Random Acts

I’ve been home from work the last day and a half. I moved my crap upstairs to my new desk area and tried not be annoyed that they didn’t even clean out the damned thing. I got a lot done yesterday, though…and I have some work to do this weekend. I couldn’t get myself to do much of anything today. I really wanted to get the house in immaculate order, but that day of the big bleed lethargy had me in its cold, hard grasp. The smoke and ash outside served as an excuse not to venture out…even though I got dressed to go to Kohl’s and changed my mind when I realized that I looked like a sausage in my biggest pair of jeans, and even with the fly totally open, these things are going nowhere.
Around one o’clock, my mother called. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to her, but I know it’s been a while. She used the excuse that she was calling about how to use the little green. What 55 year old woman calls her 26 year old daughter to find out how to clean the goddamn carpet? I gave her my domestic advice, which seemed totally wrong…but, I know that can’t possibly be the reason she called. Her next choice of topic was my brother’s sexual harassment case. She said that she was a little confused about a comment he made a while ago, but after finding this out, she knows why. Apparently she told him she’s proud of him and he told her that he’s nothing to be proud of. There are probably a thousand reasons he said that, not the least of which was drunkenly assaulting a cartoonist in a hot tub. I told her I haven’t talked to or seen him for over a year and half, and therefore had nothing to contribute. She informed me that he is getting fat again…not as fat as he was, apparently, but fatter than he was when all he consumed was pot and alcohol. The last time I saw him, he refused to eat until we went to bed and then helped himself to the edible contents of our fridge. I think he even ate our restaurant leftovers.
He next lengthy topic was about her health issues, of course. Really, what’s a conversation with my mother without her delivering her physical state of the union? She got fired from that quack doctor’s office when she said she was going on disability and started going to a chiropractor on the auto insurance company’s dime. They got into an accident on the freeway over two years ago and have been squeezing the woman who hit them through the ringer ever since. Her new diagnosis is Radiculopathy, which is just about the dumbest sounding ailment I’ve ever heard. I let her prattle on about, but I couldn’t help wondering how the guy is able to give her adjustments when you can’t even feel her bones through all those layers.
She also tried to bestow upon me the wisdom of Susanne Somers’ book on bioidentical hormones or something assinine like that. The woman was on She’s the Sheriff and the home shopping network, so she must know what she’s talking about. My mother has been a disciple of Ms.Somers for years, and I am so lucky to have gotten out of that house in time to miss her total change in diet. The food from that woman’s cookbook was absolutely vile…or at least my mother’s rendition of it was. She never was a very good cook.
I guess it wasn’t a horrible conversation, though. It was more entertaining than anything…which is kind of amazing since I’m bleeding today and everything. Either I’ve grown up or I’ve gone temporarily apathetic. She’s gotten so batty from all the years of drugs and the Susanne Somers diet that it’s almost hard to imagine her as the hateful bitch she was when I was growing up.

Yesterday was my big, angry, weepy day and I just know that my uterine floodgates will swing open any moment now. I think I was caught off guard because I was in such a good mood when I left the house. I took my time getting ready, sang loudly in the car, bought a 50 cent mug at Walgreens before going to the office. I had pictures of the kids and a halloween candy dish all ready to put on my desk when I walked in and saw that I had been office-jacked. From that point on I saw that this company has a terminal case of miscommunication and executive unavailability. The only saving grace, really, is that everyone is so nice…and at the same time, that’s probably the reason for the terminal nature of this problem. Nobody wants to hurt anyone’s feelings.
This morning I was not as angry as I was yesterday, but I had really contemplated telling them that I would not be in. When I sat down at my desk, I found that my computer had taken a dump from which there was no graceful return. I called my Fruit to calm me down and clear my head. I took a deep breath and went upstairs to see if anyone was in yet. I found one of the department heads, although I’m still not sure what she is head of, but she is upstairs with HR and Accounting. She was one of the ones in my interview, and it sounded today like she was the HR director’s boss…which seems a bit odd to me since my boss is the president. I gave her a list of what I need from the consultants, told her that I am going to go home and asked her to have the consultant come out and fix my box. She promised to call me today after she speaks to my boss to sort out all of this mess. I was only there for two hours, but it was totally worth it to be so direct and decisive. I just with I could get ahold of my Fruit and talk to her about it.

