Some rambling thoughts on parenting teenagers.

 Hi, All!

So, my eldest son keeps insisting that his one desire when he finishes high school is to leave the country. He's been saying that a lot over the last few months. Every time he says it, my heart breaks a little bit. I sit there and say to myself is this because I walked away from my side of the family (with the exception of a few people).  Is this how he thinks things are supposed to work? You grow up and just walk away.

We've done our best to explain to him how a large number of people on my side of the family are toxic if not dangerous for them to be around. He launches into rants about how this country is turning into a facist state. (This is what we get for making sure he was well educated about WWII and the consequences of such types of governments.) He talks about how much he hates this country on the basis of all the past injustices against everyone you can think of and the ongoing bigotry and policy making based in hate. I don't blame him or begrudge his feelings. He just wants to leave before the country collapses. I don't know if it is going to collapse, but he's insisting it will and it will be like Nazi Germany when it happens.

This kid is no dummy. His arguments are well thought out and fairly sound. He gets ticked off with counter arguments that tell him that staying in the country is a better option than risking being off in another country with no idea what it's like there or how to speak the language.

Still, he's breaking my heart.

My youngest son keeps insisting his one desire is to be a roboticist. He understands that means college. He wants to get there as fast as possible so he can start building animatronic robots. He's been fascinated with them for years. His response to his brother's desire to flee the country is "You'll come back and see us, right?" He gets upset at the idea of his big brother just disappearing out of his life. They're real close. They think a lot a like, which means there's a fair amount of bickering. (Thank you Beloved for the noise cancelling headphones.) But my youngest son at 14 years old has a huge heart and worries for his brother. And I can't console him.

This is the rough part of being a parent.

Prompts No. 1

 Because I have so much difficulty writing of late, I have turned to my prompt box and I'm going to try to write daily posts on the basis of prompts. I can't promise success, but I am going to try.

Today's prompt: How much of yourself do you keep hidden?

Well, this one is a gut punch. I keep a large amount of myself hidden. I have lots of emotional scars, my personality is fracture (to put it lightly), and a great many things that I'm terrified of that I force my way through just because it needs to be done. I have this attitude that I must push through whatever hardship I am dealing with (like walking pneumonia right now) and make things happen. It was instilled into me by parents who didn't believe me when I was sick and repeatedly accused me of being lazy when I was trying to rest and get over being sick. I remember very clearly them telling our family doctor that I was a hypochondriac before I could even begin describing my symptoms. Cue a different doctor thirty years later saying I have textbook arthritis in my knees and have had it all my life.

I hide my pain with sardonic comments, redirecting things to other people and their needs, and excessive cheerfulness when it's really bad. When I had appendicitis, I was cracking jokes with tears in my eyes from the pain. The nursing staff was disturbed by this, partly because those jokes were really dark. Then I got the morphine (which I am now allergic to the whole family of pain medications, yay!) and the jokes got darker and twisted. Why, because I could make myself shut up. It was an experience and a half.

I also hide things that are precious and deserving to be shared with the world because of how scarred my metaphorical heart is from years of harassment and bullying. I'm scared to share my paintings because of how often people told me they were garbage. Once, a painting that I was really proud of that I gave my parents as an anniversary present, they gave back to me with a comment 'I believe this is yours.' also known as 'Take it or we're going to get rid of it.' It hurt. That painting now hangs in my kitchen. It's a view of the prettiest place on the family farm during autumn, up by the pond looking out over the valley.

I try to hide my pride and do my best to remain humble and genial. But when I get insulted, I have a rush of adrenalin and I'm ready to fight. Honestly, that's the hard one to keep under my hat. For too long have I born insults and snide comments over the last 44 years from people around me, often in the form of backhanded jokes or 'constructive criticism.' I try to just let it pass over me like water around a stone. It's really hard, though.

Now that I've word vomited my way through this post and overshared too many things, I am going to attempt to write something else on another blog. Fortunately, my prompt box covers a really wide range of topics. 

I feel like garbage but I'm getting stuff done.

I have conceded defeat on the hair front. I had always hoped that I was going to have the long, snow white, gorgeous hair that my great-grandmother Hazel had. Female pattern baldness is setting in and my hair is thinning and starting to come out in great chunks. My hair dresser said to me that stress can do it. She's been watching my hair go white real time over the last few months. I wanted to believe her and that if my stress levels went down, I could have my long hair again. Then I took a shower and noticed how much of my scalp I could see. I almost sat down and cried. I am not a vain person but my hair was a trait I took pride in. My philosophy was always I could do what ever I want with it and it would grow back. Now that's not so sure. So, this past weekend, Beloved helped me to shave my head. 

My argument was if Sinead O'Connor could pull it off, I could too. Here's the before picture, if you haven't seen it on FB or Instagram. If you look carefully you can see where one of the thin spots in the front is. And the lack of balance between the hair on both sides, because the other thin spot that shed enough hair to make a small mouse in the span of two days is across from the cowlick holding straight up on the left side.

I was a little nervous about this picture. I was disappointed I couldn't keep rocking the faux hawk that I loved to do over the last few years. It was fun confusing my father-in-law with it. The look was very agender and with how I carry myself, it tended toward a masc feeling. He blue screened the first time he saw it. I had someone mistakenly call me 'sir' and I laughed, at which point they blushed beautifully and stumbled over an apology.

It makes me wonder what the new look is going to get response wise. As of the moment, I am getting back into my scarves and figuring out how to work this with out a quarter mile of hair to twist into a bun to hold the looks into place. I will

probably be purchasing a few items to help me with my scarves. Wrapunzel has a velvet shaper, I may be lucky and find one that is small enough for my head and at a reasonable price.

The new look came with a new accessory. I confess, I love wearing a collar. The edgier the better. It's in stark contrast with what people who have known me most of my life expect and lets me play around with looks that I've always admired. I found this collar with the hearts and spikey studs on it as Spirit Halloween of all places for $12. It has nickel in the hearts, so I had to paint them with nail polish to protect my skin from it.

But it's totally worth it. Now I just have to figure out how to move forward on some other clothing transformations for my look. I have enough flexability that I can do Mom Goth to Laundry Day Goth. (The latter being when my outfit matches my colorful, floral print combat style boots.)

I'd be more excited about all of this if I wasn't sick and way behind on chores. As of the moment, I am blogging when I really should be watering plants and washing dishes. I spent my whole morning on getting the mass of papers on the desk sorted out. I found correspondence dating back to 2017. I should have done this a long time ago. Tomorrow I will be filing everything, including the huge pile of papers on the baker's rack in the kitchen. I would get some work done, sit down to rest and fall asleep for a half hour. Stupid pneumonia just is kicking my butt. At least I look kinda cool.

Exhausted but upright anyways.

 I am working with a sleep clinic that posts their results in a file that I and my care team can read together. I am not expert on sleep apnea but I suspect that the doctor who runs the clinic is going to have some things to say that I don't want to hear. Like that I have some form of sleep apnea and that one night of the two night test, I did stop breathing. I'm trying to steel myself for this potential but it is as vague and intangible as the air itself. I can not grasp a handful of the wind and put it in my chest.

Looking at the reports surrounding the pneumonia stuff, I really hope that this damn business starts to clear up. Otherwise, I might have a real problem on my hands. I am frustrated and tired. I can't sleep well. I can't breathe well. I am having difficulty coughing up the gunk in my chest because I can't breathe well. I don't know what the medical solution is but around the end of next month I get another chest x-ray and find out if my general practitioner sees that nothing's changed. 

If there is scarring in my lungs I don't have any idea where it could have come from. I was born a preemie and I had breathing difficulties when I was itty-bitty. I had asthma but my lovely parents couldn't be bothered to make sure it got treated and regularly had me doing things that triggered what I now know to be asthma attacks. Bonus points here, because they smoked like chimneys and the white walls of their house were a tacky yellow by the time I was old enough to tell colors. 

Yes, I argued with my parents that the walls were not white like the paper in my books. That went over like a lead balloon. It wasn't too long after that I was getting exposed to asthma triggers and being left gasping for breath as my parents told me to toughen up as I hurt while breathing.

The sleep thing is awful. I have nightmares every night of something horrible. Either it's a flashback thrown into a blender with Salvadore Dali's art style or classic staircase wit where I have screaming arguments with my parents for accusing me of being a drug addict. They started that at ten. I didn't have access to drugs. We lived in the middle of nowhere and the closest thing to a drug dealer in our neighborhood was dairy cows. Because we all know the intoxicating effects of whole milk, right? 

