I think all the exercise is really helping me feel better. Endorphins rock.
Also I ran out of Vitamin D3 oil caps for a little bit there. I swear my mood declines when I'm not taking that stuff! But I've been back on it for three days now. I started taking Fish Oil supplements again too; the omegas are supposed to naturally improve your mental health or something, and while I have no way of knowing how much (or little) that's helping (since I'm also doing a ton of other things to try and feel better, including exercising for forty minutes of my lunch hour, outside in the afternoon sunshine weather permitting), SOMEthing is definitely working.
Which? YAY. I even survived today, wherein nothing truly traumatic happened but I LEFT THE PRECIOUS AT HOME AND DIDN'T HAVE HER ALL DAY. As I said to k via g-chat, forget sad I was SUICIDE-WATCH PANDA, OMG CALL THE WAHHHMBULANCE FOR MY FIRST-WORLD EMERGENCY!!1!eleven!
Other than leaving The Precious at home, the worst thing that happened today was that I was really cold. They keep it a cozy fifty-five degrees or so in the ginormous high-ceilinged lobby at work; Management has announced that they're not paying the heating cost to make it comfortable since it's only one or two receptionists plus a security guard who spend the day there, and I guess it's plenty warm in their offices. Whatever PseudoCorp, I'll just freeze my ass off in my fingerless gloves for typing purposes. I'm totally getting one of these. I sent k the link and she was like "THAT RIGHT THERE IS SOME SPACE-AGE SHIT!" and then pointed out that between that and the fingerless gloves I will soon resemble a fancy space hobo at work, and then I said I wanted to start a grunge band and name it that.
FANCY SPACE HOBO, Y'ALL.
Video One: They're no Fancy Space Hobo, but these guys are alright.
...oh yeah. So many of you asked about MFOrganics sea salt scrubs that I'm bringing them back for a limited time...if you want 'em, order by this weekend and I'll ship 'em out Monday morning. If there's enough interest I might do another batch after this, but no promises so get you some while the getting is good!
I've said this before, and I'm saying it again; y'all are some seriously amazing people. Just this week, readers of this humble website have:
* Dropped enough spare change in the tip jar that I was able to fill the gas tank of the MFA Minivan and get some necessary groceries. I didn't say anything, but part of my gloom last week was that getting to work and making sure we're not out of milk between now and the first of the month was going to be dicey. But thanks to a few of y'all it's all good.
* Sent me AH-MA-ZING "everything cream." I saw my pal RainbowSouffle mention this stuff on the Twitter in the context of "if I offered this for sale in my Etsy shop would anyone maybe wanna buy it?" and pre-disaster e-mailed her and said "YES, I would totally buy that" and she was all "NO, I will NOT take your money" and just sent me some. It's full of awesome stuff like coconut oil and beeswax and vitamin E oil and she can scent it with sweet orange or peppermint essential oil (I chose sweet orange) and OMG THE AMAZINGNESS. It's solid but spreads smoothly, all natural, antimicrobial (coconut oil is magic, y'all), and you can use it on your lips, face, hands, cuticles, or pretty much anywhere. Except for probably your eyes. I mean, I haven't tried it, but...yeah. Currently it's not up in the shop but if you ask nicely I'm sure RainbowSouffle'll list it; she certainly should. AHEM, RAINBOWSOUFFLE.
* Offered to custom-make something AWESOME for me that is a seeeecret for now because Hotter doesn't know what it is (HAHAHA, HOTTER).
* Filled the comments section of this post with all kinds of pink-puffy-heart love.
Between you wonderful people, my family, and what's looking to be a longer-term job at PseudoCorp (which continues to grow on me; it was a tough adjustment initially but I think it's actually good for me to have to present a thousand people per day with a dazzling smile and a chipper greeting in a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of way, and also I really like a lot of my co-workers there) I can't hardly stay in a foul mood. My life may suck at times, but by and large it's full of the awesome.
