Always Something There to Remind Me June 16, 2010Posted by Kimmothy in Experience, Health, Nail Biter, Tee Vee, Uncategorized.
Every once in awhile I’ll see (or hear or smell) something that unpleasantly transports me back to the time when I was ingesting substances more than food. I’m not surprised by the flashback phenomenon itself, but I’m still somewhat taken aback every time it happens and the ick factor is always still there.
Last night on the fishing show Deadliest Catch, one of the fishermen’s sons was acting a little strangely throughout the show until the very end when the kid gets caught by his dad breaking into dad’s pill stash. Dad, who didn’t have a very good temper on the best of days, blows his stack, screaming at his son and calling him a thief and a liar, saying he never wants to see him again…until the son, pale-faced and shaking, whispers into his dad’s ear that he’s sorry, he’s sick and he’s an addict. That was all it took to stop dad in his tracks and his anger was immediately replaced by what looked like a resigned exhaustion.
Whoof, was that hard to watch.
This is not one of those reality shows that spends an hour showing people trying to outdo each other in assholery and made-up drama. The type of job they do and the conditions they do it in provide all the drama any good TV show could ever ask for. Obviously no one is immune to addiction, but for someone like this to admit to having a drug problem has a lot more impact than say, one of the Real Housewives. I guess what I’m trying to say is it felt more real. To me, anyway.
After the shock, the scene hit me a few different ways. The first thing was imagining what it would be like to suffer withdrawals out on a boat in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles from any help. I think I’ve tried to describe opiate withdrawal before and I say again, no words I have can ever accurately explain what it’s like. As Jake was crying and saying over and over, “I’m sick, you don’t understand,” I thought, Oh my hell. People who don’t know might think, wow – stealing pills from your dad who’s in poor health and suffering from extreme back pain? That’s pretty low, dude. No. You have no idea.
If I had to take a guess at what happened, I’d say the little dude has probably been dabbling for awhile and had most likely gotten to the point – maybe stemming from an injury – of being prescribed his own meds. Happens all the time. He’s only in his mid-twenties, but has probably suffered more on-the-job injuries than most of us could rack up in a lifetime. So okay, taking pills regularly. And then once in awhile popping a couple in-between the prescribed times. Slowly, without even realizing it, you feel much better and everything is so much more pleasant and easy to deal with after using whether you’re in pain at the time or not.
They go out to sea sometimes for weeks at a time. I’m guessing he either didn’t plan his drug supply accordingly, they stayed out longer than what he anticipated and if he hadn’t yet tried to kick pills, he had no idea what he was in for when the drugs left his system. When that happens? Desperation doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m sure he did not take his dad’s medication for the fun of it, and maybe not even to get high – at that point your body has taken over and is in total control. Ethics? Morals? Right and wrong? Fuck that – your body is telling your brain to FIX IT.
The look of pure shame when his dad was yelling at him hit me square in the gut. Having to keep something like that to yourself until the time comes when you have no choice but to admit it to your loved one – oh I remember that conversation with Brian like it was yesterday. I probably shouldn’t have told him “I need to talk to you after work tonight,” in the tone of voice I did, because when you’ve had the kind of shit happen we have, he was figuring I was going to tell him there was someone else or something equally as pleasant. Which actually turned out better because he was almost relieved when I told him I need to fix my problem. (“Oh, it’s just drugs? Sure, we can deal with that!”)Unfortunately in the time between when that episode was filmed and now, the father has passed away. My dad’s passing was one of the big catalysts that kicked my habit into high gear. I hope there’s someone else he’s close with who can be a source of support and caring as much as Brian did for me. I also ope wherever he is in the process, that he’s seen the worst of it. My heart goes out to anyone who’s ever had to fight this.
Adventures From the Lower-Middle Class April 24, 2010Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life, Nail Biter, Uncategorized, Whatever.
Remember how I joked about the day we got the car paid off would be the same day she would break down or explode or something similar? Well, I was a leetle off-base – we’re still a couple of hundred dollars away from paying her off, but two days ago was the beginning of the end of Bessie’s clutch. Yesterday morning I carefully (and very slowly) coaxed her in to work, because I had some major things going on at the office I couldn’t miss.