This is not going as planned.

 My chest x-ray showed haziness in my left lower lung. This is no difference from the last one, except for the region is a bit bigger now. I woke up this morning with cold symptoms and a very sore throat. So, at my appointment to discuss the x-ray, my doctor and I agreed that a covid test to rule it out as a complication was a wise decision. If I have covid again, I am going to be highly irritated. Last time, I was 3 weeks flat on my back, coughing and hacking. I did ask if the haziness the x-ray showed could possibly be scarring in my lungs. The doctor shrugged and said it was possible but given my other symptoms, pneumonia was more likely.

For all these people saying the covid tests administered by doctor offices are awful, it wasn't a terrible experience for me. Irritating, yes, but nothing like when I had my sinuses scoped about twenty years ago. For one thing, it was a lot faster. Secondly, the doctor wasn't wiggling the thing around in my nose. On the whole, the 'real' covid test wasn't any worse than the at home one. Heck, it was kinda easier because I didn't have to do anything but sit there and don't sneeze.

I have my diabetes follow up appointment with the doctor in a month. He wants me to get another chest x-ray a few days before hand to see if the antibiotics that have been prescribed this time will clear up that haziness in the last two exams. I hope it will. This whole time, I've been tired and feeling like garbage with my chest aching a lot. 

When they weighed me at the beginning of the visit, I saw that I gained about three pounds. Now, I know the weather's getting colder but I wasn't wearing my boots and heavy weather gear. This has been stress eating due to a number of things going on right now. I'm trying to stop doing it but it's proving really hard. I'm trying to get back to food logging and that is really hard. Which is stupid because all it is, really, is writing down a quick note when I eat. But between the stress eating and the food logging stuff, I am finding myself struggling with the urge to cut down how much I eat in a big way.

I don't really know how to describe my relationship with food beyond saying it's very complicated and hurtful. Between the diabetes and my history of anorexia (instilled in me by my insane mom who insisted whenever she caught me eating as a child that I was eating too much and my brothers were going to starve because of me, I was 5 when I started skipping meals) my emotional response is mixed. I love to cook for people. But that's been dialed way back by anxiety that I can't eat what is 'normal' food. It's a mess, folks.

I've got the next month to try to get my eating habits back to what they were last summer and lose those three pounds. Three pounds doesn't sound like a big deal, but it kinda is because when my weight goes up so does my A1C numbers. I am scared right now. I hate being sick and I hate how it reminds me of being sick as a kid where things were ugly. 

I now have a working computer, huzzah!

 Around the time of my last post (no joke), my computer died. I went to my old Win 8 box and discovered it was well and truly dead. And filled with  moth larvae corpses. It wasn't pretty. So, I looked around and found a place that fixes computers and pretty much all tech equipment. (They also have a good sense of humor.) 

Approximately the same time as I got my computers into the tech shop, I got aspirational pneumonia. I have been having sleep problems for over a year now. I woke up one night choking on phlegm, acid reflux, and saliva. To say the least it was unpleasant. I coughed and hacked for an hour. Somewhere in that time period, I inhaled the mixture. Next day, I called the doctor at one of the other offices for the family practice we go to because it was the day that the office of our doctor was closed. I spoked with the doctor at the other office and explained the situation. They put me on an antibiotic and told me to get a chest x-ray. 

This x-ray showed a couple of spots of pneumonia in my chest on the lower left lobe of my lungs. I was put on a stronger antibiotic and told to follow up with my primary care doctor. So, I go and do that. And the unexpected happens. 

He asks me if I have a fever and goes to check me with a temporal thermometer. I answer that I don't and my normal body temperature is 96.8, roughly two degrees lower than normal. Well, the doctor was shocked when I said that. He said that everyone's core temperature is 98.6 in a most offended tone and insisted that my thermometer is calibrated wrong. I was so surprised by his response that I didn't say that every thermometer ever used on me read that when I was healthy since I was a small child and that I believed the lack of subcutaneous fat (that's the one that insulates your body just under your skin) was the reason why. Normally, our interactions are much calmer and generally genial and pleasant, no matter how rotten I feel.

Still, after this moment of awkwardness, we got back on topic and he prescribed a stronger antibiotic and told me to get a second x-ray in two weeks. That was last Saturday and the results are not in the computer system yet for me to view. I am hopeful that Dr. E. has them and can tell me if the pneumonia is getting better or worse. I feel awful. Initially, I didn't feel that bad. Now I am at the point where my left side hurts. All through this I had no urge to cough (which I suspect is a very bad thing) and my peak flow meter for my lungs is in the middle of my yellow range, tending lower as time goes on. I hate albuterol but I use it when I feel wheezy and like I can't breathe.

I got my computers back last week. The old Win 8 machine is now a Win 10 box because there was no way to salvage it and I was lucky that it still worked. I don't entirely know what I'm going to do with two computers. I'm considering dedicating the older computer to just messing around and doing stuff like playing games. This one, however, I am going to focus on using it for work like stuff. Fortunately, I backed everything up on these machines before they went kaput on me.

On the health front, I'm still dealing with pneumonia. I have a follow up appointment with Dr. E. tomorrow to talk about the chest x-ray. Last week, I did a sleep study and I'll be talking to Dr. M. about the results in a month. Apparently that was the earliest that they could book me to see the sleep doctor. There are other doctors on his team that he has me booked to see, like a sleep psychologist to discuss my nightmare problem. And I still have to get my blood work done to see how I am doing with my diabetes. So, I am a little nervous about my health. My last test had an A1C of 7.5 which isn't gods awful but it's not good. It was a steep jump from where I was at before (6.1). 

I'm trying to control my eating habits but it's really hard. I've also been somewhat depressed about things for various reasons and self soothing by way of food. Sounds weird that a former anorexic will do that, but there you go. I have been getting a little more exercise and then I got the damn pneumonia which makes doing more than crossing the room at a brisk stride tiring. As this wears on, I just feel worse and have no urge to cough. It's scary.

No Menu, but there is more malarky

 Cuddle Bear did not only claim the jacket for himself, he asked for a fedora to go with it. I was searching all over for the compass he asked for as a birthday present and couldn't find one. I'm going to keep looking. But between the had, the sunglasses and the rest of his look, I was half expecting him to quote Blues Brothers (We're on a mission from God.) or ask me when I am going to be giving my weekly protection payment to the Don. 

His small birthday party was yesterday. We had pizza and cupcakes. Well, the guys had pizza and cupcakes. I had a salad. It was another 'oh damn diabetes" moment. Let me tell you, those chocolate cupcakes looked delicious. We didn't have any guests over because we weren't sure how to get a hold of his friends.

Originally the plan was to have the party at his grandparent's house, but they are feeling under the weather. Instead of delaying the party, they told us to go ahead and hold it at home. They'll let us know when things are favorable for visiting.

Snuggle Bug has been all about his skateboard where as Cuddle Bear is a bit gun-shy about the whole affair. Balancing on it while standing is proving very challenging for both the guys. Snuggle Bug figured out how to sit on it and make it move with a stick. Not only that, he figured out how to use the stick as a brake. It was interesting and amusing to watch. 

As soon as Cuddle Bear got the hat to go with his jacket and sunglasses look, we started talking about suits for formal occasions. I don't know if he wants to go to homecoming. He isn't into school spirit stuff. But he does want to go to prom when it comes up. We talked about it and I convinced him that a tux for prom wasn't necessary. At some point, we're going to find him a pinstriped suit like his hat and a nice tie. This way he's got himself a suit he can wear to special occasions. And that he can wear on a job interview. Plan it a size big and it'll last him a while. Of course, I could see Beloved insisting he wear one of his wacky, garish ties in his collection to prom. We'll burn that bridge when we get to it.

I can't believe the kids are 16 and 14. Time flies, folks.

Needlework!

 

Above are my latest embroidery projects. The fan with the butterflies that was started by my late Grandmother K. is finished and framed. I altered the pattern some because the extra bits they wanted done would have hidden the stitch definition. The top right is my project of the day with a favorite quote on it. I put up a vote for how the flowers should look. The internet answered lavender petals and blue centers. The project on the left is stalled because black 12 point Aida cloth is a real headache to work on. It is a sampler. I'm going to finish it this year. I am going to continue the black and white theme. All the stitches on there are crossed stitches. If I can manage it, I'll only be using crossed stitches for this project. It looks cool, but it's painful to work on.

How do you get rid of moths?

 Hi, folks!