Thanks to all of y'all who helped remind me of that :)
So I've gotten really into the whole dieting/fitness thing, and now in addition to Runkeeper I have the Livestrong Calorie Tracker, and OMG. I may have to leave Hotter for the Livestrong Calorie Tracker (but only if it will let me keep Runkeeper as my dirty little bitch on the side). It has EVERYTHING. For instance: I use one half of a cup of Chobani Black Cherry yogurt in my smoothie, along with a bunch of other ingredients? No problem! I can pull that up BY BRAND and indicate that I had a half a serving, plus a cup and a half of raw spinach, two tbsp. of Bob's Red Mill flaxseed meal, and half a cup of frozen mixed berries with eight ounces of water kefir (yes, it has water kefir! Only the kind made with coconut water, but I figure the calories are comparable). BOOM.
At this point I should probably point out that I am not being compensated by the Livestrong folks and this is not an official review; I paid the $2.99 like everybody else and my desire to hump their product is spontaneous and genuine.
Aaaaanyway, I put my height, weight, and age into the app, tell it what my weight goal is (to lose 2 lbs. per week, which is the max the program allows you to choose), and specify my job activity level (sedentary), and it tells me how many calories I get over the course of a day if I want to meet that goal. BUT! I can then engage in various activities (also very, very specific, like it has different "walk" options for "walking with a dog," "walking with a leaf blower," etc.) and it takes the calories burned off my calories consumed for a "net calorie" count. So in theory if I was totally dying for a cheeseburger and fries I could run a 10k or something and then have them without endangering my goal or starving for the rest of the day. And in practice, I can have my oatmeal and grapefruit in the morning for breakfast, my salad and water kefir for lunch, take a forty-minute walk on my lunchbreak after I eat my salad (using Runkeeper to track my distance covered), come home, eat a TON of homemade turkey noodle soup along with a glass of Blueberry Pomegranate juice for dinner, futz around on the innernets and helping kids with homework, then make a spinach smoothie and go for a thirty-minute jog (again with the Runkeeper), and finish the day not hungry in the least but with 164 calories "left over" even AFTER randomly squirting a tablespoon or so of whipped cream into my mouth (the effing can ATTACKED ME and I seriously think it may have...okay, broken is a strong word but I do honestly believe it CHIPPED...my shinbone as I was virtuously rooting out the Cranberry Pomegranate juice bottle in order to accurately enter its' information into Livestrong).
That's pretty badass.
And yeah, I'm still pretty wretchedly depressed, although as you may have noticed, I've embraced the philosophy of "if eating, sleeping, and exercise are GOOD for one's mood then I'll just do MORE of ALL THREE" and I think it is helping. At the very least it's filling my non-work time up in ways that are productive or at least not HARMFUL and distracting me, what with the gadgets to log everything. There WAS some good job news recently on not one but TWO fronts: at PseudoCorp the Big Boss's assistant let me know that if I continue to perform as well as I have been I can plan on staying on indefinitely as a temp (while not the holy grail of BENEFITS this is still excellent news) and Weekend Warrior Job unexpectedly has work for me this coming weekend. So that's good.
How are all of YOU?
P.S. Thanks for the comments on my last post, by the way. I think Hotter is overruled and I'll be checking in grumpy or not. If he doesn't like the grumpy on the blog* then he has the same option to click the little x in the upper right corner as everyone else does.
* As for the grumpy in person, well, he's the fool who married me. Don't feel too sorry for him. I give excellent head.
Hotter has informed me that I am too doom and gloom on here. So I'll be back when I have something more cheerful to say than "I gained four pounds over the holiday, I think the van might still be leaking antifreeze, and I'm depressed as hell."
Work tomorrow. Hi ho.
P.S. I have decided that Mint.com is an asshole, what with all the "low balance alert" and "large withdrawal!" and "you're a loser!" Okay, maybe that last one was kind of paraphrased. But still.
Well, it was a lovely holiday but pretty much the moment it was over my crushing depression and sense of imminent doom shattered the chair I'd propped under the doorknob of the closet I'd locked them in and took up their old positions on my shoulders (the better to whisper sinister things in both ears).
Crap.