I am waiting desperately for my second wind. I just got home about fifteen minutes ago, and I would love nothing more than to crack open a beer and veg on the couch. I had made all kinds of plans in my head to be superwoman tonight. I stopped at Winco after work, attended to the girls and put the food away first thing…and the second I sat down to pee, the exhaustion set in. There is laundry to do, dinner to make, dishes to wash and clothes to put away. The carpet needs vacuuming and the floor needs sweeping and I’ve only been gone two days.
Work has been surprisingly good. I have no idea where to start because the network is in such a state of disarray, but it’s nice to be able to name my project. The company is small and everyone is genuinely kind. I actually have an office…with a couch and a bathroom in the quietest corner of the building. The only problem I ran into so far was a woman who just waltzed into said bathroom and took a ginormous dump. But, what should I expect in hospice? There are always a few in the mix.
A group of women asked me to lunch with them today, and I felt like I shouldn’t say no…even though I had brought one. It was actually the first lunch I’ve had with coworkers where nobody once brought up work or another coworker they don’t like. The closest they came was crossing their fingers and breathing a sigh of relief when one of the nurses came in and sat at a different table. I don’t have an opinion on anyone yet…except, of course, their soon to be former IT consultant whom I’ve not yet met. I can’t believe the state this network is in.

I went outside to take the bins to the curb and decided it was time to straighten up the garage and pot some of my plants. It was cool and sunny, but I could see the storm clouds looming ominously in the distance. I was only out there an hour or so, and they’ve already started to invade the valley. I see them to the north and west, threatening to cover the sky like a blanket. The harder the wind started to blow, the more excited I got…but come eleven o’clock, I knew it was time to get back in the house to be mommy. Watering the plants doesn’t make much sense when rain is almost a certainty. If it does come, this will be the first fall storm…and that sense comes over me as it does with the first beautiful days of ever season, and I assert that this one is my favorite. If only for a year, I want to live somewhere with four distinct seasons. I want to wake up one day to a blanket of snow and curse the muddy slush that gets trailed into the house. I want a basement with creaky stairs that I feel the urge to run down as quickly as possible…and back up again the same way. I want a hundred days of rain and cacauphonous thunderstorms that wake me up at night. Or, maybe I could just paint them all and pretend there is such a place.
I’ve been noticing the fall as much as the coming of spring. I first noticed the leaves changing as I drove up the hill to the house, and I make mental notes on the changing hues each time I pass. I’m starting to think like an artist again…slowly but distinctly. I see the hidden colors in things and calculate how best to recreate them. I’ve desperately tried to revive that part of my psyche…and I hope that this means it’s coming back of its own accord.
I don’t think I’ll be able to escape painting today…and as long as I can get myself to clean the upstairs, I will be happy. I need to get things ready for next week…going back to work. I need to make lists and plans so that my home doesn’t suffer for my being away…even if it’s only twenty hours. I don’t want my Fruit to feel neglected again…and I don’t want the kids to be sad, either. I wish I knew how to balance everything.