My week has been challenging and just kinda crappy. I'm not going to go on about it. It's enough to say that hormones are not fun for teenagers or middle aged women. I'd say next lifetime, I'm going to be masc but with my luck I would incarnate as a masculine seahorse or something similar. Anyways, I've got a moth in the apartment. It's been fluttering about and driving all of us mad. Once the kids realized that it would eat my spinning fiber, they have been trying to catch it. One wants to squish it (Cuddle Bear) and one wants to release it outside (Snuggle Bug). Their debates on how to catch it and what to do with it have been entertaining because of how voraciously they argue their points.

They both like 'cute' things, but they argue weather or not the cuteness factor is enough to let the moth live. At one point a suggestion was put forth to keep the moth as a pet and feed it wee bits of fiber. I put the kybash on that idea. One moth leads to forty-two in quick order. I'm just hoping it gets caught in a spider web and the spider handles it all. I tried to catch it this morning and I missed the thing by a quarter of an inch. So, I've left it to the spiders' domain.

The ironic thing about this, in a stupid way, is I am wearing my socks with butterflies on them. Butterflies the more colorful and socially acceptable cousins of the moth. I just don't want it eating my plants or my fiber. I can't throw mothballs at it and make it go away. But I have all my wool and other fiber packed up except for my current project. And it has already taken a few nibbles at that. Ugh.

My kid now owns the jacket.

 I bought this awesome jacket at the thrift store. It was worn in just the right ways. I had fallen in love with it's asymmetrical look. When I tried it on at home it was a bit tight in the shoulders, but I could work with that. I was going to punk it out. Then I discovered that it didn't agree with my waistline. On a whim, I handed it to Cuddle Bear to try on. By Jove, that boy looked amazing in it. So, now he owns my jacket.

Cuddle Bear looking serious.
Super Serious.

It has been an eventful few days.

 Last Saturday was Snuggle Bug's 14th birthday. His class at school made a boat shaped like a manatee with googly eyes because of how the painted beach balls bounced on the waves. At first, the Regatta was scheduled for Saturday. We went over to the park early and then I got a text message that it was postponed to Sunday on account of incoming inclement weather. So, the kids got to play at the park for a bit and then we went home.

They got their skateboards. It was early for Cuddle Bear to get that gift but we wanted him to have time to play around with it. He got frustrated with trying to balance on the thing and said 'Nope, I can't do it.' before walking into the house and putting it away. His brother, on the other hand, figured out how to use it sitting down and crouching on it. Beloved has a feeling that where Cuddle Bear taught Snuggle Bug how to use his bike, Snuggle Bug may be teaching Cuddle Bear how to use his skateboard.

It has been a few days and Cuddle Bear's skateboard remains where he put it. Who knows what will come of this. Neither Beloved or I know how to use a skateboard but we thought the principle of it was simple enough that both of the boys would pick it up pretty fast. *shrugs* You can never guess what's going to happen around here.

Last Sunday was the Regatta. Snuggle Bug actually got on board of the 'Majestic Manatee' and was the unofficial captain. He sat in the middle of their googly eyed boat as others rowed. Last year, there was some boats that sank. It was a close thing with the Manatee a few moments. But they stayed upright in the water and made it back to the dock. They won an award for the slowest trip around the course, because none of the boats sank, not even the recycled cardboard boat. (The recycled cardboard boat turned out to be the fastest. It started coming apart when it was taken out of the water.) The award for most spectacular sinking got repurposed for their award. They also won family favorite for design. I am pretty sure it was the googly eyes that did it.

While Snuggle Bug was on his ship, Cuddle Bear started jogging laps around the park. By the end of Snuggle Bug's course around the buoys that marked the race perimeter, Cuddle Bear was warm and looking for a drink. So, I bought the boys some refreshments and let them have their run of the park for a little while before we went home. Because our plans for an actual party for Snuggle Bug's birthday fell through, we just casually celebrated through out the day. He got his gifts and he was delighted to have another bit of Poppy Playtime merchandise. (This kid is collecting merchandise from his favorite two horror games and rewriting the backstory of the characters. It's been interesting.)

Dinner was pizza from our local delivery place. For some reason my typical order of a salad with extra meat got an excited response from one of the staff. Apparently they thought this was really cool. *shrugs* I don't understand other people. Snuggle Bug had ice cream for dessert. We bought Cuddle Bear a brownie because he doesn't like hard ice cream. Turns out that they changed their brownie recipe and drowned it in chocolate sauce. Cuddle Bear gave it a try and told me that the chocolate sauce was a weird feeling in his mouth and the brownie soaked with chocolate sauce felt all wrong. He said the taste was ok, but he couldn't stand the textures. Such is life with people with food sensitivities.

Beloved was kind enough to eat the evidence later. I felt a bit off through the weekend and then Monday this bug hit me like a hammer. I was feeling so rotten in such an odd way, I tested myself for Covid. The test was negative, thankfully. Beloved suggested that I might have picked up a stomach bug from him because he hadn't been feeling too great over the last several days. I slept through most of the day and went to bed exhausted. For a little bit, it looked like I only had Gas-X to handle my stomach symptoms.

This morning, I still felt off but I had errands to do. Thus I called the pharmacist to ask if good ol' Pepto was going to conflict with my laundry list of medications. I was relieved to hear that it wouldn't. So when I picked up the various things we needed at the store and our prescriptions, I got a box of tablets. My first dose and I felt so much better. I had forgotten how effective it is at settling upset stomachs. For the last four years, I thought I couldn't take it. So, I suffered through various stomach bugs for no reason but my ignorance.

I am now working with a sleep specialist to figure out why in hell I can't get to sleep and stay asleep for the last two years. They are suggesting a preliminary possibility of sleep apnea and a need to have behavioral therapy to fix my sleep habits. In September, I have the in-home sleep study. In October, I have the follow up to discuss my results. And in February of next year, I see their sleep psychologist for an initial intake appointment. 

I kinda feel like I've bit off more than I can chew. But, if I can get back to getting a decent night's sleep, that'd be wonderful.

No menu, just malarky.

 Hey folks!

I'd have made a menu yesterday and posted it today but ... well, the kids happened. They've been extra silly over the last several days and I'm having a hard time keeping up with it. Blanket fort shenanigans, jump scares around corners, making monster noises at each other, and the occasional bickering has my head spinning. I thought that this kinda stuff was stuff they grew out of. Apparently if they get sufficiently bored, my boys will start up with this. I must admit, it was funny to see Cuddle Bear in the blanket fort with most of his body sticking out because he didn't fit. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to Beloved. He cracked up.

When they started to get bored with surprising each other by randomly poking their hands out, Cuddle Bear grabbed his big bag of clean blankets to make his own blanket fort in his bed. If only I could get them to pick up the laundry. Maybe later, after they get some of this goofiness out of their system.

I don't have a menu, but summer feels like it's turning into a Nine Inch Nails song: Everyday is the Same. I've been tutoring Cuddle Bear in Algebra for the last several weeks. We've hit a point where my scrambled brain is trying to do calculus and linear algebra on his work. It made today very frustrating for both of us. Add into this mix the fact that his new scientific calculator is not operating on the decimal system, it's been rather vexing. We tried to find the instruction booklet but it is missing in action. We'll probably find it in September.

Snuggle Bug is doing pretty well with summer school. I don't know if his class is going to be making something for the "Anything that Floats" regatta happening at the end of the month. Last year they won Family Favorite. We've talked about going to it again. Both boys are hoping to see their friends at it. And, to be honest, I hope they get to. They've been a bit miserable and grumpy because they haven't seen any of their friends since the end of school. Snuggle Bug has made a few new friends but mostly he is pretty lonely even at school.

Monday Menu

 Sunday is the day we go over to the in-laws' house and have dinner twice a month. I know that Beloved is planning a big batch of deviled eggs and I have no idea what else he has in mind. To say the least, it is going to be an adventure. It could be anything from lamb curry to hamburgers. I'm really proud of how his cooking skills are improving and he is getting joy out of it. Also, if you come between me and his lamb chili I will gnaw your arm off, just a warning.

Here's this week's menu:

Day	Breakfast	Lunch	Dinner
Sun	yogurt with granola coffee	salad w/ leftover pulled pork	tbd
Mon	yogurt coffee granola	chicken sand. chips	hamburgers almond milk
Tues	yogurt coffee granola	leftovers	tacos/ taco salad diet soda
Wed	yogurt coffee Eng. muffin w/ egg	egg salad sandwich chips	pulled pork cheesy potatoes iced tea
Thurs	yogurt granola coffee	leftovers salad	sandwich night water
Fri	yogurt coffee granola	chopped salad w/ tuna water	chicken nuggets/ fish salad water
Sat	yogurt granola coffee	turkey sand. chips iced tea	take out diet soda

Some ramblings about life and potholes.