My mistake was taking her out at lunch to go to the bank which is only about a mile away from my office but still on campus. It was one of those situations where I had no choice about making a deposit – it was either that or have an automatic payment come out and suffer the overdraft consequences, and seriously? Not much makes me as angry as overdraft charges. I’d prefer to throw thirty dollars on the ground, cover it in something flammable and toss a match to it. I knew – KNEW – it was a bad idea taking Bessie out, but still. Fuck an overdraft fee. A co-worker offered to let me drive her truck but I am an idiot and declined. What would be the adventure in that, right?
So I head out to the bank. If you ever want to simultaneously start sweating profusely and immediately loosen your bowels, drive a broken car around a college campus at lunchtime on a Friday in 85-degrees. The good news is I made it to the bank and the money went in in time. The bad news is the car didn’t make it back to my office. But more good news: when I was stopped at the red light, knowing I wouldn’t be able to go when it turned green and cars were lining up behind me, I went so far past panic, I was back to calm. The light turned and I started waving people around me, saying I’m not sitting here for fun, fucker – GO. Don’t you always talk to people in tense traffic moments?
Yes. Well, they got the message, went around me and I slowly and very carefully let the car start rolling backwards down the hill and then turned into a complete ninja and maneuvered her backwards into a narrow parking lot. I was then able to inch forward into an empty – a byGod miracle – EMPTY metered spot. Another miracle, I had enough change with me to keep the car in the spot for three hours. I walked up the hill back to my office – not too bad of a walk – and sat there for a few minutes in the blessed a/c to think about what my next move should be.
Geico! Somewhere in the dark recesses of my addled brain I thought I remembered our policy covers towing and upon checking online, sure enough! A free hook-up and up to ten miles of towing which is fantastic since our house is seven miles from work. Brian was having a stupidly busy day, so I took the bull by the horns and made the arrangements to have Bessie pulled home and caught a ride with Jim, the nice tow truck guy. He entertained me with stories of when he used to repo cars and we were home in no time. He parked Bessie in the driveway for me, and there she sits for an indeterminable amount of time.
Because did I mention this was the same day we paid a mechanic $495 for replacing the truck’s brakes this past week? Because that happened.
It is to laugh. What else can you do, right?
The Innocents November 10, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Life, Nail Biter, Uncategorized, World.
When I was in Florida visiting with my pretend daughters, the conversation turned to sex as it always occasionally does. They’re getting to that age (14 and 17) where I’m starting to get very a little nervous about some situations they might soon be facing and since I’m not actually their real parent, they’re a lot more open with me. This is both heartwarming and terrifying for me.
We’ve somehow established a funny little routine where I ask them “Innocence?” and they know they have to tell me yes or no. Yes as in they still have it or no as in okay, let’s take a ride down to the health department where we can stock you up with condoms and then we’ll need to stop at the liquor store on the way home so I can buy myself a bottle of whatever will obliterate my memory the quickest. I’m guessing tequila. Anyway, so far they’ve both always answered yes, (and then we have a moment where I freak out for a few seconds, wondering if I asked the question wrong and they’re telling me yes they’ve had sex then they reassure me no they haven’t had sex and we all share a nervous laugh) but then the conversation heads towards more uncomfortable ground and they inevitably start asking ME questions. I feel obliged to answer of course, because if they feel I’m open with them they will hopefully continue to be open with me. I’m really hoping that’s the case anyway, otherwise I’ve done nothing more than filled two teenage girls in on way, way too many details regarding my sexual history.
They’re growing up in the same small town I grew up in. I used to think this was a benefit, as small towns seem more innocent than big cities in a lot of ways. Less drugs, strong sense of community, parents who all went to school together and who are more than happy to rat out somebody else’s kid should they catch them doing something wrong, etc. But then I remembered the late 80’s/early 90’s in that same small town and the ridiculous lack of things to do there. Movie theater. Roller rink. Hanging out in McDonald’s parking lot to see where the party was, finding someone of age who has done nothing with his/her life to buy alcohol for everyone, then going out to the woods to drink beer and have sex. Unless somebody’s parents were away for the weekend, in which case there was the luxury of having a house to fornicate and underage drink in. That’s about it.
One of the cliche’s I reiterate to them is it’s always, ALWAYS okay to say no. This sounds like a big ol’ DUH, I know, but saying no is something I’ve had a problem with throughout my life, whether it’s a thankless task at work no one else wants to do to going to a social function I know I’ll hate to doing sex stuff with a dude I didn’t necessarily want to do. I was lucky enough never to have actually been pressured to the point it became a crime, but looking back I know there are several guys I could subtract off my List had I just been persistent enough to stick with my first instinct and not give in because it was just easier. I know I’m what’s known as a “pleaser,” and I see that trait in both girls as well. I think it’s a female thing to begin with anyway, for the most part. And while my husband certainly benefits from it, those girls don’t need to be pleasin’ any-fucking-body.