I know what to do with this kind of terror over my immediate and longterm survival; I've felt this way more often than not ever since I can remember. When I was little I'd just shut everything out, curl into a ball, and sort of come to when it was over. As an older child I escaped into books or wandered my parents' neighborhood making lists of places I might be able to sleep for a day or two if need be. As a teenager I did LOTS of drugs. And as an adult I generally take stock, act on anything I can, then remind myself it's temporary and to eat, sleep and exercise appropriately until things get better. I'm already VERY well medicated against the possibility of actual clinical depression, in case anyone was thinking I sounded like I need some happy pills, although my shrink says (and I agree) that anxiety and depression are appropriate reactions to what I'm up against, so there's not a whole lot I can do besides suck it up and get through this. I've always come out on the other side of my life's various disasters one way or another regardless of my coping (or lack thereof), and therefore statistically there is every reason to believe I will this time, too.
It just really doesn't seem possible at the moment. Rent is due in less than two weeks, my next paycheck will only be for a one-day workweek, I haven't gotten Little Child anything for the holidays, and Hotter and I both need the dentist and the eye doctor (no, I still haven't followed up with any kind of specialist on the whole "OMG going blind" thing, because I can't afford the co-pays or the anxiety right now) with varying degrees of urgency (just as the MFA Minivan still needs the mechanic). The days are short, the nights are long, the XY is coming for the MFA Children in a couple of hours for his weekend visitation, and the temptation to revert to my earliest way of dealing with this kind of fear and curl up in a ball until this is over or I have to go to work Monday morning is great.
But I am well aware of how pathetic and unhelpful that would be, so I probably won't.
Tell me something good. Tell me an awful joke, a funny story, something egregious your great-uncle Bad Touch did at the Thanksgiving table (or if he's filthy rich, tell him to hit up my tip jar). Drop me a link to something amazing, or hopeful, or hilarious. Share some bad fun. Please?
I don't have anything profound to say, but wanted to let y'all know that I managed to drag myself out of my doldrums and get my thankful on in time to bake, cook, and otherwise prepare a wonderful holiday dinner that we all enjoyed a lot. We had our homegrown turkey (she was very slightly tougher than a storebought bird, as we let her roam freely instead of confining her for the sake of tenderness, but moist and with an excellent flavor), ham, mashed potatoes, baked yams with Shebangarang, stuffing, fresh-baked rolls, green brean casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, and I baked two kinds of pie (pumpkin and pecan) (I made the pecan one with Agave nectar instead of corn syrup, which I wholeheartedly recommend as a healthier and equally delicious alternative). It was delicious, and I ate way too much (seriously, I've been on a strict diet the past few weeks and not used to large portions or rich foods...both at once nearly made me ill). Big Child was, as always, an appreciative audience for Hotter's and my culinary performance, Middly didn't cry at the table (which is always a victory with that kid), and Little Child was insanely picky with what he'd eat of the dinner but somehow managed TWO slices of pumpkin pie with whipped cream on top. The dogs enjoyed some meat scraps, having had their real Thanksgiving on Tuesday when I killed the turkey (Isis ate the head, neck, and feet while Bumpus got the heart, liver, and intestines). I'm sure the dread of what the future holds will kick back in at some point, but right now I'm still in a tryptophan haze and nearly through with the Hunger Games trilogy (SO GOOD), so I'm going to get back to that. I just wanted y'all to know that we made the holiday a good one and I'm thankful as always for my wonderful friends inside the computer, who do things like leave me wall posts on the facespace saying "pecker UP!" and make me giggle no matter what is going on. Y'all are the best! xox
Some people have asked if I'm going to use the blog to try and fundraise for the MFA Minivan's repairs, or rather suggested that I do so, but I'm really not comfortable doing that. See, it's taken everything we had saved and left us in a bad place vis a vie December's rent, but I am well aware that it could be much worse. This could have happened during a time (and there have been many in the past year) when we had NOTHING put aside for emergencies, or were already late on the rent AND had nothing put aside. I'm not saying we're going to be okay, because as of right now I don't really see how that's going to end up being the case, but hell, EVERYBODY is struggling right now. It's true that I asked for help before, when Isis was so sick, and y'all saved her life, but as of right now our situation isn't a matter of life and death for anyone, human or canine, and I don't want to abuse the goodwill of my readers by sticking out a tin cup every time life's not going my way. If any of you are just filthy rich and aching to help us out I won't turn it down (while there is no "donate" button, the tip jar on the upper right sidebar works the same way), but I don't want to ask y'all for a handout, either, because I know most of you aren't any better off than we are.