 Hey y'all. 

My street got 'fixed' by the WSA (Water and Sewer Authority) and has so many potholes that I feel like I'm playing Frogger when I'm driving and trying to avoid them. The last time they fixed something, stuff broke and we didn't have water for the day. I'm pretty sure these guys are a menace to society, not because they're bad people but because they put gravel into potholes instead of actually repairing them. I'm half tempted to get some driveway sealant from the hardware store up the road and fill in the gap around the pothole and the sewer lid.

Now, this fuckery is not entirely the WSA's fault. The highway department paved over all the manholes two years ago and screwed up the road so that it has issues on top of issues. And yet, for all of this work, the railroad tracks are a nightmare. The tracks are ok, but the crossing is just about nothing but gravel and two car eating potholes. The railroad is working on that this week. Here's hoping they're better than WSA or the highway department.

I have seen people loose mufflers off of their cars because of these potholes at the tracks. Fools and people who are not from around here will go over those tracks at full speed and damage their vehicle. It's been a hazard for a while and I'm glad it is getting worked on, I just hope that it improves the drivability of the street. Our speed limit is 35 mph but sometimes you have to go 15 because the road is just that bad. Oh, one more detail I forgot to mention. This part is sheer stupidity and someone is probably going to get hurt because of it. There's a small rise and at the top of the rise it says lane closed. You pop over it and the eastbound lane is closed for the space of about a car length. But it's a double solid and a blind rise. Murder on the eyes in the morning and you hope that nobody's derping in the road on that rise because of the sun burning your corneas to a crisp. Yeah, that's been interesting. Nothing like playing chicken because the WSA couldn't fix something properly.

I've been struggling to stay on top of everything, but I am slowing getting back into my groove. Tutoring Cuddle Bear has been eye opening. This young man is going into be a high school junior this fall. He's bright, he's charming (when he feels like it), and is really focused on learning as much as he can. Things we already know. It was realizing that through middle school they short changed him on mathematics. He and I have been working through a Spectrum Math workbook focused on algebra. We finished the pre-algebra chapter this week and it became clear that they were having him working on elementary school material, not grade appropriate work.

I understand a special education classroom is a juggling act when you have students at multiple grade levels in there and it gets even more difficult when you are dealing with  learning disorders and stuff like people who need communication aids. I did this work before I had kids. It's hard and at the end of the day you are exhausted. It doesn't change the fact that you have to meet the kids at their level. My boys are smart enough to pick up algebra and geometry. How do I know that? By how they whip through some damn complicated concepts (who here remembers the identity property of zero?). 

Now I am investigating things like how was he taught English, what Science classes did he get skipped over on, what are they refusing to teach my sons because they have autism. I'm mad as hell. In his IEP reports, his teachers were saying that he was struggling with algebra because he came into the class unprepared for it. He should have been prepared. That's why we're working on it now. Because I think he's going to get shuffled into a remedial geometry class or some similar grand bullshit.

He wasn't given a choice last year about going into BOCES exploration program. And it wasn't a thing that his entire class had to do. They were trying to pidgeon hole him into a shop class, because it was easier for them to throw him at the BOCES environment than to take the damn time to educate him. Cuddle Bear hated BOCES because it was a chaotic learning environment and he had no interest in what they were teaching him. We're watching the school like a hawk to see if they're going to try to put him back into BOCES or if they're going to honor what he said in the IEP meeting.

Right now, I know that one son is approximately 4 grades behind in mathematics and possibly in other subjects as well. I have suspicions that the other son is in a similar boat. As I get this figured out, I'm trying to decide what action to take. I can't do the chain flail thing, they're unreliable as hell. But a proverbial baseball bat of information dropped on the desk of the department chair and a demand for an explanation may start moving things in the right direction.

I'm sick of people telling me what a good mom I am. I'm a fucking educator by way of my education. I get that everyone has a different learning style and I adapt my teaching styles to be responsive to them. This is not a mere 'mom' thing. I'm dragging out material from college to teach them informally about the history of the country, math skills, and language arts. Language arts is challenging because they have difficulty with inferencing. I think, however, as we work in the mathematics area, they will find that they can apply some of the skills for breaking down problems into workable bits useful for interpreting inferred content.

I'm mad. I shouldn't be doing the school's job for them. I  have my good days and I can focus to get them through their work. I have my bad days where I struggle to figure out words. All of this is weaponized bullshit of the highest order. When my kids say they want to be home schooled instead of dealing with the uncertainty of what the next school year brings, I get angry. They shouldn't be anxious that they're going to get screwed academically because of their autism.

So, where HAVE I been?

 Essentially, for the last year I have been stuck in a major depressive episode. I could barely function. Typically my mental state is mildly depressed. You live through enough garbage and, I have to admit, it haunts you. Thankfully, I did not hit the point where I was hallucinating or actively suicidal. But it was really hard. 

Now that I've hit the other end of that tunnel and discovered the light is an exit instead of an oncoming train, I'm trying to get back to how things were before it began. It did leave wreckage behind. I have friendships that I need to reestablish and rebuild because I went radio silent for so long. I have business connections to reestablish and hopefully move forward with the projects I had going with them. My home is a disaster because depressed Deb is a shitty housekeeper and the kids do the bare minimum to help. (That's mighty vexing on it's own.)

I have come to the conclusion that I need to find a counselor again. It is going to be hard because I have so much trauma and baggage to work through. It is painful but I can't keep doing this work on my own. I've done it on my own (with the pharmaceutical side handled by an excellent and compassionate doctor). It's been almost seven years since I have seen a therapist. I am a little gun shy about the prospect with how 2011 went. (To say it was a fucking disaster is like saying the sun is kinda warm.)

Heh, shufflemancy strikes again: Natural Blues just started playing on my rando playlist. I get quiet and withdraw because I was taught when I was younger that showing pain or any socially unpleasant response to anything was dangerous. It carried forward with other life experiences reinforcing this mind-control bullshit lesson from my parents. (Have I mentioned that I may be crazy but they're nuts?)

My tarot reading business on Keen went to hell in a handbasket because the new owners got greedy. When the overhead of running a business is over 50% of your net income and you still have to pay taxes on the gross income, you are not going to last very long. I'm still pissed about that. I enjoyed the platform. I enjoyed most of the people I came into contact with. But I am one of the readers that was basically forced out of it because they've been recruting new readers (and charging them $200.00 to join, it was free to join back in 2007) and actively engaging in shenanigans that put the onus on the long term readers to pay for the platform upgrades (which we didn't get any tech support for) and similar bullshit. Thus, I permanently am leaving the organization and feeling bad that I am disabled. Because Keen was a way that I brought a little income into the household and felt useful. (Yes, this is due to more mindfuckery from my parents, who told me that I was only valuable for what I could do and how much money I made. I had zero value as a person in that household.)

Monday Menu

 The first week of the kids being on break was harsh. A few fights. Some tears. Enough teen angst to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool. The high heat had everyone on edge. My blood sugar bounced around in the upper numbers which made me feel like garbage and incapeable of getting all of my chores done. Here's hoping this week is smoother.

Day	Breakfast	Lunch	Dinner
Sun	yogurt with granola coffee	ham sand. baby carrots iced tea	hotdogs & hamburgers salad diet soda
Mon	yogurt coffee granola	julienne salad water	hamburgers almond milk
Tues	yogurt coffee granola	turkey sand. baby carrots water	tacos/ taco salad diet soda
Wed	yogurt coffee Eng. muffin w/ egg	gazpacho sand. thin egg water	pulled pork cheesy potatoes iced tea
Thurs	yogurt granola coffee	egg salad sand. baby carrots iced tea	sandwich night water
Fri	yogurt coffee granola	chopped salad w/ tuna water	chicken nuggets/ fish salad water
Sat	yogurt granola coffee	turkey sand. chips iced tea	take out diet soda

Monday Menus are Back.