Even with their virginities intact (thankyougod, thankyougod) they’re both way more sophisticated than I was in my mid-teens. While it’s shocking to hear them joke around and use words like “jizz” and “vag” and “fingerbang” (okay, I’ll admit – I taught them that last one – but still), I think they’re actually at an advantage compared to me back then. The world in general is a lot filthier now and their parents are way more liberal in what they’ve allowed them to be exposed to than I was. At 14, Elizabeth sees almost every Rated R movie that gets released, whereas I had to carefully scheme and plot and hope my parents would sleep deeply to be able to sneak and watch Endless Love when it finally premiered on HBO by sitting two inches in front of the TV with the sound turned almost all the way down. Becky is on the Internet so much, SHE showed ME where to find the naked pictures of Pete Wentz. A lot of people view this as the crumbling of civilized society, but I see it more as de-sensitization. Oh, look at that – another penis, big deal.
Okay, not really. But it helps me sleep at night, okay?
Tornado Tummy August 18, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Health, Nail Biter, Weather, Youth.
No, that isn’t some new ailment you should concern yourself with. But it is very real – if you’re me.
Back in the Paleozoic era when I attended elementary school in Sarasota, Florida, we learned all kinds of emergency preparedness procedures. Fire drills. School bus safety. Memorizing our addresses and phone numbers and to avoid talking to strangers unless they were wearing trench coats and offering candy. But the one that sticks out most in my mind is the hurricane information.
Hurricane season goes from June 1st until November 1st but in my experience, September is usually the most active month. There were plenty of school years that had just gotten under way and then were abruptly interrupted for a few days by a hurricane or tropical storm. Most kids loved it and I admit to a certain amount of excitement myself since living in Florida meant those were the closest thing we had to snow days. But when I was younger and developing all the many neurosis I still carry with me today, I didn’t enjoy discussing impending disaster one bit. In fact, I’m very surprised one of my favorite hobbies now is to read and watch weather stuff all the time because it certainly didn’t start out that way.
So one year, I think I was in second or third grade, we were in the middle of hurricane season and it appeared one was headed our way. I don’t remember much about it except one day soon before it was expected to hit, tornadoes started sprouting up like they sometimes do. Apparently one was pretty close to our school because an announcement came over the loud speaker that instructed the teachers to keep everyone in the classrooms and away from windows, as an official warning had been issued. My teacher, whom I loved and trusted, tried to keep things light and told us to sit on the floor in a circle so we could talk and have some fun. Her tone was chipper and upbeat but I wasn’t having any of it.
Immediately I felt the need to poop. Yes, I think all my bathroom issues can be traced back to that very moment, for ever since whenever pressed with a stressful situation, that’s my go-to bodily function. But there was no way in hell I was going to ask to go to the bathroom in the middle of what I was certain going to be the death of us all. I sat there in silence and suffered until the ordeal passed. Eventually my stomach calmed down but in my mind I finally had a name for what’s now called Irritable Bowel Syndrome – Tornado Tummy. It’s very effective in describing both my reaction to a weather emergency and also what it feels like goes on inside my stomach when I’m worried or upset.
I’ve been suffering from Tornado Tummy a lot lately. And the bitch of it is, there’s no damn reason for it and I can’t figure out what’s causing it. (Yes it is actually hurricane season right now, but since I no longer live five miles from the Gulf of Mexico, I no longer worry about the storms so much) No, this is the type of anxiety that bothers me the most – when things are going WELL and I’m STILL stressed out about some unnamed, obscure thing. I guess another name for it would be Waiting-For-The-Other-Shoe-To-Drop syndrome? Things are good so something bad must be just around the corner? I HATE thinking like that. Because it means that I’m unable to fully enjoy when things are going well and that’s just not how I want to be.
I’ve been off of Xanax for over six months now and I’ve been mostly fine with that. But I don’t know – it might be time to re-visit that or maybe even something else in order to maybe reign these feelings in a little bit. I don’t like the thought of medicating, but on the other hand thoughts of doom aren’t a lot of fun either. Any anxiety sucks, and there are plenty of things in this world to be concerned with every day but when I’m spending time and energy thinking up stuff to worry about? Probably time to take care of that.