I run ads on the blog, in the hope that someday they'll at least cover the hosting fees, and do the occasional well-labeled sponsored post (look for one in the nearish future), and I do have the "tip jar" up, but I have a very small readership (compared to a lot of blogs) and will probably never be a "big-name" blogger, and I'm okay with that. Because I don't blog for money. I've said it before, cheesy or no, and I'll even say it again today: y'all are like the extended family I don't have offline. You've seen me through good times and bad. You've virtually been a fly on the wall at my wedding and held my hand through some pretty heavy shit. You make me laugh when I'm sitting in hospital waiting rooms. You send me hand-me-downs and give me tips on household matters and advice when I ask for it (and sometimes when I don't, heh). You've bailed me out and kicked me when I'm down (well, maybe not YOU, but Stalky, and as I've also said, she's like family too, because my family of origin has some first-class creepers in it that put even HER to shame). And, with the exception of Stalky, I don't want to do anything to risk alienating y'all or driving you away.
Nobody has said anything untoward in the comments, but because Thanksgiving is coming up and Stalky likes to pop up around the holidays (which seem to fan the flames of mental illness almost universally, not just in her), and because I'm feeling pretty "lowly worm," as my friend k would say, I've turned comment moderation back on for a bit. It probably doesn't help that I'm coming down with something, which isn't all that surprising given the stress of the past couple of days, weeks...hell, the past month has been one big kick in the teeth. Given how I feel I'm not sure if I'll even be up for it, but tomorrow is Thanksgiving and even if the effing van DID, in the end, cost exactly as much as our rent to get rolling again (and it still needs an alignment, and a new valve cover gasket, both of which will have to wait, and an inspection...yes, MFA Mechanic agreed to do that for free but when I went to collect the van he said he couldn't enjoy the holiday if the effing thing didn't pass knowing that I'm all tapped out, and I probably couldn't either, so I'm taking it back for that on Friday) (he did say, at least, that he had given it a once-over and hadn't seen anything obvious that would cause it to fail, although he said the slight shimmy in the front end could either be due to it needing an alignment or there being something up, possibly with the tires, that would preclude its' passing), I want to try and make it a good one. If the van flunks the inspection I'll be out of ideas on how to keep my family together, and it won't be a matter of spending the rent money to fix it, it'll be a matter of not having any more money to spend even if it IS robbing Peter to pay Paul, so I really want to have a nice day with Hotter and the boys. I don't want to take a chance on Stalky posting anything in my comments that'll get in the way of that; it might be the ONLY thing about the rest of this year I CAN control and therefore I will.
I hope all of you have a wonderful holiday, filled with minimal family drama, all of your favorite foods, and stretchy waistbands. Or at the very least, less fear and uncertainty than we've got going on over here.
Earlier today I gave up. I took a day off to take Hotter to the neurologist, but when I asked him to confirm the time he instead gave me his best recollection of the time, and that was two hours after the actual appointment time. I was pissed. I fumed. I'd spent $4 on gas and $5 on parking, lost $88 in wages and a precious day off to go to the hospital that makes my eyelid twitch all for nothing. I refused to speak to Hotter on the drive home. Then I took Little Child his Thanksgiving costume (made of feathers from the MFA Flock and medical tape and crayon drawings) at school and took the MFA Minivan to the mechanic, because the check engine light was on.