 I've been having difficulty keeping my A1C below 7 points. So, I'm going back to making menus for myself. Some items are for the whole family (typically dinner). My doctor is having me cut back on caffeine to resolve my night time heart burn problems before I develop an ulcer. I have switched to half-caff coffee and I am having 3 cups a day instead of 5. I have also done my best to not go bananas over iced tea (one of my favorites) and cut back on the diet soda. It's been a challenging three weeks. On my first day, I tried to go cold turkey and have no caffeine. That resulted in a migraine. Hence the fact that coffee is still in the menu. I have also been pushing more water. I have a 24 oz tumbler that I drink four full tumblers through the day. It works well for me to hit my target for water consumption.

Enough rambling, here's the menu:

 

Day	Breakfast	Lunch	Dinner
Sun	yogurt coffee bagel thin w/ cream cheese	peanut butter and jelly sand. chips almond milk	pizza diet soda
Mon	yogurt coffee granola	ham sand. chips iced tea	hamburgers almond milk
Tues	yogurt coffee granola	turkey sand. baby carrots water	tacos/ taco salad diet soda
Wed	yogurt coffee Eng. muffin w/ egg	gazpacho sand. thin egg water	pulled pork cheesy potatoes iced tea
Thurs	yogurt granola coffee	egg salad sand. baby carrots iced tea	sandwich night water
Fri	yogurt coffee granola	chopped salad w/ tuna water	chicken nuggets/ fish salad water
Sat	yogurt coffee cheese omlette bagel thin w/ cream cheese	turkey sand. chips iced tea	take out diet soda

Happy Pride Month, Keep Fighting.

 Dear Reader,

I have found one method of wrapping my hair that agrees with my scalp. Wearing a cotton kerchief beneath the scarves works out pretty well. Then I wrap it rather securely, because I have a small head.

You may have noticed a theme in the colors. They're the colors for the bisexual flag. I'm not as tired as I look in this pic. I'm just exasperated with the computer's shenanigans before I was actually get it to take the pic.

The colors in the bisexual flag are purple, pink, blue, and black. I think it's fantastic. The way I wrapped this is in a double braided crown. Then I used a hair taping technique to bind the two braids together with my blue ribbon. I'm wearing my heart earrings because LOVE! The chipped stone necklaces are rose quartz, amythest, and sodalite. The pendant that you can't see on the silver chain is my Greenman pendant for Freyr. I see him as a god who approves of Pride and works behind the scenes to help the movement be successful. Another goddess (aside from Freyja who is all about this business) that I associate with Pride is Lofn, the Nordic and Germanic goddess of forbidden relationships, the one who shelters lovers that others try to pull apart and encourages them to have hope in their relationship's strength.

Lately, Beloved and I have been watching with horror the push back against Pride and the LGBTQ+ community. We've been doing what little we can. He has a pink hat with the Progress flag on it. I have a jacket with all kinds of Pride stuff on it and something for people who are in domestic abuse situations (i.e. that queer kid getting abused by there parents can talk to me and I can point them in the direction of resources that will help them).We're planning to do more activisim in a less passive way. Because if our boys tell us that they're part of the LGBTQ+ spectrum, we want to make sure it's safe for them.

My week sucks, how about yours?

 Dear Reader,

Sunday was actually a decent day. Monday happened with Memorial Day parade and ceremony at the fire department up the road. The jingoism and the knee jerk cheer for the kid who stood up and gave a 'special statement' made me disgusted. It read like something from the Hitler Youth, literally ending with an exhortation for us to be good Americans.

I wept openly as they played the national anthem for what this country has become. I also wept when they played taps. The others aren't necromancers, they couldn't see the rank and file of the military dead of the town standing at attention, having been summoned by the ceremony. I acted as the designated mourner for them. Meanwhile the people in front of me were babbling about the fire trucks looking like they had a new paint job and what they were going to have at their cook out. It made me sick.

Monday also sucked because in the evening was when the migraine hit. It lasted until this morning. I was useless for anything, doing my best to keep down food, and remembering not to cry out when light randomly hit me directly in the eyes with out my sunglasses on in the apartment.

Today I am post migraine which is almost as bad. I didn't get anything done today either because I spent most of my day sleeping off the migraine 'hangover'. I absolutely hate these things. So, that's where I'm at. How are you? Doing better I hope.

Perseveration sucks.

 Perseveration is the act of thinking about one topic for an extended period at the exclusion of other topics. This is different from concentration or being focused. It can go on for hours or, even, days. It's part of a collection of symptoms I have from  my mental illnesses. I pretty much hate it because I perseverate on horrible things from the past that I don't have 'resolved'. Honestly, I don't think you can resolve the breech of trust that comes from when your parents throw you out of the house when you're extremely ill in the middle of winter. I had pennies to my name and they were going to leave me with just the clothes on my back out in the street. My Grandparents intervened and that's how I wound up living in east Jesus for a year before I got married.

 I grew up on a farm about 5 miles from civilization in any direction. There was literally nowhere for me to go. I've been thinking about this for weeks. I had to deal with threats of being thrown out from the age of 12 through my early 20s. When they did it, they claimed it was because I wasn't pulling my weight as a member of the household. Meanwhile, one brother chain smoked, played video games, and was unemployed for years by that point, with a child. The other brother was in the military but wasted his money on alcohol instead of supporting his wife and children, leaving the rest of the family to do that. And when he was on leave, he would play video games and fuck off to bars in the area to get his drink on instead of going to be with his family. Neither brother cleaned anything, they wouldn't cook, or do their own laundry.

It was my childhood all over again during the time from graduation from college to when they threw me out. I was basically the household serf who had to perform perfectly and be silent. There is a lot of unresolved trauma around all of that. I think that's why I can't get it out of my head. It's part of a long list of things that I am certain I can never 'resolve' only learn to live with.

A special embroidery project completed.

 The fan pictured to the right is a project that was stuffed into a bag of yarn I inherited from my late paternal Grandmother. She only had the handle of the fan done before it got put into a bag of yarn and forgotten. (Not that I've done that before, wink.)

It has taken me months to work on it because it was an emotionally grueling task. Finding a strand of her hair tangled up with some of the wool for this pattern, I got teary eyed and twisted the wool a little tighter so that silver thread of memory was in it. Looking at the finished product you can't tell where it is, I felt that was appropriate.

I still have to mount this and frame it. It is going to go beside the white fan with flowers on it and a Monarch butterfly beside it. That was the one she completed. It is sitting on the bookcase. This will likely go beside it. I miss my paternal Grandparents terribly and I haven't fully mourned their deaths. Family politics and circumstances kept me from their internment. At the viewing I was wandering around comforting relatives. I got a brief glimpse of my Grandfather in the box at his viewing and not a single glance at my Grandmother's viewing.

Some day, Beloved and I are going to go down to the family plot and lay some flowers down. It won't be easy, but it will be healthier for me than thinking they're still puttering around at the farm.

One post a month is progress, right?

 I feel guilty that the blogs are all in want of attention. I feel like I'm just making up excuses about why I haven't been writing at the rate I had been in the past. At the same time, I am anxious about meeting the sleep specialist. I worry about how therapy is going for my kids. I worry about Beloved's health and all the damn stress he's under. 

My home is a mess. But I cleared out a few feet worth of space in the project room. I have been organizing piles of goods and making decisions on how to approach them. It feels like a lame distraction from how much of a mess my kitchen is. I'm forcing myself to stay awake to post this. And yet I can't manage to get these damn dishes done.

Beloved would gently remind me right now that I am still having problems sleeping which is messing with my energy levels. He would tell me that if I'm practically falling asleep at the keyboard, I should take a short nap. He would remind me that it isn't laziness that has me avoiding the dishes but the trauma from how I was taught to wash them. And then give me a stern look asking if I was going to take that short nap I needed.

And he'd be right. On all points.

Hey! I'm losing my marbles.

I don't know if I've posted any recent pics of myself. I want to say that I haven't in a while because I just
haven't been blogging. Please forgive the terrible lighting, but here's a pic that I took just today. For the record, my hair used to be approximately hip length three years ago. Two years ago, it was shoulder length and breaking, coming out, and splitting. So, I walked into a salon with a picture of what I wanted. The people running the salon had me literally sit in the corner and think if I was sure I wanted such a dramatically different cut.

Looking back on that, I chuckle. I've wanted a haircut like this since I was a teen. When I was a teen, I would have been thrown out of the house for it. For you folks who can't tell with the messed up lighting, I have a buzzed undercut and a short pixie cut on top. I've mussed it up and spiked it up for this pic. It's how I usually wear it. I don't typically put product into my hair, but I did today just to make sure that this look held long enough for me to take this pic. 