On the Bright Side, She’s Not Joan Crawford July 15, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Baby-Making, Fam Damily, Life, Moods, Nail Biter, Vacation, Whatever.
Okay, I’m going to go ahead and write about this at the risk of making myself look like a total asshole. I know – what’s new, right?
So I’m sure I’ve written before about the very strained relationship I have with my mother. The fact that she’s a career alcoholic. That she was never a very happy person to begin with but after my dad died, she finally got justification for her misery and became just dismal. How it’s very hard for me to spend any amount of time with without wanting to put a bullet into my head. You get the idea. I’m going to go ahead and put a disclaimer out there, that my sister knows exactly how I feel and why and shares these feelings as well. I don’t think that’s a justification for anything, just that there is actually another person on this earth who knows exactly where I’m coming from on this.
I’m in the middle of a big internal debate right now about whether or not I’m going to visit her when I’m in Florida.
God, just writing that out loud was hard. I know how it sounds. You should’ve seen the look on Brian’s face when I finally got up the balls last night and asked him, How disappointed in me would you be if I didn’t see my mom when I’m down there? He looked at me like I’d just said I was going to take a lap around the block naked. All he really managed to say was, Well it’s your decision, but babe….Yeah. I know. Sister had a very different reaction, more like, She’s a miserable person and no matter how hard we try to be good daughters, she’s never going to be a good mother. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you didn’t want to see her.
Guess which answer is my favorite?
On the one hand, it doesn’t matter what kind of person she is; she’s my mother. I do love her. (Right? Right.) And whenever I picture what my dad would say when I’m having these evil feelings, I feel truly ashamed of myself. Whenever either me or Sister would have some beef with her when he was still alive, he’d always say But she’s your mother. And that got the point across. As in, you may not like it and she may be acting ridiculous, but suck it up and deal with it; she’s the only mother you’ll ever have.
On the other hand, I haven’t had an easy time of it the past few months. I spent six solid months undergoing a ton of emotional strain with no resolution regarding the baby thing. My mother’s way of comforting me during that was to tell me it’s all her fault I can’t get pregnant because she had such a hard time conceiving me. And that right there folks, that, is the type of logic you get from a twisted, alcohol-addled brain. Like Sister says, she’s so immersed in her own pathetic little world, she can’t hear anyone else’s story but her own. Doesn’t really make for healthy mother/daughter dialogue and it’s a challenge when I’m HAPPY, let alone when I’m going through a bunch of shit.
I’ve been working really hard to pull myself up out of a really deep funk and I think I’ve done a fairly decent job of it over the past month or so. Eating better, exercising and not pumping raging hormones into your body will do wonders that way. But still, and this isn’t an exaggeration – why should I subject myself to someone who only makes me feel uncontrollable rage every time I see her? I go to great lengths to avoid negative people and things, so the fact that she wins the prize for most miserable isn’t very convenient that way.
But I guess family isn’t always meant to be shits and giggles. That’s what I have friends for.
I don’t know. Right now I’m tentatively planning to possibly stop in at the golf course one afternoon and surprise her at work. This has two benefits: 1. She’ll be sober, (or as much as can be expected when more vodka runs through your veins than blood) and 2. The visit will have a definite time limit, and that limit is an hour. Yes, she’ll be surprised in a bad way that I just showed up out of the blue from two states away without telling her first. And that will force me to tell a white lie (why it always gotta be white?) and say I decided at the last minute to drive down for my uncle’s surgery. Which has a bit of truth to it. Shit, I don’t know. I have the feeling it’s going to be something I don’t actually decide until I’m there. And I have a whole week left to torture myself over it – my favorite!
So yeah, if you ever wondered if I’m a bad person – mystery solved.
I don’t want to end on a downer note, so I’ll pose a question. Are married couples who communicate to each other through Facebook as douchey as they seem? Mrs. So-and-so’s status: “I LOVE YOU, HUNNY!” Mr. So-and-so’s status: “I LOVE YOU MORE, SWEETUMS!” Sometimes I wish Brian was more into computer stuff until I see things like that. Somebody pass the barf bag; I feel a vom comin’ on.
Okay then; whew!
Bunny Farts and Lollipops Forever,
Little Miss Sunshine
Life is a Highway June 15, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Experience, Life, Nail Biter.