The check engine turned out to be an error code from the computer indicating that the catalytic converter was bad. I've mentioned on here that there was also an antifreeze leak, kind of in passing because it was slow, and all in all once MFA Mechanic looked at it it turned out that the MFA Minivan needed:
-- a new catalytic converter (they made me come and look, and it was cracked in half; "I have NEVER, EVER seen that happen before!" said MFA Mechanic, as all of the guys from the shop nodded, having gathered around to look, too. "Welcome to my life," I said) -- two new O2 sensors (those apparently go before the catalytic converter, and make the check engine light come on, hence warning you that the much-more-expensive catalytic converter is about to blow) -- a new water pump (this is nothing to do with the catalytic converter, just kind of a bonus) -- a new idle belt (this would apparently account for the "tweeting bird under the hood" sound I've been hearing)
The cost for all of that, AFTER they came down by $300 out of sympathy and threw in a free state inspection? One thousand dollars.
Fuuuuuck.
Earlier today, I was ready to give up, and let the XY take the boys, and send Hotter back to his mother's, because we couldn't do this without using up all of our meager savings and putting our ability to pay rent in jeopardy. I was ready to cancel Thanksgiving and lie down and wallow in my misery, because fuck, y'know, how bad can it get?
Then MFA Mechanic came in and asked me if I wanted a tissue. I nodded, hands over my face, bawling. He didn't leave the room, and asked, apologetically, "would a paper towel be okay. I don't think we have any tissue." I nodded again, pulling myself together, but unwilling to move my hands away from my snotty face. A moment later, I felt the edge of a paper towel brush against my fingers. "I'll give you a ride home if you want," MFA Mechanic said, sounding every bit as awkward as I felt. "If you drive the van...well, I don't know that the engine'll go, but I also don't know that it won't, and I'd really rather you didn't drive it." I gave up on dignity and took the paper towel and mopped my face with it. MFA Mechanic didn't go anywhere. "I'm really sorry. I'm taking the markup off the catalytic converter and the 02 sensors. I'll throw in a free state inspection, if you think it'll pass. How's your credit?" I started bawling all over again.
"I have sixty-three thousand dollars in student loans that're in default. My ex ran up almost that much in credit card debt in my name, then we split up and he tried to take my kids, and--" he held up a hand. "Never mind. We'll work this out. Do you need to get anything out of the van?"
I went over to the MFA Minivan, still a couple of feet off the ground, and opened the passenger-side door as far as it would go, up on the lift. I took the Hawaian print bag Gwendomama sent me containing my wallet and my prescription sunglasses out, and went out to the ridiculous little red sportscar MFA Mechanic was test-driving, which he pointed to when I looked up at him.
On the awkward drive home, he talked to me about his dogs. I told him about Isis and Bumpus, and told him where to turn, and thanked him for the ride.
I went inside to face my husband, who I'd been so mad at that I told him not to bother coming with me to the mechanic's after the appointment that wasn't. "Fuck it," I said. "We may go down, but we'll go down swinging."
"I'll be your bullet," he said, and smiled.
I went outside with the Darth Vader mask and took a quick iPhone video, then slit Thanksgiving's throat. Hotter brought the kettle outside and I scalded the bird and started plucking. The MFA Children came home while I was finishing that up. I sent the little two inside and told Big Child that the minivan had broken down, and I'd started reading The Hunger Games in the waiting room at the mechanic's. "What part are you at," he asked, eagerly. "The baker just gave the protagonist the cookies," I said. "Listen..." He held up a hand. "The minivan is broken, isn't it? I didn't see it in the driveway and thought you were at work, but then I remembered you stayed home to take Hotter to the doctor. How bad is it?"
"It's pretty bad," I said, blinking back tears. "I don't know if we can still...I'm going to have to walk to the store. Do you want to come with me? There are some things we need to talk about." I figured I'd broach the subject of moving to live with his father to him on the walk. Big Child fidgeted. "I dunno. That's a really long way. I'd probably get tired."
"I'll come witchoo, Mommy!" Middly came running over. "I didn't mean to eezdrop, but I heard you say da van is broken. I wanna come witchoo!" Big Child scurried back into the house.
"I don't know, Middly. It's a really long walk. Your legs would get tired." Middly jammed his hands into his pockets, resolute. "I won't get tired, and if I do I'll keep it to myself and keep walking anyway. I wanna come witchoo!"
