I think I will.

Grad school has been really hard on me, my family, and my marriage. I'm going to take what I absolutely have to take next semester, in order to keep my agreements and then, I'm going to work out, have fun with my children, and date my husband. Then, I am going to take off a couple years and spend it with my kids while they are still young enough to think I'm cool. Genny has mised me so much sometimes and she's just absolutely wiggly about seeing me whenever I have a long day.

Honestly, I just can't take it any more. I can't take the yearning I feel when I'm apart from the kids when I know I could be with them. There's also the fact that my husband does not seem to be able to help out a lot. In fact, the more stressed out I get, the more he seems to purposely step back and stop pitching in. I've screamed, ripped garments, torn my hair out, and nagged...A LOT...and it has made little impact. I'm going to have a friend come in next semester to help clean, so there will be less of that.

Mike's making enough money for me to become a stay-at-home mom and the guilt factor is killing me, not to mention the abject lack of self-care, exercise, etc., that grad school seems to imply. I'm at the point to where I am considering the gastric bypass surgery because I don't want to die from this stupid disease of diabetes and I'm not able to do what I need to do on a consistent basis over time to take care of myself. And to even think that surgery is the answer, is probably only demonstrative of my desperation. I just never seem to have time. I spend so much of my day engaged in someone else's needs -- whether it's the family budget, the kids' doctor's appointments, the medication pick up for the kids, the grocery shopping, cooking meals, cleaning house, or whatever -- that I do not find myself meeting my needs.

If I don't start meeting my needs, I'm going to have my legs cut off and be stuck in a wheelchair at my daughter's high school graduation. Maybe that's why this semester has been so horrible -- because I've been coming face-to-face with my needs and actually identifying them, and I've been feeling the pain of not having my needs met, too. I haven't worn a size this big for 6 years. I'm having to buy new clothes, so that I have SOMETHING to wear. All my pretty professional clothes are 2-3 sizes too small. That's just plain disheartening, you know?

Tomorrow, I'm going to come home early from work and relieve Mike from Sick Genny Duty. Genny had a fever of 102.8, so she can't really go to daycare and I've got to work, so Mike and I are splitting the duty.

So, there's a little teaser for ya.

Did you miss me? I sure missed you. Writing helps my sanity and I haven't been close to sane lately.

I've finally surrendered to my age, my diabetes, my family, and my husband. I am not taking 10 units next semester, but rather 6. I have chosen sanity over insanity. My advisor has said that it may screw a few things up and I said, "let them be screwed up."

I'm free.

Next I'll be healthy again.

I miss this place. I've been realizing lately that I've been taking a lot of the things out of my life that make my life happy. Thus, it's not a big surprise that I'm sad and surly.

I have been taking a sleeping pill at night to get enough sleep. It's working really well and I have felt good for 3 whole days...you know....in. a. row.

My husband and I have decided that we're going to put into the works a plan to send the kids to bed by 8, so that we have more time together. Russell will get to watch TV until 830 and read until 9, but we need some down time together without munchkins and we're not getting it, so we're going to make it. And we've both been making an effort to do stuff with each other.

My husband who often teases me with,"So? You wanna do it?" was put off the other night when I said the same thing to him. Color me stunned. It was not so long ago that he'd have ripped all his clothes off, shaved faster than spit, and said,"Hell, yes!" I just never thought he'd grow up.

I had a talk yesterday with Russell about being responsible for his education. I had no idea I felt so strongly about my own education. I feel like I am paying for this fucker with time away from my kids, time from my husband, money from my family's budget, and by God, I am going to make my professors make me understand everything I need to. I ask questions. I make them repeat. I am a hardass because this education I am getting is MINE and no one can take that away from me.

CS, I hope you figure out a way to get yours, too. This is the best and hardest thing I've ever done.

Hi, I'm writing from a hip-deep pile of work, but I missed you and I know you miss me, so here ya go. I sent this to my kids' group.

Dear Disney,

You guys used to be the cool moviemakers -- the ones I could take my kid to and TRUST that they would not be exposed to violence and weapons that most parents would not let their kids see, nor use. In a time, where there is a v-chip, snipers, killings in schools, and the like, I would hope that you would by virtue of the money you make and the quality that Disney used to be known for, that your movie writers could come up with really awesome movies that omitted the violence and scary stuff that is in our world.

I do NOT want to take my 3 year old, nor my 10 year old to something that has weapons, violence, and death. Heck, they can see that on the evening news. In fact, my daughter's preschool, which is filled with engineer's kids (their daddies make big bucks)has specifically said that they do not show Disney movies for the most part because they are too darned violent. I would rather take my kids to a really awesome movie with people figuring out how to solve problems with their words, how to express their anger in non-hurtful and non-hateful ways, and relying on their families and community to support them when they can not figure it out themselves. If you want me to buy tickets to your movies, merchandise from those movies, including shirts for my kids, DVD's for our family's collection, and dolls for playing, I expect to start seeing the values that I work to instill in them being acted out in your movies.