Unlike other times in the past, I can say with complete honesty it wasn’t my fault when I ran out of gas shortly after merging onto the interstate this morning. Religiously I’ve made it a habit that as soon as my gas light comes on, I set my odometer and know I only have thirty miles to go before things get ugly. In the past when I was young and that one time last year, I’ve pushed the limits and several times paid the price. For some reason there has always been a good samaritan nearby who decides to take time out of his or her busy day to rescue me.
Knowing I had a 9:00 meeting this morning, I made it a point to do something I rarely do, which is get to work on time at eight. I knew I’d need that hour to prepare – revise some documents, brainstorm ideas – things that were supposed to have been done a month ago but somehow always got pushed to the bottom of my list. I left for work at 7:45, noticing as I cranked Ol’ Bessie up that I would certainly need to get gas at some point today, the odometer telling me I was nine miles into my thirty-mile grace period. Not wanting to waste any valuable time, I didn’t even consider stopping for gas on the way in.
I pulled onto the interstate and was serenely riding along listening to the morning talk show. I felt the car hesitate, but that’s nothing new or alarming so all I did was double-check to make sure I’d read the odometer correctly. Yes. Why then did the car keep farting like that? Normally it doesn’t do it that badly unless the A/C is on and I’m attempting to climb some sort of incline, but neither was the case. Fart, fart, fart, aaaand…dead. Feeling as though I had entered the twilight zone, I pulled off onto the shoulder. Things being how they are these days, I did what anyone would do and reached for my phone. Brian probably wouldn’t be too pissed after I showed him what the damn mileage read.
It was at that moment I realized my cell phone was dead. It had been for most of the weekend and when I half-heartedly searched for it Saturday night, I realized the only charger I have for this phone was not anywhere to be found, most likely because I’d left it at the office Friday. So to review: dead car, dead cell.
I got my purse and keys, locked the car and started walking. I figured it was only another two miles until I’d reach a store or whatever, and hey, this way I’d get in some unplanned morning exercise! But before I could even form a complete plan, a car pulled off the road a little ways ahead of me. I walked up to it and inside was a portly, jolly-looking man who asked if I needed help. Yessir, I surely do.
And as always in these situations with me, he wasn’t a serial killer or raper of short, chunky, middle-age women, but a very nice man who happened to work at the fuel center at Fort Jackson, the military base located a mile or so back. He took me there, filled up his little red gas container, brought me back to my car, put the gas in the car and told me not to trust my gas guage anymore. He wouldn’t take any money for his troubles, but instead gave me a hug and told me to try and go to church soon. Typical Southern Baptist and the total person you want to pick you up when you’re stranded on the side of the road.
I made it to work with a half hour to spare before the meeting, got my shit together and spent the rest of the day thanking God and Dad for watching over my stupid ass yet again. After relaying to Brian the whole story, I shook my head and said what a bad day I had…but he stopped me and said, “No. It was actually a great day.” And of course like usual, he was right.
Storm stories April 12, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Experience, Friends, Nail Biter, Oldies, Weather.
There were some pretty vicious storms that passed through the Southeast Friday night/Saturday morning. By some miracle (perhaps because it is a holy weekend?) our power never went out all the way, it just did that weird dimming/buzzing thing a few times, which was enough to make me unplug the important things – TV, computer and microwave. You laugh, but when Delorme and I lived in the little house on the lake, our house got hit by lightning and we lost two TV’s, a VCR (it was the early 90’s), two cordless phones and our microwave. It was then I first learned about the existance of this neat thing called renter’s insurance. And the fact it really sucks when you don’t have it.
Tornadoes scare the living shit out of me, unlike hurricanes. As a former Floridian, I’ve experienced them many times to the point I think I’m immune to them. Sure, there was that one summer we had four fairly serious ones in six weeks and lost power for two days and almost had a tree crash through our bedroom, but really? No biggie. Hurricanes give plenty of prior warning and then almost never follow through with much action. I’m not talking about Katrina, Andrew or Hugo here; those are obvious and painful exceptions. But believe me, most of the time the weather forecasters get their panties in a wad for four days, especially the ones in Florida who finally have something to talk about besides hot and humid, everybody gets excited and starts buying plywood, batteries and gallons of water and then usually there’s some wind and rain for a day. It’s usually a huge letdown, really. Most Floridians have even experienced going outside during one so at least you feel like you’ve had some excitement over the damn thing. I once made out in the middle of one – that was cool.
