June

I can’t believe the year is half over.  2009 has been really shitty thus far.  Our little Mable has been gone a month, my Tucker is going to have his amputation soon and work is just plain shit on a stick.  I guess it could always be worse, but I could definitely go for some good things coming our way.  We took Tuck to an oncologist on Saturday so I could get an informed opinion.  I think we both knew that amputation was still the best option, but I needed to have all of the information I could before making such a life altering decision for my boy.  The little man was an absolute hit at the vet.  During his exam, he was lying on his side and kneading at the air…purring the whole time, despite meowing his disdain at having his abdomen probed.  The doc loved him.  He gave us our options along with several pamphlets of information on VAS, radiation therapy, amputation, chemo and holistic remedies.  He had initially said that the radiation treatment would last three weeks.  Tuck would have to go to San Diego every day for his treatment.  They offer transportation or boarding…he’d be able to come home on the weekends if we chose the latter.  It seemed that he was leaning toward amputation even though he could not give us his opinion one way or the other.  The prognosis – best case – for radiation therapy is 1000 days…roughly three years.  If he weren’t so young, that might be a good prognosis.  Once the doc left, we discussed our impressions on the whole thing and decided that we’d still amputate.  The vet assistant came in shortly thereafter.  Mr.T walked right up to the corner of the table closest to her and did his ‘touch my nose’ pose.  He immediately gave her kisses and proceeded to roll on his back for some belly rubs.  I swear my boy thinks he’s a dog.  Even though she was allergic to cats, she scooped him up to show him off to some cat lovers in the back because he is just so fucking cute.  He has the best personality.  The quote she gave us for radiation was for four weeks of treatment instead of the three that the doc had initially mentioned.  The cost would be between six and eight thousand dollars.  Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t do that.  It was probably a needless hundred dollars to spend to come out with the same decision we went in with, but it made me feel better ultimately that I am making the right choice.

We stopped by my work on the way from the vet and let him wander around outside on his leash.  It was cold and windy, but he still seemed to enjoy it.  I resolved to take him out more often…even if it’s just for a ride in the car.  It has been far too long since I’ve taken him everywhere with me.  He still loves his car rides and socialization activities.  I should be spoiling him every chance I get.  I love him so very much.

My parents came over in the afternoon and I promptly drank way too much beer.  I didn’t notice it creeping up on me until I stood up after my eighth or so.  The visit was mostly pleasant, but toward the end the conversation took a turn.  Bessie had consumed an entire bottle of white zin herself and started bringing up my teenage years…her version.  Ugh.  My sabres started to come out, and my dad told her to go to the bathroom because they were going to head home.  It was probably for the best.  I’ve accepted the past for what it is, but I would much rather not talk about it…especially when she starts giving me her rendition in which SHE was the victim of MY cruelty.  I know the truth and that is not it.  Once they left, I fell asleep on the couch and only awakened to use the facilities and go up to bed.  The worst part was that I was still obligated to call them yesterday and ended up on the phone with them for forty minutes as they made drunken conversation at the speaker phone.  That woman complains that she can’t eat most things because of her sensitive stomach, yet she can put away a disgusting concoction of tequila, rum, countreau, lemon juice and simple syrup.  My stomach churns just thinking about it.

 

Decisions

It’s been such a difficult month.  My Mable has been gone for two weeks today…and it’s been almost that long since my sweet little boy had his cancerous tumor removed.  He’s back to his old self again, but the heaviness in my heart has not dissipated in the least.  I finally got to speak with the vet who is familiar with his case yesterday evening.  Fruit Cocktail just wasn’t able to give me all the information I needed to know, and my suspicions of the worst were pretty much confirmed.  The margins of the sample removed were dirty.  My boy still has cancerous cells in his leg.  The doctor tried to give me hope…saying that lots of cats can have dirty margins and never have a recurrence.  But, I’ve seen the statistics online.  I know that there are usually worst case scenarios on the internet, but my sources are veterinary sites.  I want to believe that we’ll have a miracle, but I need to prepare myself for the worst.  The statistics for cats with VAS and dirty margins are up to 16 months.  I could lose my boy before his tenth birthday.  The reality of that tortures me.  We could get radiation, but the expense is astronomical.  We could give him more surgery or amputate his leg, but the decision is excruciating.  The vet assures me that a three legged cat is a normal cat…that they don’t even know they’re missing something.  He’s a resilient boy…a tough boy…and I’m sure he’d cope just fine.  But, how do I decide to remove my baby’s limb?  How do I make that decision for him?  All this is still premature.  I need to see the results of X-Rays.  I need to know that it isn’t one of the rarer sarcomas that has spread to his lungs or lymph nodes.  If it has, there is absolutely nothing I can do…short of chemo therapy that will make him sick and miserable.  I don’t want to make him suffer…especially if the results would only prolong his suffering.