Against my better judgement, I said okay, but only if he went back inside while I finished up with the turkey. Middly ran into the house, and I quickly gutted the bird and took the head and feet off. When I was through digging the lungs away from the ribcage I carried the carcass up to the house and knocked on the kitchen door with my elbow. Middly ran and opened it. "I told Hotter I'm walking witchoo to da store," he said excitedly. "I told him I won't be tired, or complain, and I'll help you carry stuff!" Hotter looked dubiously at me, and I shrugged, rinsing the turkey out in the sink.
I put a reflective vest on Middle Child, and velcroed the other one onto myself. "It's going to be dark by the time we get there and do the shopping," I said to Middly. "Are you sure you won't be scared?"
"I won't be scared, Mommy. I will hold your hand!" Holding my hand is something that took Middly years to be willing to do. He used to fight me as a toddler, screaming at the bottom of the stairs leading up to our apartment where we lived before I took the XY back for the last time. Before I knew he was autistic I used to lose my temper sometimes and scold him. Middle Child has never liked holding an adult's hand, but he clearly really wanted to come with me to the grocery store. I said okay.
We walked to the store. On the way there, Middly made a confession.
"I was going to go in da house like you said for me and Little Child to do, but I accidentally heard part of what you said to Big Child," he volunteered, the reflective vest slipping off his narrow shoulders as he trotted along, holding my hand. "What did you hear," I asked. "I heard you say da minivan is broken. You were sniffling like you were going to cry. That's why I wanted to come witchoo to the store. I didn't want you to feel alone, and I wanted to tell you it'll be okay. It'll be a little bit scary, but it'll be okay. Because you won't give up, I know it. Remember I wrote that story about you? I said my mom will not give up, you know why?"
"Why," I asked, glad it was getting dark and he couldn't see my face.
"Because I know you're sad dat da minivan is broken, but if it didn't break we wouldn't get to walk to the store together and see the stars. So dat's a good thing. You always tell ME not to give up, so you can't give up, because den if YOU gave up, dat would be AWKWARD!"
I had to smile at that. "It would, wouldn't it?"
"Yup. And dat wouldn't be any good. So you won't give up, just like I won't give up even do my legs are little. I don't feel tired at all, because we're together on an adventure!"
So I sucked it up, and Middly and I did the Thanksgiving shopping. We talked about what we were going to make, and what we needed to make it. I told him he could get a special treat for walking with me and being such good company, and he chose some chocolate doughnuts, but then said he wouldn't feel good about eating them unless he got something for each of his brothers, too. He chose a fresh fruit cup from the produce section for Little Child, who loves fresh fruit, and a box of Nilla Wafers for Big Child, who loves cookies. And then he offered to carry anything that wouldn't fit in our little red wagon on the way home. Luckily it all fit.
When we got home, I apologized to Hotter for being cranky about the missed appointment, and Middle Child showed his brothers the treats he'd chosen for them. Big Child picked him up and spun him around in the air, and Little Child pulled him back down by the knees to hug him. And Hotter made dinner and we sat down and ate it together.
Earlier today someone wished me a miracle, and I very bitterly asked that no one else do that, because there are no miracles.
Fuck it. We may not make rent with the pathetic one-day-of-work paycheck I'll get next week and all of our savings in MFA Mechanic's pocket, but we're going to go down swinging, together on our little ship of fools for as long as it lasts. Tonight Middle Child willingly held my hand for a mile to the grocery store and a mile back, something I never thought he'd willingly do, and anyone who says autistic kids lack empathy can kiss the fattest part of my ass. I may not be thankful to life for one goddamn thing other than that, but it doesn't take anything away from the everyday miracle that it was.
I've had a shitty day, but the rest pales in comparison to finding out the MFA Minivan is a lost cause. Or at least a lost cause to us, because it looks like it needs more work done than we have money in the bank. I'm sitting in the waiting room at the mechanic's trying to stop crying long enough to call The XY and give him the kids. Hotter will have to go to his mom's. I don't know where I'll go or what I'll do but PseudoCorp is too far away to walk, so I'd better think fast.