The people at the salon were declaring me brave for cutting my hair. I looked at them like they had lost their minds. I said bluntly, "It's hair. If I don't like the cut, it'll grow back. What am I going to do, get mad at you because I was dumb? That's just foolish." There was a collective gasp and then a sigh of relief. When the haircut was done, the stylist said to me that she had never seen someone so determined to get their hair cut before. I shrugged and replied that I knew the only way to keep my hair from falling out faster was to go short. Next thing I know, I'm being regaled with horror stories from the stylists in the salon of others who were losing their hair and went long to super long and how badly it ended up for them.

They still don't believe I had hip length hair before. I think I'm going to have to bring my wedding picture in to show them how long my hair used to be. I still don't understand people who flip out on their stylist when their hair doesn't come out like how the envisioned it in their minds or like the person in the photo. Everyone's head is different. I knew my pixie cut portion wasn't going to lay flat because I have something like five cowlicks on the top of my head. (Super annoying with a regular pixie cut but kinda awesome with this.) Maybe other people are not as self aware when it comes to their hair. I don't know. I still think it's foolish to scream over your hair being your hair and behaving in its own unique way. 

If you hate your hair that much, wouldn't it be easier to just get a wig instead of constant disappointment or anger with your stylist?

Edited to add a better pic:

Fiber Fluff Check In.

 Hi everybody!

I haven't made much progress on spinning right now. I've come to realize that I spin more and do so more consistently when the weather is fair and warm. The weather mocks me by being fair and bitterly cold. I want to go out and walk with my spindle and distaff. But, I have to wait about a month for that warm weather.  I pace a bit in my apartment but it isn't quite the same. My kick wheel is put away until I'm ready to ply the singles that I'm working on. I had two balls of grey alpaca pencil roving. One of them got spun up into a twisted and pigtailing single. Things look the same for the second ball of roving. I'm then going to ply it with hand spun acrylic roving. I found it at the craft store for a few bucks because it was on clearance. I have no idea what the staple length is. I'm really hoping it isn't 35 yards. If it is, I'll have to bust out a ruler and a good pair of scissors to cut it down to a uniform staple length. The thing about the acrylic roving that threw me for a loop (aside from finding it to begin with) is the fact that it feels like silk. 

If the roving feels like silk, how on Earth do they mangle it into the scratchy monstrosity that we're all familiar with? My plan is to ply the three together to make a yarn that is a bit more sturdy than my usual three ply laceweight yarn. If the acrylic experiment works out well, I may try spinning it with other materials. It's the same grey as the alpaca but it has a silver sheen. I know it will play well with the other singles as soon as I get them done.

I haven't done any embroidery in the last few months. I just haven't been feeling well and the frustration of getting my glasses adjusted properly made things harder. But, now I have new glasses and I'm going to pick up the needle and thread again as soon as I'm done cleaning everything for Moura.* Right now, I realized that I was measuring the progress I was making on Cuddle Bear's sweater wrong. I have another ten inches to knit before dealing with the shoulders and then the back of this sweater. I'm frustrated but I'm not giving up. Cuddle Bear is being gracious and patient, which is pretty hard for a 15 yo. 

Aside from what feels like an endless knitting project that I'm doing all wrong, I am working on the final batch of preemie hats. I have eight in the box, one on the hook, and about 24 more to make to hit my goal of 99 hats for the hospital. Apparently the big preemie hat program that I was contributing to was only giving donations to the big city hospitals. That made me a bit mad. I'm debating how to continue the project on my own and the logistics of getting them out to the smaller hospitals in the rural counties like the one where I live.

Aside from that, once I get hat 99 done, I'm going to start making scarves. I have to talk to the school social worker about how many she thinks they need. I figure I'll start with my kids' school district and branch out from there.

*Moura is the name of Filianism's season/month of purification and preparation for the Daughter's sacrifice. I've been spending most of it with a migraine thanks to these stupid winter storms. When I am not dealing with a migraine or its fallout, I've been cleaning like a madwoman. This deep cleaning got complicated when the bathroom sink started leaking. But that's a post for another day (and a bit more of a rant).

I hate this weather.

 Hello all, it's me again.

I'd have posted more over the last little while but I have been dealing with recurring migraines as these cursed winter storms roll through the area. One of them was four days long with the prescription medication from the doctor. I'm currently on day two of a migraine. Yesterday, I took a brand name off the shelf migraine medication. It wore off and I felt horrid. I've been nervous about taking the prescription medication too many times in a month. That's why when the four day migraine hit, I only took it on the first day and then the other stuff on the following days.

Today, I said I'm not going to be so damn cautious and I just too the prescription medication, despite the fact that I had it twice earlier in the week. These winter storms and the wild swings in the temperature are just wrecking havoc. When I was a kid, I used to love winter and how pretty it all looked. Now, I scorn it because it has been causing me immense pain.

One of my doctors said that I was going to quite likely be more prone to migraines as I go through perimenopause. I wasn't thrilled with the news. Honestly, I wasn't thrilled to be told that I  have entered perimenopause. But it explains why my hair went grey so fast and started falling out. As such, I have had to abandon the long hair that most of you know me for. I have a super short pixie cut on top and an undercut to go with it. It's confused some people. I look more masculine with this haircut to some people. I think it's a pretty androgynous look, to be honest. 

When I changed my hairstyle to one that I had wanted since I was a teen but never got because I knew my parents would have likely thrown me out of the house for it, I changed my clothing style. Due to coincidence, I've dropped a fair amount of weight over the last few years. Clothes that were sort of loose started falling off me. I had to give up my favorite sweater because it was falling off me. I was a 3x for a while now I am a 1x. I'm almost back to the size I wore before I had kids. I figure it'll probably be by the end of the year that I am down to that. It goes every 3 mo to 6 mo, my clothing size goes down for the last two years. I suspect it's due to the diabetes. 

But instead of the Boho style that I was sort of doing before, I have gone to Goth with splashes of added color. I call it Rainbow Goth. My in-laws are a bit confused and mildly perturbed by it. I know they'll get used to it. Or not, I'm not going to worry about it much. I've always loved the Goth aesthetic and wanted to wear that style. I'm not  yet where I want to be style wise but I'm working towards it. Most of my wardrobe is black and I've got my colorful scarves. I have a small selection of colorful stuff, but I'm sorting it out because I don't know what fits anymore.

Sleep Hates Me.

 Hi folks,

It's been a while since I posted and I apologize. Everything seems to be going haywire. No great tragedies (knocks wood) just many basic things going sideways at the least helpful time.

If you've been following my intermittent posts about health stuff, you may recall there was a suspicion that I have long Covid at one point. My general practitioner hit me with a battery of questions and ruled out long Covid. He did however suggest sleep apnea. He's ordered a test for it and I'm a bit nervous.

Beloved rested with me a few nights ago as I got into deep sleep. In the space of two hours, I was choking for breath twelve times. I think I woke up one or two of those times, but, yeah, that's a thing. The doctor I have been referred to hasn't contact me yet, so I'll be calling their office to try to schedule this thing. It all makes me as nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory.

My exhaustion during the day is proving to be a significant problem. I lose half a day to it on average every day. Some days it's worse. I didn't have this problem before. It may have begun way back in August of 2021. I don't know. All I really do know is that this is slowly getting worse. I tried looking up information about sleep apnea. Don't do it folks, get your information from the doctors because everything else will tell you that you're dying. (Usually my research gets decent information, this time I was unsuccessful.)

I just want to go to bed, sleep peacefully (aka with out nightmares just about every night), and wake up functional. I feel like it's too much to ask. We'll see how things go with this test and what the sleep specialist has to say. It may be that I can come off of my medications to help me stay asleep from my psychiatrist. He's of the opinion that if you need the medicine take it, if you turn out to be negatively impacted by it or it doesn't help, you find another route to your goal. He's a pretty awesome doctor, to be honest.

Screw Valentine's Day.

 Everything in the stores are pink and red. Hearts all over the place. Oversized plushies and boxes of chocolate damn near spilling into the aisles. It makes me grumpy. So much emphasis is put on romantic love that all other forms of love are pushed aside. It only matters if you have a Hallmark Movie moment. Fuck that noise.

I'm too busy to do that shit. My husband is too busy to do that shit. We don't do well with the social pressure to put on neurotypical/socially conventional displays of affection at the drop of the hat. We never have. As a result, we kinda have a hatred for Valentine's day and just about everything it stands for. The commercialization of love is disgusting and repellant. I'm sorry, but my relationship is unique and your cookie cutter mold of how we should express ourselves and what we're supposed to give as gifts to each other (on demand) isn't going to fit. It's just awful and it is horrid to see this pressure put on young people.