He has been happy and playful the last week.  He has been purring and nuzzling like the sweet boy he’s always been.  When he wants attention, no matter what, I give it to him…and I curse myself for all the times I’ve pushed him away because I was busy or not in the mood.  But, there’s nothing I can do about that…and he knows that I love him.  I’ve loved him from the moment he grabbed the back of my coat from his cage.  He was such a sweet little kitten.  We grew up together.  He’s my best friend.  He’s sweet and neurotic…playful and affectionate.  In the last few years, he’s become a little lapcat.  But, he still hasn’t lost his quirkiness.  He’s the best cat anyone could ever wish for and the thought of losing him so soon…so young…just kills me.  I know he’s technically a senior cat, but eight years old is still so young to me.  He should live at least another eight.

I need to stop obsessing over the things I still have no control over.  I just can’t help but feel the impending doom of news I have yet to hear.

 

Dreamland

I have been having the weirdest dreams lately.  I know I usually do, but I think they’re weirder than normal.  On Friday, I had a bizarre dream involving my ex.  On Saturday, I had a dream about my grandma and papo.  Last night, I had this doozy…

I went to San Francisco for a few days to visit friends, apparently. I was wandering around a large park. It was separated in two halves by a highway, but there was a walkway in between them. Strange things were happening in the first half, but all I remember upon waking is a bunch of people in the parking lot. There was one area where everyone was throwing up from being drunk and/or high. There were also a lot of people on motor cycles revving their engines. It was night.

–I was suddenly in the car with my dad. We were leaving a fast food drive through, and he started driving through the park. We drove past the vomiting people through trees and such. He turned the lights off and started driving through the larger park at high speeds. I was worried that we’d hit a tree, but we did not. We ended up back by the vomiting people where we parked and I got out of the car. I ran into Natalia Reagan with her boyfriend and we started talking. It came up that we’d known each other since I was nine, but we kept thinking I was seven. My dad kept trying to shush me because he didn’t want me saying how young I was for some reason.

–I was suddenly at the Sandpiper Hotel in San Francisco. It looked more like Oxnard. I left my hotel and went walking toward Market street…across a freeway. I wandered by the highway for a while and ran into Katherine Boyd. She swore me to secrecy and told me that she had joined a sect of The Illuminati called “Keepers of the Shadows” and they primarily read dark poetry and other books.

–I became her and was taking my mom and young sister to the secret headquarters of the organization. I wanted to read them a poem I loved. When we got in, we walked through winding, dark corridors and I read to them. We were making our way out when someone in ceremonial robes climbed out of a trapdoor in the floor and turquoise slime started oozing out of their mouths, eventually enveloping their bodies until they were just a puddle of the slime. My sister screamed, and it was suddenly known that this happened in pairs and this person’s pair had the same thing happen. We started running out as more and more people were turning into turquoise slime puddles. On our way out of the main corridor, more people were dying from bright yellow-orange slime deaths. They were lesser members of the sect…one of whom was my high school Lit teacher, Ms.Burman. We got out to Market Street and my mother started yelling at me for the excursion and ensuing events. Her last statement was that she’d prefer if I liked shopping at Pier One over Cost Plus. We got into a huge argument about which was better….I was in favor of the latter…and suddenly I was IN a Cost Plus. I was joking with the cashiers about how we had a 20% discount, but couldn’t afford to buy anything with the wages they paid.