But a tornado? Oh hell no. My cousin lived in Missouri for awhile, or it may have been Kansas. One of those states that has Kansas City in it. (Why are there two Kansas Cities? That has always pissed me off) Anyway, she told me after awhile she got used to hearing the tornado siren go off, it happened so often. It didn’t even phase her. I don’t care how long I lived there; every time I heard that, I would react by simultaneously having a heart attack and shitting my pants. Do not like.
My only real firsthand experiences with the evil bastards was twice. They both happened here, years apart, but very close in proximity. The first time was the night before Delorme and I were splitting up and we were spending the night in that same lake house for the last time with our cat. If the tornado didn’t pass directly over our house, it came damn close, judging by the screaming wind, rattling windows and fallen trees all over our yard the next morning. We’d spent the night on a mattress on the floor of the living room with the poor cat squeezed between us and didn’t sleep much, if at all. I told him it must be God’s way of telling us not to break up but he didn’t listen to me and we broke up anyway.
The second one, the way more traumatic of the two, happened on the same lake (Is Lake Murray a tornado magnet? Must research) but after Brian and I had been living together for awhile. We went out with our friends for the day on their boat. That morning we’d checked the weather and while it did look like there was a possibility of overcast skies and possible rain late in the day, it was a bright shiny morning (also the name of the James Frey book I just checked out from the library) and we decided screw it; boat time! These people were actually our Redneck Friends 1.0 and we had just a few weeks before gone riding around in a mud hole with them (oh, you doubted the redneckness?), gotten stuck within the first ten minutes and had to walk three miles to the nearest civilization which happened to be a Waffle House which is like a beacon of all that is good and holy when you’re cold and beer-drunk. Wow, got a little off track there.
Anyblah, we went out on their boat, just the four of us. Not sure where their kids were that day, but very thankful now they weren’t with us. We tooled around for awhile having a great time, when late in the afternoon the skies did indeed start to darken. Then the sky started to look really weird. The air temperature literally dropped what felt like twenty degrees and looked to be almost this sick yellow/green color, if air could have a color. I forget who spotted it first, but sure enough there in the distance, one of the swirling clouds formed into a funnel before our eyes and dipped down into the water. Had I not actually been so close by on a fucking BOAT, I would’ve thought it was one of the coolest things I’d ever seen, and I guess now I can actually say it was, since we’re alive and all. We actually saw a tornado form, touch down into the lake and become a water spout, spin around for a few minutes and then go back up into the evil cloud from whence it came.
The two shapes I’m scared of most: funnels and that weird pointy shape of the windows of the Amityville Horror house. It’s true.
We didn’t have time to be freaked out about just seeing that whole situation, because within seconds the clouds went from a light pissy rain to a torrential Noah’s Ark situation. Dennis was driving the boat and shouted to Brian he couldn’t see past the boat’s bow. Brian climbed up there to guide him as lightning stopped fucking around and started getting serious. Michelle and I huddled together in the boat’s tiny covered area and I tried to hide my extreme fear and the fact I had started to pray. No one else seemed freaked out and Brian even let out a few WHOOS and ALL-RIGHTS! Dumbass. In retrospect sure I felt dumb, but at the time I seriously thought we weren’t going to make it. Though Florida may have made me unaffected by hurricanes, it did give me a healthy respect for lightning, and that’s what was scaring me the most.
Of course all’s well that ended well and now it’s nothing but a stupid story for me to tell whenever someone brings up the subject of tornadoes. Or in this case, even when no one brings it up but I just feel like talking about it.
The only problem I discovered yesterday was not any damage to our house or cars (there had also been widespread hail reported) or any tree limbs down, but came about when we decided to watch the season finale of Friday Night Lights we’d taped the night before. The local news channel, the same one who a month ago swore we were going to be buried in snow for twelve hours straight and we got nary a flake, deemed it necessary to INTERRUPT THE SEASON FINALE OF MY FAVORITE SHOW three or four times throughout the episode. That was in addition to running that constant red line at the bottom that kept telling us we were under severe thunderstorm warnings and a tornado watch until 1 a.m. and that horrible beeping noise. If you don’t think I haven’t already sent a very angry email to WIS-TV, you don’t know me at all.
I gave it to him in the rear but he was cool about it April 2, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Baby-Making, Experience, Nail Biter, Whatever.