My kids struggle with the concept of Valentine's day and romance. There's a lot of subtext there that they can't read. As a result, when they try to fit in, it fails because they read the script literally. And when they choose to ignore it they're considered to be aloof and not interested in socialization. My 15 yo would like a girlfriend. Partly, it's because of the desire to fit in with his peers. Partly, it is because he sees the relationship that my husband and I have and he wants to build something like that for himself.

I'd prefer that he look for a partner that he can have weird in-jokes with and count on to be there for him when things get challenging. I think that would be healthier for him than hopping into a relationship so that he fits in better with what he sees his peers have going on. I did that and it had horrific results. I don't want him to experience the pain and manipulation that goes with an abusive partner who snaps you up because your lonely and desperate to fit in to the social mold of high school.

I worry that will happen to the kids because they read everything literally. So, when that person says 'I love you.' they are going to think it's genuine when it's actually a line of bullshit to strengthen the social bond that the abusive person is building between them before the honeymoon period ends and bad things happen. So many people think Valentine's day is harmless and romantic. It's not, but nobody wants to shatter that illusion.

Hi again, it's been a while.

 My health has been a problem since I had Covid back last year. I am exhausted all the time, regardless of how much sleep I get. I lose half a day to naps just about everyday. It makes me mad. I have things I want to do. I have chores that I am struggling to stay on top of (like dishes) because my stamina is garbage since I had Covid. It's lead to bouts of despair and bouts of high fury. I am not well and no matter how much I rest I remain unwell.

I talked with my psychiatrist about the possibilities of this being side effects from my medications. We reviewed the medications list and their side effects. The conclusion was this is not a side effect of any of my medications.

He mentioned 'Long Covid' and suggested that I talk to my general practitioner about it. I have been running a low grade fever since October. I have this exhaustion that I can't shake. There's increased brain fog, to the point that I am spelling common words wrong and proof reading everything to make sure that it is correct. Brain fog that has me forgetting appointments and to use my glucose meter on a regular basis. I have been struggling to use my planner to compensate for this but it's not working very well.

My anxiety has been creeping upward as this state of affairs continues. I worry about driving and getting lost. I worry about forgetting appointments that are important for the kids. It's been just hellacious to be like this. I feel like I'm utterly unreliable between my anxiety, the exhaustion issues, and the brain fog.

On top of that, we've got a downstairs neighbor who likes to stand out in front of our apartment and talk smack about me to pretty much anyone who'll listen. I have nothing to do with her. I've been polite, almost formal in my dealings where I have no choice but be in her presence. I am furious. I can't do anything about this. I can only hope that the new neighbors next door lets the evidence of my deeds speak for me. One of these days, I may just open up the door while she is going on her spiel about how I am lazy, filthy, and untrustworthy and tell her to shut up because she has no clue what she's talking about.

Fiber Fluff: I think this sweater is going to make me crazy.

 Dear Reader,

I'm working on a sweater for Cuddle Bear that is a pattern that dates back to WWI. Doing the pattern exactly as it is written, it looks like it's going to fit him for two seasons. He's super excited about this and doesn't care if he gets it a bit late. Given how slow progress is going on it, it may be January when he gets it. I don't know. I have tried dedicating two hours everyday to working on it. But garter stitch is painfully boring. I'm debating finding audio books that I can listen to as I work. Maybe it will relieve the boredom.

Snuggle Bug asked for a pair of slippers. I'm struggling to find the notebook that I wrote the pattern down in. The project room is kinda something of a disaster because I haven't got in there to organize and clean things. And that disaster has spread to part of the living room because I have books I'm working on that I need my notes to complete. It's just a mess because I was not well for multiple months and never got to this.

Now we're getting to the time where I'm getting nervous. Functionally two months to go. I just might be screwed, y'all.

Re: that emotional train wreck - still haven't figured out where to bury survivors.

 It hit me that I've been stalled in all of my public writing projects because my father-in-law acted like my father one day when we were visiting. I had a emotional flashback regarding his dismissing my writing as a mere hobby and talking over me. I was silent then but now ... Well, I keep thinking about that joke 'What's red and bad for your teeth? A brick.' and introducing the old man to a fundamental piece of building equipment in use since antiquity. That, however, must remain an idle fancy for the sake of peace and keeping frith. He may be a bad host, but I will be an exemplary guest.

So, the emotional flashback to my parents mocking my goals in life hits me. Around the same time, the neighbor ramps up his violence and the other neighbors who are constantly having screaming fights are back in action. This sets off a few months of bad cptsd episodes. Ones where I basically find a place I can hide but still watch what's going on with an escape route. And as I hide, I sit there feeling numb and shaking. Then, when the kids get home from school, dissociation switches on and I'm cheerful enough that even they are a little suspicious something's not quite right. By the time the end of the day comes, I am too exhausted to really do anything.

First, came the five day migraine. After it had passed, I discovered I had zero fucks to give about anyone except my immediate family. It was like my brain reset somehow through all that pain. It prompted me to talk to my doctor finally about my migraines because they were becoming more frequent due to the weather being stupid. (My migraine trigger is changes in the weather.) So, he put me on a generic form of Imitrex and my life's been significantly easier on the migraine front. After it seemed like that problem had been put to bed, something else pops up.

I freaking had Covid-19. Beloved and I are pretty sure it was the Omicron variant because the kids bounced back in a few days and had little more than cold symptoms. Beloved got the sniffles and was taking care of me. Because it happened like every  time I get sick - flat on my back and sick as a dog for weeks while the rest of the family bounces back real quick. I was talking with Beloved about this and we agreed it has only gotten to be more of a pain in the neck since I got diagnosed with diabetes.

So, about week 2.5 into my being sick with Covid, my blood sugar starts fluctuating wildly and the lows are really scary low (at one point I had a 56 when 55 is the point you need hospital assistance). I was worried that Covid was attacking my pancreas. I had seen medical studies talking about how hypoglycemia is an overlooked symptom of Covid because it wasn't well known. To say the least that scared me. I got into contact with my doctor described the pain I was having in my abdomen and the crazy blood sugar drops at random. So, he ordered some tests and told me to come in if the abdominal pain continued. (The tests were put on hold because I wasn't over Covid yet.)

About five days later, I'm in the office and he checked me over. I was just over Covid at that time. He postulated that the problem wasn't Covid itself but the fact that due to Covid's fuckery I hadn't moved my bowels in a week and a half. So, he directed me to keep taking the fiber that I was doing already and get a laxative. I was a little suspicious that the laxative wasn't going to help with  my abdominal pain. But, after a few days, it eased up a lot. As for the blood sugar matter, he halved my dose of Glymiperide because apparently Glymiperide can cause people to have randomly low blood sugars. When I was off it, my blood glucose numbers were higher but they weren't dropping into the scary zone. He put me back on it at the half dosage and things were looking more normal.

Then on the Saturday after I saw the doctor, I went to the lab and got my battery of tests done. I was waiting to do one last test when a massive dizzy spell that nearly knocked me on my butt happened. I was gently guided to a chair and they asked if they could help. I said that I thought it was because of my diabetes (because I had been fasting for some of the tests) and they gave me a juice box of apple juice. I confess, as much as I wanted to grumble about diabetes, I couldn't help being happy because I was able to have my favorite type of juice for the first time in years.

Just this Sunday passed, the doctor called me. At first I didn't answer the call because I forgot I had his cell number. The second time he called, I answered it and he had some good news for me. My pancreas, liver, and everything else associated with the production of insulin tested at normal levels. That was a huge relief. It was also a surprise because I thought I was going to have to wait for Wednesday and my appointment to learn what the results of the test were.

There was also some bad news, that was relatively minor. At some point over the time I was sick, I developed a uti. I kinda wondered how it happened but the doctor discussed antibiotics with me and figured out one that will kick it out of my system. I'll be getting that soon. I just hope that they're not horse pills or like the antiviral pills for Covid (4 pills to swallow 2x a day and they tasted gross). But between mental illness problems and fucking Covid, I haven't been blogging or writing anywhere but in my daily journal. And a section of it was a recording of my symptoms.

It is my hope to get all of this stuff that's been blocking me sorted out. Now, the screaming neighbors have been evicted, so that makes one less trigger to deal with. Since the police had a conversation with the other neighbors, things have been a lot calmer and less violent. I'm on tenterhooks to some extent because I know how the abuse cycle works. I keep telling myself that the guy isn't going to come after me and if he did, cast iron frying pan to the face will drop him like a rock. It's not working super great to convince me that I'm safe, but I'm trying.