–I was me again, walking on Market Street. I talked to a few strangers and wandered into a bar and grill type place. I spotted an old friend of mine – Peter – and hoped he didn’t recognize me when he called me over to his booth. There were a few other of my high school friends there and I had a couple beers. Another friend of mine from work (don’t know who) sat at the booth in front of us. I got up to sit and talk to her for a while. My third beer never came, and Peter left. I felt badly because I didn’t give him money for my two beers. I decided I would give him a message on Facebook. Then, my friend went to the bathroom and never came back. Another work friend from my last job came to talk to me. She said someone I apparently used to know from that job would love for me to join them for dinner but that SHE didn’t want me to come. I spotted Peter across the room and went over to him to give him some money. He wanted $25 for my two beers and I reluctantly gave it to him.

–I was in New Jersey…apparently moving there to be closer to my relatives. My mother was angry with me for living on the east coast because she would ‘never see’ me. I told her that she hardly ever sees me as it is and that I’m over California’s weather…I wanted to be somewhere cold where it snows.

I don’t know what’s going on with my head lately.  I guess all this stress from work and the kids is getting to me.  I’ve started dream journaling again to maybe make some sense of it…if there is any sense to be made.  I wish I could attribute it to drugs or something, but this is just pure me…pure nonsense.

I really don’t want to go to work today.  I think it’s going to be a horrendous one.  I also have to take Tuck to the vet in a little bit for a checkup after he was so sick a few days ago.  Thankfully, he is doing SO much better.  I love my little guy so much.  I only hope we got his cancer in time.

 

Sweet Hound Dog

I miss you so much.

I miss the cute things you always did.
I miss the thump of your tail…you wagged it so much.
I miss the little woofs you’d make when you were dreaming…and wondering what you were dreaming of.
I miss the sound of your nails running across the floor whenever you heard the pantry door open.
I miss giving you good morning treats.
I miss the deep, explosive bark you’d let out when you were excited.
I miss the noises you’d make when you were rolling around on your back.
I miss the way you played with things…throwing them in the air and chasing them.
I miss your hippity-hops.

I miss the bad things you did.
I miss how you would eat something you knew you shouldn’t, and eat even faster when we tried to take it from you.
I miss desperately trying to get you to go outside to potty before bed.
I miss having to bribe you upstairs with a treat every night.
I miss having to hide the trash so you wouldn’t get into it.
I miss giving you a hard time for peeing on the concrete instead of walking a few more feet to the grass.
I miss how you would get most of your body on the grass and still hit the concrete.
I miss having to chase you when you were hot on a scent.

I miss the sweet way you had about you.
I miss those expressive brown eyes that melted our hearts.
I miss those big, floppy ears and how you’d perk them up when you heard something.
I miss that whip of a tail.
I miss those cute little cankles.
I miss your big paws.
I miss how you would come up to us to ask for love.
I miss your random kisses.
I miss putting my foot down to get up from the couch and landing on your enormous tummy.
I miss your enormous tummy.

I could go on for hours, sweet hound dog.

I miss you so very much.

 

I Hope You Know…

Two years and three months ago, a woman I worked with told me about her dog.  She said that she didn’t love her at all, she had no personality and she wanted to drop her on the side of the road somewhere.  I called my wife and asked her what it would take for her to consider adopting a third pup.  A week later, we all met at the park down the street.  I loved Mable the minute I met her.  She was standing on a little grassy hill and started hippity-hopping toward me…the only way she could run.  She was so fat and floppy…her body dragged on the ground as she walked.  Such a cute girl.  She came to us with an ear infection and rotten teeth…lamentable signs of neglect that this poor girl had survived.  We took her in and fixed her up.  We loved her as much as a family could.

It turns out that she had a wonderful personality.  She was sweet and playful…and loved food like no other.  Her nails would click on the floor as she hippity-hopped over to the pantry…always hoping for a treat and usually getting one.  She wasn’t always well behaved and had some very bad habits, but everyone does.  Her faults she made up for with adorability.  Her sweet, loving eyes tugged at our heartstrings.  Such a sweet girl.