Otherwise, my kids are taking art classes, so maybe some day, they can draw an animated movie that shows the right thing to their kids.

Please work on it.

Thanks in advance.

Sincerely,


The Momminator
(I only purchase Pooh, now)

My parents visiting was a really wonderful thing in a lot of ways. I love them so much and it was really awesome to see them.

I just wish they'd come in summer when I actually had time and wasn't ready to fall off a cliff from stress. The more I do this grad school thing, the more aware I am that I am not 20 something any more. I can't stay up all night without a cost. I can't do sleepless nights for weeks on end. And I really miss sex and butt grabbing with my husband.

Somehow, though, after my parents, I'm feeling okay, even though I know I'm up to my butt in work. I just wish we'd all had more time. Russell said he wished they lived closer because he misses them. I agreed.

I tried very hard not to cry when they left. I was very sad that they did leave.

I'm sick of being sick. I've had a nonstop snot thing for 2 weeks solid and I'm doing prednisone and insulin and getting fatter by the millisecond.

I hate that.

I hate being at the whim of my body. All I want to do is breathe, so I can go right back to walking around the neighborhood. Tonight, I went out to help Russ put a light in the chicken house because we got the first snow last night, and I had a hard time with that. I think that whole breathing with half a lung thing is just kicking my ass.

I'm here at 2am writing this because I've been up working on a mid-term due by midnight (22 hours from now) and my parents are in town. I don't know what they plan to do tomorrow, but I'm hoping that I can work writing my mid-term around it.

*sigh*

Tired. Grumpy. Grad. Student.

Good news front? Mike got another kickass raise!

Happy Halloween!

(May the chocolate be copious, and the sugar be free!)

My husband is such a geek. He sands, stains, varathanes, and installs these bookshelves in our bedroom and then....

*snicker*

...he doesn't put BOOKS on them. So we have these really pretty bookshelves that are nekkid. I feel like I should toss them a robe. I came >< this close to putting some of my texts on them, so they wouldn't think we are running a nudie shelf wall.

It's too late. They think we're kinky. They're over blushing like hell as I write this. I'm cursing my husband's name and wishing he got the damned books out of the garage, but he didn't.

As I said, my husband is a geek!

__

In other news, my parents are coming out next week. Gack! They threatened to call me from the airport here to tell me. I told them if they pulled that, we'd be conveniently out of town for a few days until the house got clean. My mother snickered. I told her that we're trying but I've got mid-terms this week and I'm awfully damned busy until Thursday. Hopefully, she'll take pity on me and call me the night before. I can pull an all-nighter and clean the house, as long as the rest of the family leaves the house until my parents show up.

I live with pigs. My cleaning efforts are like gourmet food given to swine -- totally unappreciated as anything different than the usual slop.

I think I'd like to keep this martyr robe because it's pretty, purple, and velvety, and it compliments my "I'm_taken_for_granted_way_too_much" working-Mom complex perfectly.

Mike says that after going to a UC, that my expectations are just too damned high, but I think that if you are going to college to be a teacher that you ought to have a rudimentary grasp of how to write a fucking paper, or at least, how to use fucking grammar and spelling checkers. No, Virginia, "there" does not refer to whose thing it belongs to, but rather functions as a stand alone subject substitute or a stand alone place as in, "There is a lot of noise in the hall" or "I threw those horribly written papers from the licensure requirement course over there in the recycling bin." What interests them does not constitute there interest, but rather their interest, stupidhead.

Nor does that someone owns something constitute owner ship, but rather ownership. Nor is "alot" a spelling variance I have a lot of patience for. Sentences that span for four lines damned well better have some punctuation in them or a really good excuse, OK? Authors that use sentences that are all 2-5 lines in length with little or no punctuation deserve a slow and painful death. Students who turn in first drafts as final drafts to an instructor, who told them that they were expected to write a grammatically correct paper, should be beaten to death with a keyboard.

An introductory paragraph should tell me what you're going to write about. It should start with a general statement and get more specific from there. For example, if you are asked to write a personal perspective paper on your view of special education, then perhaps, you would start with a historical remark about people with disabilities of any kind were often abused, institutionalized and generally marginalized in some manner for centuries, but that now, those same people are being included in regular classrooms, workplaces, and the real world. That evolution has come about because of many changes, but the three or four I will focus on here are : 1, 2, 3, and 4. Then you have a paragraph or two each for items 1 -4, then end the essay with a paragraph that says how you covered these salient points 1-4 and that you're sure glad things have changed and that your duty as a teacher will be to perpetuate changes that continue to include folks that learn differently in your classroom, your life, and your world.