I left the door open while I picked up the K9 deposits today just to see what Mr.D would do. I knew he would come out, and I figured that there wasn’t any harm in it as long as he stayed in the yard. It seems his favorite things to do are eat the grass and roll in dirt…and freak me out by getting ready to jump the fence. I don’t know if he does it to see what I’d do or because he wants to check out the neighborhood…either way he’s pretty damned cute when he’s exploring. When I brought everyone back in, he took to meowing at the door when the girls scratched to go out. I don’t know if I should stop letting him out or not…but, I think I’d feel better if he were at least microchipped. Keeping a collar on the boys has been way too difficult with how rough they play.
I decided to take my bike out in the late morning since I didn’t want to drive to the gym. I haven’t had a bike I really loved to ride since I was a little kid. I don’t know if it’s because I was small and therefore not uncomfortable on a little seat or if I’ve just gotten so fat and out of shape that it’s painful. Last time I took this bike out, I could barely get halfway around the block. This time was unbelievably better…and promising, really. If I could got into riding and taking the girls with me, it might not feel like a workout.
I used to ride my bike every chance I got when I was a kid. I rode that damned thing until I was too tall for it, and that was the only reason I stopped. A few years later, when I was about twelve or so, my grandmother bought me a new bike. I think my dad must have told her that we didn’t ride together anymore because I outgrew the old one and he didn’t want to buy me a new one while I was still growing. It was an off sized mountain bike with metallic, cotton candy pink paint. I was embarassed to ride it around the boys down the street, and I discovered that the seat felt like it would be sucked up my ass if I hit a bump too hard. A new seat would have fixed the problem, I’m sure, but it’s been hit or miss with bikes ever since. My next one was a blue Raleigh from the late sixties. I rode that one to the library and my job at Pier One…sometimes to the point of exhaustion just to get out of the house in a hurry. I gave it away to one of my neighbors at my first apartment because he needed it more than I did. When my dad found out, he bought me the one I have now. Still, it’s not the same as my Miss Rocker from Sport Depot. I still remember trying to ride it around the store the day my parents bought it for me. I was seven years old and had no idea how to balance on the thing. I straddled it for weeks, pushing off with my feet and coasting a few feet…then a few more feet…then one day getting the nerve to put my feet on the pedals and fly away. I was determined to be able to ride. I couldn’t swim and I couldn’t skate, but goddamnit I was going to ride that bike.
The rest of the day has been uneventful. I planted some daffodils in the front and pulled the weeds. The girls seemed very upset that I didn’t let them out with me, and Mr.D meowed at me frequently, just so I knew he was there. Perhaps he was giving me directions as well. I think Fruit will be happy with the house when she gets home…and hopefully I can be back on track. I am so frequently and easily derailed…and I hope that I can get my focus back…maybe when I lose weight…or maybe when I change pills…or maybe just when I’m a little older…a little smart…a little anything other than all I am now.

I’m in a foul mood and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I’m bleeding…or maybe it’s just inexplicable. I feel like crap, and as nice as our getaway was, it was entirely too short for the amount of trouble that went into it. I’m more exhausted now than I was when we left. I could barely get dinner done yesterday, let alone anything else. I’ve had incredibly bizarre dreams lately, too…which hasn’t helped in the least. I tried cooking the fish I caught last night and it turned out disasterous. Catching them was fun, but knowing that I killed them makes me feel horrible. I’m sure it’s stupid, but what would I expect when I feel bad killing a bug? It was certainly fun catching them. They’re wrapped in foil in the fridge right now, and I don’t even want them for dinner tonight. We should eat them soon, or they’ll have been killed for nothing…and that seems even worse than killing them in the first place. Maybe it’s just because I didn’t grow up around much of anything. Papo tried numerous times to take me to the pier with him, but my mother would have none of it. Apparently we were too good to ride a bus. He used to get up and out the door with his poles in time for the first RTD and travel sixty miles to Redondo Beach Pier just to get his “hook in the water”. Sometimes he would stand in the surf and fish, he said…although I could never picture how this would work out logistically. I remember him coming into my room to wake me up once so we could go together. I pretended to be asleep so my mom wouldn’t get mad, but I can’t say I haven’t regretted it ever since. I used to feel bad that I didn’t have a grandfather, and there he was wanting to be just that.
I went to the store for our weekly shopping and I have yet to unload everything. There is a lot of work to be done in the house before Fruit gets home…and I want to at least have dinner ready when she walks through the door. Dinner and a vacuumed floor, at least. I don’t think I could take a repeat of last night…and conjuring a good mood is going to be a challenge anyway.