We knew she was old when we got her.  We knew that she was dangerously obese…and try as we might to help her lose weight, there was still just too much for a poor, old hound dog to melt away.  She was fat and happy…and we loved her.  She started getting a cough that wouldn’t go away, and even though my mind told me that the end was near, my heart didn’t want to believe.  The antibiotics weren’t working…but, her appetite never skipped a beat.  She was just the same old Mable…sweet and occasionally playful…and insatiably hungry.

She didn’t come upstairs last night.  It was unlike her not to.  I came down to look for her and stepped in a little spot of drool on the stairs.  She had tried, and couldn’t make it.  I walked around the couch looking for her and saw her lying by the door.  I squinted at her to see if she was breathing, and a wave of relief washed over me as I saw a shallow breath.  I knelt down beside her and put my hand upon her side.  “Mable…Mable, baby…Mable, wake up…wake up, baby.”  It wouldn’t sink in.  It just couldn’t enter my mind that this sweet little girl was gone.  She was still warm.  Laying there peacefully as if she was sleeping.  How do we fathom things like this?  Even when we know they are coming, how do we make any sense of it?  My little rescued girl was gone.  The rotund, little girl who hippity-hopped her way into our hearts is gone.

So many feelings have been enveloping me.  Sadness, guilt…what ifs that will never be answered.

Mable.  My sweet, beautiful Mable.  I hope you know just how much we love you.  I hope you know that there’s an emptiness in my heart now that you’re gone.  I may have yelled at you sometimes.  I may have been impatient with you…and I’m so very sorry.  If ever I hurt you, I never meant it…and I hope you forgive me.  If ever I neglected you, I hope I made up for it.  I hope I gave you all the love you so much deserve and more.  I hope I made up for all the sorrowful times I know you had in your life.  I hope you know now and forever more how very much you mean to me.  I love you so much, my sweet little hound dog.  I miss you more than words could ever express.  I hope with all of my being that there is a puppy heaven and that you are there being loved and showered with all the treats you can eat and all the bunnies you can chase…and I hope with all my heart that I will be able to hug you again.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you.

 

Shitty Obligations

I had to do a bitch of an upgrade on Friday night, so I went into work around noon.  I spent the hours before I could take the system offline making an upgrade checklist so that all of my bases could be covered and I could hopefully leave work by eight thirty.  It turns out (like most system changes do) that something went wrong.  It was ultimately my fault, of course.  I backed everything up ad nauseam…once to our offsite, once using MS, and making sure that the databases being updated have two backup copies and that the C drive and system state was backed up twice.  I had learned from all too many mistakes as a sysadmin puppy that you can NEVER be too careful.  Once the server was patched to specifications and all of those bases were covered, I began the install…except I forgot one critical thing.  I was supposed to switch drive letters to keep it off C:\.  So after some disk cleanups and database consistency checks (not to mention dinner with my Fruitpie and Fruit Cocktail), I went to try it all over again.  I got the familiar error “An upgrade of Proprietary App from Hell has already been attempted.  Contact Proprietary App from Hell support.”  I tried to remember why this was being caused so that I could fix it, but it happened to me so long ago that I was just spinning my wheels.  After kicking myself for not writing it down, I called after-hours support and got the answer.  PAfH created its own db backup and could not overwrite the file name when I attempted to reinstall.  Finally, around 10:45, I was able to pack up and leave home with everything up and running.  I got an email from a user on Saturday informing me that PAfH had been updated (REALLY??) and that she can no longer print as a result.  Ugh.  So it begins.  This is one of the things I hate about upgrades.  A user can have an issue for months and months without saying anything, but the SECOND something is upgraded or changed that has NOTHING to do with the problem they’re having, it’s suddenly a fire I have to clean up ‘because of the upgrade’.  Every little hiccup or glitch their workstations have is going to be because of the upgrade.  Shit, sometimes they even try to blame problems with the office or cell phones on the upgrade…an upgrade to a system that has absolutely no connection to the others.  I’d say I hate users, but I just can’t even feel that any more.  Not like I used to, anyway.  I’ve matured as an IT professional in that way, I guess.  They don’t know any better and if they did, they’d probably be dangerous.  They’d either create even bigger problems with their pseudo-savvy or put me out of a job…or both.