Screw Covid with a rusty chainsaw, sideways.

 I haven't felt well enough to write on any platform except quick notes in my daily journal tracking my symptoms since about the middle of last month. My youngest son got sick with Covid during what I think was the second week of school. Within 72 hours, my eldest son and I had it too. Beloved came down with it a few days later. (His case was super mild and all he got was the sniffles.) The boys had mostly cold symptoms and a lot of gas.

I need to back this truck up a bit and start over. Snuggle Bug went to school on a Tuesday and in the time it took for him to get there (wearing a mask for safety, like we've been doing the whole time) and get through two classes, he caught Covid. He was sent to the nurse for flu like symptoms and he was there feeling awful. We got a phone call to pick him up and Beloved got out of work for a little while to pick him up from school. Snuggle Bug was not his usual chatty self. He was running a low grade fever and we did a Covid test. He tested positive pretty much immediately. 

I called our family doctor and asked how we should proceed. He said that as a family we should quarantine for the rest of the week and when Snuggle Bug was recovered he can go back to school wearing a mask for 5 days, with us keeping an eye on him for the resurgence of symptoms. Three days later, the boys have mild cold symptoms and a lot of gassiness. Between the two of them, they finished off the two boxes of gas-x that we had in the cupboard over the course of that week. I had half the laundry list of symptoms but tested negative. 

I quickly reached a point where I was nearly delusional from fever, dizzy, and barely able to keep track of a conversation. I was exhausted and constantly running to the bathroom for my butt to explode for the first few days. Then the diarrehea stopped and I had wicked gas pains.  The dizziness and the inability to think clearly became more intense as did the other flu like symptoms. I was sleeping sitting upright for a week and I hated it because no matter what I did I was coughing and hacking like hell. Towards the end of the second week, the area around my pancreas began to ache. At first I passed it off as just muscular pain from all the coughing.

I was dumb. The ache grew more intense and hasn't gone away. As of last Saturday night, my blood sugar has been dropping into the mid-60s to upper 50s. I knew anything below 70 was bad. A little research and I realized with horror just how bad it was. 55 is the number where you need an injection of glucagon. I have none in the apartment. Yesterday was bad with my blood sugar repeatedly plunging. I've called my doctor's office and I am waiting to hear back from them what I should do. To get through the night, I ate a full meal right before I went to bed. The scary part of this is I am not having the symptoms of hypoglycemia when it happens. I just get a hunch to check my sugar and go 'oh fuck!' when it is low. 

Honestly, I am scared because I have never had blood sugar this low. I still feel pretty rotten. The cold symptoms are clearing up. The fever hasn't broken yet. I am still having dizzy spells. And my guts aren't right. I'm really hoping that my doctor has a good idea on what we can do to stabilize my blood sugar. Eating multiple full meals through the day instead of 3 with 2 snacks is not the way to do it, but it is the best we've been able to come up with. And all of this is happening as I am doing extremely low impact activities.

Please forgive the emotional train wreck, we're still trying to figure out where to bury the survivors.

 Dear Reader,

My posts have been intermittent, horrifying at times, and generally full of angst. It's been this way for a while.

Today, I finally figured out why. When my grandparents died is 2013 and 2015, I went into an emotional tailspin that I haven't quite managed to pull out of. I simply haven't had the opportunity to properly grieve their deaths and it's been playing havoc with a number of things, like my writing.

At their funerals, I managed a quick glance in the casket but wasn't given the time to say my goodbyes because I basically was the emotional support person for a number of other relatives. 

At some point over the next month or so, Beloved and I are going to go visit their grave sites so I can have that closure. I can't go back to the farm because of family politics. I'm not welcome there anymore. I think my grandparents were the only ones who truly were happy I was around when I was there. I'm too much of a misfit for the rest of the WASP family, like my aunt (who I am still in contact with).  So, the only way I am going to get closure is to go to the other end of the state and have my breakdown.

Migraines, more CPTSD adventures, and exhaustion, oh my!

 Dear Reader,

Apparently my last post got put behind a warning because community guidelines says it is sensitive material aka material that would distress some readers. I'm kinda going 'How about how distressed I've been and this is my outlet?' But the overlords have made their decision so I will not question it further and invoke their ire.

With the up and down weather we've been having over the last month or so, I've been having migraines. Big surprise, because it's known that when the weather shifts I get them. It was when I had one for 5 days that I finally called my doctor and asked for prescription medication. He put me on a generic version of Imitrex and, my goodness, when the next migraine hit, I took it and was not in pain after waiting 20 minutes. It lasted all day. The next day, I could still feel the migraine but it felt less severe so I took Excedrin Migraine and felt well enough to go on with my day.

The stuff that I talked about in my last post is still ongoing. Through the course of the month, I was barely able to function because of flashbacks and my going numb. Then a wellness check got called in for their apartment and things have calmed down to a significant degree. A few days after that happened, came the 5 day migraine. I was in agony and the Excedrin was barely touching it. When it finally finished, something strange came out of it.

I'm not afraid anymore. I give zero fucks about 90% of the neighbors again. Yes, I'd like to see them alive and well, but beyond that I just don't care. When the neighbors had an argument, I just put on my headphones and listened to music.

Adjusting to the Imitrex is hard. It has me experiencing the mild dizziness and drowsiness side effects. It's annoying. My psydoc and the pharmacist warned me that this was going to happen. I foolishly thought it'd be like the side effects of Benadryl. Nope, I felt like I was on a slow moving tilt-a-whirl and was taking naps every hour. So, I'm still out of commission when a migraine hits. I had this hope that it would make the pain go away and I could just go about  my day slightly dizzy and just yawning. I was wrong. They were absolutely right when they said I shouldn't drive until I know how it effects me. Holy cow, I now know that driving on the migraine medication is a bad idea. It doesn't help that its side effects are enhanced by the side effects of the other medication I take. It sometimes feels like I can't win for losing.

Oh, for you who are keeping score about the thinning hair stuff, here's an update. I stopped using that expensive shampoo and conditioner that was supposed to cure it because it made my head itch and feel like it was lit on fire. Apparently my scalp is sensitive like the rest of my skin. (Beloved is trying it out and it seems to be helping him and he's not having that itching and burning sensation that I was.) I look like I'm going to have a high forehead if this goes the way it appears to be. Fashionable in the 11th century but not quite so much in this one. And the grey, holy cow, it's really showing up. I know partly because my sides and back are buzzed but wow. If you haven't seen my pics on instagram, my hair is no longer long enough that I have to worry about sitting on it. I have a partial pixie cut on top and an undercut. Through the summer, I had the undercut at a 1 but I think the winter it's going to be at a 2.

The funny thing is my hair cut confuses and makes my father in law uncomfortable because it's very masc coded in his opinion. And with my style change from flowy dresses to black clothes and more pants than skirts, he's just squinting at me suspiciously at random. It's been funny.

Dear gods, make it stop.

 Back at the beginning of the month, new neighbors moved into the apartment next door. Usually this is not exceptionally news worthy. These folks, however, are a problem and I can't do a damn thing about it. The young husband is abusive to his wife. Exceptionally so. The walls of the apartments are paper thin and I can hear everything. Sometimes, the fights go outside and I can see him doing things like shaking her around like a rag doll while screaming at her.

As a result of this, my c-ptsd is in full blown action. I'm having emotional flashbacks, I've had a few visual flashbacks. I'm getting confused about *when* I am in my life. I alternate between terrified, numb, deeply hurt, and saddened. Mostly, I've been numb and confused about what on earth I am supposed to be doing.

Down beneath all that is simmering rage. But, I recognize that I'm not twenty anymore and I can't tool this guy up with a louisville slugger as I could back in the day. Add to this he has a gun. He dry fired it in the entryway last week. Then, last Saturday, he fired it off the back deck. He got very lucky that he didn't hit any of the houses across the way or injure some one. And the neighbors just assume the noise is from the gun club across the street.

My brain hasn't been working quite right. I've had three migraines over the last two weeks, each lasting three days approximately. I'm sure some of it is stress from all of this. I'm equally sure that the up and down weather we've been having hasn't done me any favors. But the end result is I tend to sit and stare into space or wander around the apartment not sure what to do, half sick with terror, and perseverating on taking a baseball bat and having a conversation with the guy in Morse code.