I tweeted, twatted or whatever the hell the other day “Just when you think it can’t get any worse someone sneaks it in your butt.” Oh, the prophetic nature of that statement. That’s why you’ll never hear me say something stupid like, “It just can’t get any worse!” because OF COURSE IT CAN AND IT USUALLY WILL!!!
Money has been a major issue for over week. Add to that the general stresses of a busy work week, a broke-down truck (it’s fixed, praise Jesus) and many more doctor’s visits with all the poking, prodding and important time-sensitive activities that go along with all that. Just today I was back there again, with strict instructions to be waiting on a call from Nurse Monique to give me further instructions. Of course she called while I was racing back to work in a monsoon from running errands on my “lunch hour.”
I was stopped at a red light behind some other cars. My phone rang. I could HEAR it; I could not FIND it. While searching frantically through the black hole I call a black purse (swapping that bitch out tonight, I can tell you that much), my foot slipped off the clutch and I bonked into the car in front of me. Hard. Fuckitty Fuck. While I sat there in shock for a second, I noticed his license plate was of the South Carolina state government employee variety. Aces!
We both got out and proceeded to inspect the damages. I was already trying to calculate how much our insurance would go up, but was having a hard time seeing any damage to his car. He couldn’t see anything either and then it hit me. I knocked on my front fender area and said, “Oh, I forgot – this car is plastic!” He kind of laughed, inspected his shit for another few seconds and said, “Well, alright. Thanks for stopping anyway.” I said, “No, thank you Sir!” FOR BEING THE COOLEST GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEE EVER!!! The whole ordeal only lasted as long as it took the light to turn green again (which tells you how messed up the friggin’ lights are around here) and we were soon both on our way again.
What. The. HELL.
Well. Thank God it ended up like that and after I stopped shaking I felt so much relief, I kind of started laughing and haven’t really stopped. This isn’t sane laughter by any means, but what the hey, it’s laughter.
Luckily the only things I have to worry about the next few days are having sex tonight (nurse’s orders, no joke), peeing on an ovulation test tomorrow and scheduling the next baby making time for either Saturday or Sunday, based on what my pee says tomorrow. After the week I’ve had, all that will be a total breeze.
Not that I’m freaking out or anything… March 10, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Baby-Making, Moods, Nail Biter.
…But why the FUCK am I showing signs of ovulating TODAY??? The shot of hCG was supposed to make that happen the day I got injected! Yet, my underpants tell a different story. Yeah, gross, deal with it. I’m freaking out. It’s way too soon to try and test; I know that much. So now I get to freak out hardcore for the next week and a half. Instead of just the normal freaking out.
I am physcially restraining myself from calling the doctor. But that’s only because it’s the end of the day and I know they aren’t there. I’m totally calling in the morning though. And I hope they’re ready for the nastiest phone call they’ll get all day – “Why did I have the sticky shit coming out YESTERDAY and not FIVE DAYS AGO???” That’s why they get paid the big bucks – to answer phone calls like this.
Julie? You may want to reconsider writing to me. I’m not a calm person by nature and it doesn’t take much to send me flying right over the edge. Like right now, for instance.
Other than that, my day was going just swell. The weather is gorgeous, my boss wasn’t here and I got a ton of stuff done at work. Two weeks from today I’m heading down to Florida to see my much-missed work friends and Sister. Were it possible to wish myself two weeks into the future, I would be climbing aboard the flux capacitor RIGHT NOW.
No good can come from thinking/talking/writing about this too much. So I’ll stop.
Stream-of-psycho-ness March 4, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Baby-Making, Bloggie Friends, Experience, Fam Damily, Health, Holidays, Moods, Nail Biter.
My first thought upon waking this morning: “What in the fuckity FUCK am I about to do???”
I’d like to say things have improved from there, but I don’t like to lie. To give you a little glimpse into the psychosis, I’m pretty much veering back and forth between, “What if it doesn’t work? to What if it DOES??” The best way I can describe it is I feel like I always do when I’m about to get on a plane – only without Xanax this time. And after checking the weather report and seeing there will be storms and turbulence the entire flight.
I wish I knew how to meditate – don’t you just sit there Indian-style and go, “Om?” with your eyes shut? Because I just tried that and it didn’t work and my foot fell asleep.
The times when you need drugs the most? Are always the times you can’t have any. The irony does not escape me.