I woke up yesterday with the sickness everyone in the house has had.  It took me a considerably long time to finally contract it, but now my body is working against me with a vengeance.  I ended up having Fruitpie swing by the office yesterday so I could pick up some papers I needed.  I was going to create some charts for our QAPI meeting today, but knew I wouldn’t be able to do it if I felt any worse in the morning.  So, I finished it and ended up sleeping downstairs all night.  Now I’m wishing I were still asleep.  My head feels like it’s been invaded by a midget who is desperately trying to push its way out.  If it weren’t for the fucking upgrade, I’d call in sick right now.  But, I can’t.  I know there will be little fires all over the fucking office today and if I don’t go in to take care of them, it will be a huge fire for me to go back to.  Sometimes I really wish I had backup.  How I would love to have a helpdesk peon at my disposal right now.

 

Easter Morning

It’s strange how holidays change when you get older.  At least, it’s strange how they’ve changed for me.  Lately, it just doesn’t feel any different than any other day of the week.  I wonder if that’s how it is for everyone.  Do those with families dread them because they are obligated to spend time with relatives?  I’m sure many do.  But, Fruitpie and I only have each other, really.  This week has been so horrific that I don’t think we would have wanted to do anything even if it was expected of us.  At least, I sure don’t.  Exercise, laundry and dishes are the only things on my to-do list today.  Well, maybe taxes, too.  We really have to do our taxes.

Where does the excitement go?  When I was a kid, it seemed almost tangible.  I would hardly be able to sleep because I couldn’t wait for the Easter Bunny to come…even when I knew full well that there was no such thing.  I would wake up to a basket filled with candy, and if I was lucky, a new stuffed animal.  I would get dressed in my best comfy clothes and we’d make the trek over the hill to my grandma’s house.  I would run up the steps excitedly and throw my arms around her.  She was almost always standing by the back door…wearing a brightly colored shirt and a long navy skirt.  I’d wait the polite amount of time before running back out to the yard to look for the egg hidden there.  The hiding places never seemed to change from year to year, but it didn’t matter.  I couldn’t wait to see what was inside.  Jelly beans, quarters, susan B. anthony dollars…all in a bed of easter grass.

I think holidays changed forever when my grandma died.  Then it was just a matter of waiting until I was older and could start my own traditions.  I didn’t want to have to try so hard to have a good one until I had a family of my own.  A kid shouldn’t have to be the one to make those things happen…yet, I did for quite a few years.  Sometimes I wish I could have just one more holiday as a kid at my grandma’s house.  You never know when it’s going to be the last.  I wish I could just have one more moment of throwing my arms around her and hearing her say, “Hi honey!”.  One more lucid moment from before her stroke would be all I’d wish.  I try to keep the memories fresh in my mind, but they’ve all faded as memories do.  They have become blurred and distorted much like all the pictures of that time that gets farther and farther away from me.

In my heart, I feel like she wouldn’t even want to know me anymore.  After she died, I would have dreams about her frequently.  She’d take me places and say that she missed me.  Once, she took me to this garden where the entire family was having a picnic.  The colors were vivid and the garden was beautiful.  Music of the twenties was playing on a phonograph as the men smoked cigars and the women bustled about setting food on the table.  My grandma said that I couldn’t stay long and the only thing I was not to do was touch the water in the stream or pond.  I don’t remember why I went over to the water.  There was something mesmerizing about it.  I don’t even remember what happened to cause me to fall in, but I do remember her crying because I had to leave.  She kept saying that it wasn’t my time to be there and I started awake in a sweat.  I was sick for months after that.  I suppose it could have been a fever induced dream, but it always felt like something more.  I saw her once again in a dream after that.  It was when I realized that I’m gay.  I was taking a girl to her house to meet her.  Everything was grey and drab…quiet and eerie.  I found her sitting in her chair crying.  She wouldn’t say anything to me…she just cried and cried inconsolably.  I’ve never dreamt of her since and that’s always bothered me.  Was it my subconscious or was it really the spirit of my grandmother expressing her disappointment in who I was?