How fucking hard is that, people?!

I told my assessment class that writing is very mathematical. I guess what I mean is that it's very formulaic. I thought teachers would know the formula, so they could teach it. I am very upset to see that I'm wrong. I think that it fundamentally upsets me in ways I can't entirely articulate. It also makes me think twice about my place in the world. Maybe I should be teaching high school English. Maybe I am just too damned smart for my britches. Maybe I'm just full of righteous indignation and should be smacked with a gummibear.

Maybe the schools really are failing our children and my sole mission in life will be to save each child, one child at a time, so that they can all be literate and intelligent humans.

Okay, where are the gummibears?

I have the coolest little boy in the whole world living in my house.

I have been desperate to figure out some way to exercise. I finally asked the Bear if he'd like to get up with Mom at 630AM and go walk for a half hour. I know he's been desperate for Mom-time and I've been desperate for Bear-time, so it seemed like a good thing to do. I was just worried about him whining about going or complaining that it was too long, etc.

He didn't whine though. In fact, I can't remember when I've enjoyed being with him more. I think he really misses being the only kid in town, something with the advent of a sister, he no longer is.

We hiked up a hill first, where we can see the whole valley, and I asked him,"Do you know why we're hiking up the hill?" He said,"No, mom, why are we hiking up the hill?" I said,"So when we go home, we'll be walking DOWN the hill!" To which he laughed. There's just nothing more beautiful than an awkward prepubescent boy that you know actually getting your jokes, especially before the sun actually rises.

As we came down the hill, Russell said,"Hey, Mom, look!" I looked and the sun was putting this wierd shade of pink on the sierras. We stopped a second and talked about it. Then he looked up and said, "Hey, there's half a moon and half the mountains are pink. It's all about halves today." I laughed. Then he said,"Don't you wish Dad could see this?" I said,"Well, yes, but he can't because someone has to stay with Genevieve, and to be truthful, I'm enjoying just spending the time with you."

I heard him grin. He said,"Me, too, Mom."

Grad school has settled down for a while. Suddenly, the teachers that weren't showing us different stuff, started to show us more practical examples, pushed us to work hard on a couple of ideas, and everything got better.

One day this week, I opened my big mouth, but I do that from time to time and while I got scolded, I also got educated, so it was okay. I learned that this is a small and poor university and that just kind of made me sad, but also at home.

I don't know if that makes sense at all, but that's how I felt. I've been very spoiled at some of the places I've worked to have "infrastructure." This place doesn't have infrastructure, but it does have some really nice people and that made me feel better.

I still hate all the work, but I'm working more with kids and that makes everything worthwhile.


Also, my friendships in the department are strengthening. The PhD students all got together and in abstentia decided that I was going to get my PhD. I told them that my family would probably have something to say about that, well, and that I'd rather chew glass.

Truthfully, I wouldn't mind getting a PhD, but I think I'd like to have several years of teaching under my belt before that. I really like the kids. My reading practicum feels soooo good. I enjoy it so much and I'm thinking that if I like it that much that this is why I'm called to do this and the PhD matters to me a whole lot less, as a result.

There are a lot of kids out there who need good teachers and I want to be one of them.

I'm up to my butt in stuff to do, but it's a long weekend, I guess. I have a lot of work to do for the departmental web page and I've been studiously avoiding every ounce of it. I have a lot of schoolwork to do and I'm avoiding that, too. But dude, I've got clean laundry.

Lots and lots of clean laundry.

My son has started selling chicken eggs. We get $1.25/dozen at the local store for large ones and $1.00/dozen for smaller ones. Because I've got juvenile chickens, I get some smallish eggs about a third of the time. So last night, we sold 5 dozen eggs and got $6.00 because one dozen was smallish. Apparently, this store can't begin to keep on top of the demand for the eggs, which makes me four shades of happy because any thing we have we can sell.

I slept a lot, but I still want to sleep and I checked my sugars and fully expected that they would be high, but they weren't. I'm just tired, I guess.

Last night, I learned something.

When you take a muscle relaxant, do not try to get up in the middle of the night. I got up to pee and nearly fell asleep on the john. Then I came back to bed and nearly fell onto my knees and slept on the floor. It took every bit of will power I had to force myself into bed. Mike woke up and tried to talk to me and I was stumbling and fumbling around. It reminded me a lot of JarJar Binks in Episode I, where he gets his tongue numb because he sticks his face into some kind of power field.

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.