I put my lunch together this morning; soup, crackers, yogurt. As far as I can figure it’s still sitting on the kitchen counter and I’m now eating a slice of pizza. Which, had I thought about it, I should’ve gotten sushi for lunch, because duh. That’s one of the no-no’s just in case I do happen to catch pregnant tomorrow. Not that I really want sushi, but I know once I can’t have it, I’ll want the hell out of it. I know me. I know me very well. By the way, does anyone know if you’re allowed to eat tuna fish? I can never remember that and I’m avoiding looking anything up online that is pregnancy-related. Don’t want to jinx anything.
Psst, anybody got a sedative? Ha, kidding! I wouldn’t take one if you flipped it into my mouth with a Quaalude chaser and a nice cold crispy caffeinated Coke to wash it all down with! And if you believe that one, I have a stimulus package I’d like to sell you.
I figured writing would help. I figured wrong.
Uh…what else? Oh yeah. The Beatles thing was cool last night. It would’ve been a lot cooler had they played Come Together, Helter Skelter, Help, and Lucy in the Sky. I told HeatherI knew better than to hope for Dear Prudence, Blackbird and Norwegian Wood; I’m not stupid. But those others I thought would be pretty standard ops for a Beatles-esque experience. But they didn’t consult me. A bonus was the first part of the show they were backed by the South Carolina Philharmonic Orchestra – way cool. A bonus-opposite was our seats were at the very front of the balcony section and while making our way to them I got the worst case of vertigo/acrophobia (fear of heights – I just looked it up) and then claustrophobia I think I’ve ever had. It only lasted a few minutes, but damn; have you ever had to keep your shit together for a short period of time in public but you knew any minute there was potential to Make a Scene? I was so on the verge. I’m really happy I didn’t. I remembered Laura’sthoughtful pot post yesterday and at that moment was EXTREMELY thankful I wasn’t high like I totally would’ve been back in the day. That would’ve been bad news bears.
It’s been a long time since I’ve partaken in the weed, but I bet starting tomorrow I’ll want some. Weed, sushi, coffee, tunafish…And by the way – who in their right mind tries to get pregnant this close to St. Patrick’s Day, dumbass!? I drink like twice a year and this holiday is one of the days. Idiot. Well, we only have plans so far to go to a pre-St.-Pat’s party this weekend, so I’ll just buy some Sprite and green food coloring and be done with it. And oh yeah, ha-ha, if Brian thinks he’s getting drunk on St. Patrick’s Day, he can kiss my blarney stone. It’s all about the spousal support, right?
Did you know Daylight Savings Time starts back this coming weekend? Who’s the d-bag who decided to make it so early this year? After having it start so late in the Fall. I know there’s like one or two states that don’t observe it – someday I will move there. It’s horseshit.
My mom asked me if I wanted her to drive up here for the procedure tomorrow. Ha! But I guess to you, the untrained ear, that sounds like a very nice offer, right? Well, just so’s you don’t think I’m a heartless bitch, let me tell you the rest of the story (damn, Paul Harvey died the other day, sad) before you judge me. I thanked her but told her it’s not necessary right now (leaving out of course the fact Brian’s mom is coming with us) but that hopefully it’ll work and she can come up to go to an appointment with me later down the road when there will be more exciting things happening than a five-minute proceedure and we won’t even know anything for two weeks. She then started to drunk-cry (it was an hour past vodka:thirty – I should’ve known better than to call that late) (late being 7:30) and tell me she feels guilty. Because all this? The reason I haven’t had a baby yet? Is her fault. Yes. Do you not know how a martyr’s mind works? Everything bad is because of them/happens to them/whatever to them, but it’s ALWAYS about them. Nevermind that she actually DID have two kids without the benefit of fertility technology back then. No. That doesn’t matter. She had “problem” pregnancies (I wanted to suggest that perhaps cigarettes and booze probably weren’t the best choices, but of course I didn’t) and because of her problems, my life has been incomplete.
‘Ludes? Anybody? No? Okay.
All right. Well, I guess I should probably try and do something productive, even if that just means I manage to appear normal for the remainder of the time I have to be at work.
If you get a chance tomorrow morning around 11:30, say a little prayer for me. I heard that on the radio a little while ago and can’t stop singing it so wanted to pass it along to you. But seriously. Thanks for sticking around through all this weirdness; it really means a lot.
See you on the flipside.