I still have to exercise.  I’ve missed the past few days.  Fruitpie is still sound asleep upstairs and I can hear her snoring even though the door is closed.  I tried to fall asleep again, but I just couldn’t get myself to.  My pet mommy duties were calling me.  I wish it weren’t Sunday.  The last thing I want to do is go to work tomorrow.

 

Cymbalta Chronicles

I finally couldn’t stand another week of being so angry and depressed.  I went to a new psychiatrist last Thursday and got a new prescription to supplement my Wellbutrin.  It was a big step for me, I think.  I was nervous and fidgeting the whole time in the waiting room, anticipating another shitty experience like the last guy I saw.  He prescribed Zoloft for me and it really didn’t cut it, truth be told.  I went to my regular physician and got the wellbutrin prescription and that has been what I’ve been taking for a few years now.  The waiting room was nerve wracking for some reason.  I felt like the woman behind the desk was judging me harshly even though I’m sure that was entirely irrational.  When my doctor finally emerged from her office, I tried not to make eye contact with her because it just felt too uncomfortable.  Luckily, that discomfort quickly subsided as we started talking about my medical history and my life in general.  We covered all of the stressors that exist right now and delved back into my childhood all within 45 minutes.  She had a hard time deciding what she was going to put me on when she finally just wrote a prescription for Cymbalta.  As soon as I got back to the office, I took my first dose.  I know you aren’t supposed to feel it for at least a week, but I have been enjoying it ever since.  Honest to God, I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.  The little things are just that and the big things don’t feel nearly as enormous as they used to.  I can laugh at myself freely again and I think I’ve smiled more in the last few days than I have all year.  It’s miraculous, really…and I wish I’d decided to do this sooner.

This wasn’t even a very good weekend, but somehow the edge has been filed down to a smooth corner.  My poor Fruit pie had been under so much stress lately and this stuff with FC just hasn’t helped in the least.  We got her car out of impound from the DUI on Monday and I drove Fruit’s truck home because FC had an interview and I still had a lot of work to get done.  The next morning, the seat on Fruit’s truck wouldn’t move up and I ended up having to drive it for the rest of the week.  She fixed it yesterday morning and we were taking it to a BBQ at one of my coworker’s houses last night.  As we started driving down the cul-de-sac, we felt the tell-tale vibration of a flat tire.  There was a nail in one of them sticking out about a half an inch.  Fruit was so mad that she decided not to go anywhere.  Uncharacteristically for me, I decided to go anyway.  I had a great time at my friend’s house, even if I only stayed two hours.  Everything was fine when I got home, even though I had my doubts that it would be.  I had been over analyzing the tire the whole time nonetheless.  If I had run over a nail, wouldn’t it have been flush from the weight of the truck and the pressure of driving?  We were going to call AAA today…and as I was getting the paper from the driveway, I noticed that the other back tire is flat, as well.  Another nail.  That’s way too much of a coincidence.  Now I’m convinced it was one of the neighborhood kids…probably the ones across the street with the Yes on 8 shit on their car.  Fruitpie is furious, and I don’t blame her one bit.  I just wish we had proof of who did it.  I think we are going to set up a motion camera out there.  From now on, I’m checking every tire before I pull out of the driveway.

My parents came over today to drop off our anniversary present among other things.  It was a visit like any other, but thankfully I handled it better than usual.  I did, however, break the cardinal rule of never going out to a restaurant with them.  My mother had mentioned a while ago wanting to try sushi.  So, we took them to our favorite sushi place figuring that they could choose teriyaki bowls if need be.  My mother went crazy on the rolls, but my dad acted like a finicky three year old.  I tried really hard not to be embarassed by his whining and nit picking, but it was just awful.  I laughed about it the whole way home, but I’m making yet another big fat note to self never to take them out again.  Ugh.  What was I thinking?

 

When the Universe Speaks

I have been having a hell of a time with my PFLAG obligations lately.  The meetings never feel eventful, my ideas are never considered on the rare occasion they get heard and no matter what I do right, I feel like it’s met with a complaint about something else.  It’s so frustrating…and infuriating.  I just don’t fit in with these people.  Last week, I got a frantic phone call from the President asking me if I could make a flyer for our Gay Night event.  It was on Thursday, so I spent about three hours on Friday working on it.  I am not a graphic designer.  Fruitpie designs my stuff because for some reason, I have a block when it comes to graphic arts.  Unfortunately, it was short notice and Fruitpie couldn’t help.  I think what I made turned out surprisingly well for me.  They said they liked it after a few font revisions and sizing changes.  I made it in Illustrator, so it should have been print ready and everything.

On Saturday morning, there was a different flyer on the myspace page.  I was annoyed because they had me work on the damned thing when I obviously didn’t need to.  So, I asked the gay night coordinator which one she wanted me to use and she answered that she wanted the myspace one.  I was absolutely livid.  What a fucking slap in the face.  So, I sent an email to her and the president nicely telling them not to waste my time in the future.  On Sunday, after dropping off my Fruitpie at the airport and driving up to my grandma’s grave, I got a call from the president.  She backtracked that the coordinator person was going to use and print both and to put mine on the website.  I told her I don’t need to be placated, I just don’t want my time to be wasted.  They didn’t print both of them anyway.

At the fucking gay night, the president came up to talk to me.  The first words out of her mouth were “Where’s your wife?  I really like her.”  I informed her that she is out of town.  The very next words out of her mouth were, “Did you cut your hair?  I don’t like it”.  I told her that it’s a good thing I didn’t cut it for her benefit.

These things have been vexing me for days.  Why do I bother when it’s obvious that these people don’t like me and don’t value what I bring to the organization.  I’m just not a social creature, I guess.  On the way into work this morning, I was asking myself how I’m going to go about the rest of the year.  Do I bow out as gracefully as possible?  Do I stick it out until the end and tell them I’m not going to continue to be on the board?  I was sitting at a stop light deep in thought and anger when I hear a car honking from the left turn lane.  A guy in his SUV held up traffic to give me thumbs up for the stickers on my car.  It gave me goosebumps.  At the moment I’m considering dropping my responsibilities, it hit me.  I’m not doing this to make friends.  I’m not doing this to meet people.  I’m not even doing this for myself.  It’s not about me.  It’s about the people in this valley who need our support.  Who will speak for them when they are too afraid to speak for themselves?  So, I guess it reminded me in the best possible way.  It’s funny how things like that happen.

 

Surefire

It seems that a surefire way to keep from eating is to cook dinner.  I made some asparagus with brown butter balsamic sauce, had a few bites and am done.  I even put it on a bed of brown rice and ended up just eating the asparagus.  It’s strange how my tastes have evolved.  I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that five years ago…well, maybe more like seven.  My ex somehow got broccoli to pass my lips and I grudgingly discovered that I liked it.

My Fruitpie is coming home tomorrow and I’m so excited to see her.  I still have a lot of work to do around the house, but I can’t wait to have her in my arms.  It didn’t feel as quiet this time, and I’m sure that’s because D was here making noise.  It was just a few long lonely nights, dreaming about my girl and counting the hours until I can be with her again.  Our five year wedding anniversary is in a few days.  It seems so strange how the years have flown by.  Five years feels like nothing really.  Maybe it’s just a sign of getting older.

I was cleaning the kitchen earlier and looking for one of my favorite utensils.  I finally found it on the bottom rack of the goddamn dishwasher and yelled to nobody something my mother used to say.  I don’t remember what it was, but I do remember the chill that shot down my spine when my mother’s voice left my lips.  When and how did this happen?  I was furious for a few minutes and I had to calm myself down…it’s just a utensil.  My favorite goddamn utensil, but a utensil nonetheless.  I just cannot fathom how anyone would think it was a good idea to repeatedly (REPEATEDLY) put something with a wooden handle in the dishwasher?