MFA Mama

I hate people, bunnies, rainbows, happiness...and anything I may have omitted from that list

   I finally dragged my arse back to work today, despite an aching back and still feeling like utter dookie from this bronchitis-y largynitis-y Cold of Filth (tm May)...but had to leave before lunch because I am cursed by life, as evidenced by a) Pfeffer the very-pregnant rabbit disappearing on Hotter and b) the HEALTH DEPARTMENT sending us a notice that they'd received a complaint about our not using a proper outdoor trash receptacle and threatening to charge us with a class III misdemeanor. SERIOUSLY, CRAZY TRASHCAN NEIGHBOR??? So I had to come home, assess the situation, bust up the floor of an old shed in order to reach and extract the (very angry, vicious, HOLY HAND-GRENADEWORTHY) rabbit hiding underneath, make a garbage run, and mow the lawn for good measure. And sometime in the course of all of that, a mosquito bit the HELL out of me. Remember how I said I'm allergic to mosquito bites and prefer beestings? This is why:

Figure One: Hand shown for scale. And yes, I just put my stretchmarks on the innernet. It's not so much that I have no shame (although I pretty much don't) as that I have a connective tissue disease, and therefore I have these from my neck to my ankles. So I'm kind of over them.

Figure Two: In this one you can see how it's starting to swell. 

   So yeah, I hate everygoddamnthing right now. But especially Crazy Trashcan Neighbor. I think next payday I WILL go and buy a trashcan JUST LIKE HERS, but I will have to mark it with spraypaint so that we can tell them apart.

   Mine will be the one that says "SCREW YOU" in foot-high neon letters.

daily reminder: don't be a jerk

   I am LIVID, so please excuse any typos.

   My old biddy neighbor (yes, the same one who called our landlord and complained about the length of our lawn a couple of summers ago while Hotter was in Club Med fighting for his life) just called me over to the fence between our yards to give me a ration of shit because she wants us to buy a trashcan that matches hers.

   I'll give you a moment to let that sink in.

   Now, I realize that letting a garbage bag sit in the side-yard now and again until I can take it to the nearest unguarded dumpster is not ideal, and that you can pay companies to come and take your garbage away on a weekly basis, but here is the thing: we're poor. We're not the only ones, either. A lot of folks are struggling right now and currently something like half the children in America (my own included) have received Food Stamps at some point in their lives (we do not currently qualify because I "make too much money," although "too much money" evaporates with a quickness when you're buying transplant meds and trying to get dental work done on your transplant-recipient spouse to keep him from developing a life-threatening infection before Something Happens to your job). Nobody talks about it, because it's Not Nice, but you know what? Maybe more of us should.

   So I stood up straight, looked her in the eye, and said "Mrs. Neighbor, we are out of bread, milk, and butter, we have $0.21 in the bank right now, and I don't get paid until Tuesday. Therefore I. Am. Not. Worrying. About. A. Trashcan."

   Go easy on your fellow humans, y'all. If their lawn is unsightly, maybe they have a loved one in the hospital and can't afford gas for the mower. And maybe if they're not worrying about their trashcan matching yours, it's because they're about to go and make some biscuits with coconut oil despite the one child hating the flavor and try to make their kids think that Everything Is Just Fine. Sure, maybe it's just that they're a lazy slob, but give them the benefit of the doubt, okay?

Friday night is alright for some suburban homesteading

   While I am still and as ever an atheist, this card really spoke to me when I was searching for the words to describe my day today:

Figure One: As my one true friend at work, who is fabulously and flamboyantly queer would say, "gay-men!"

   So I did what I do when I am burdened with more feelings than is good for me or those around me, and spent two hours mowing as fast as I could push the damn mower while listening to Belleruth Naparstek. It's how I find my happy place. IT BEATS DRINKING, OKAY?*

   I still had some feelings when the daylight deserted me and my hands threatened to blister despite gardening gloves, so I decided to put them to productive use. First, I made dandelion syrup, which I actually started yesterday after turning the MFA Children loose on the yard armed with safety scissors and a bucket (you have to let it sit for twenty-four hours as one of the steps when you make it):

Figure Two: How d'ya like my redneck double-boiler? The color of the syrup is so dark not because of spoilage or carmelization, but because I used organic evaporated cane juice instead of bleached white sugar.

   Then, while the dandelion syrup was reducing, I chopped comfrey and mint to make my own herbal oil (on a Twitter-friend's advice I used Sweet Almond Oil as a carrier). Comfrey is amazing stuff, but it's not advisable to take internally or use for long periods of time. That's okay though! I plan to turn the oil into lotion for Hotter to massage into my achy back, and since homemade lotion breaks down after about three weeks (because organic emulsifying wax does not work as well over time as petroleum products), when the lotion breaks down I will know it's time to lay off the stuff. WIN!

Figure Three:The mint is not medicinal so much as to make the comfrey smell...less...comfrey-y.

   And I know I had other things to say but I am falling asleep. Good  night!

 

 

*   And no, I did not participate in the "4/20" festivities either, haha. I am of an age where I would prefer to have clean urine in the event that a permanent job opportunity comes up, but I hope any of you crazy kids who...observed...had fun and stayed safe.

oral surgeon, etc.

*   I have lived in MFA Town for nearly thirty-three years of my thirty-three and change and managed to make it until yesterday without ever knowing there was a cookie-cutter office complex off Main Rural Drag with at least eleventy-five hundred oral surgeons', dentists', and maxillofacial surgeons' offices. AT LEAST. And they all had the same tooth-with-roots cutout on the side of their building, and the same three signs reading "ORAL SURGEON," "DENTIST," and "MAXILLOFACIAL SURGEON." And the same color and font used to paint their names on their office doors (the only variation in these offices was the names--I didn't even see any damn address numbers). After I found the office I was meant to go to I got out of the MFA Minivan and kissed the ground on my hands and knees, giving thanks for small favors like only seeing THIS place once in my life to date. Although I am sure it will be appearing in my anxiety dreams FROM NOW ON.

*   The oral surgeon seemed very smart and was quite engaging, which...well. I instantly wonder about him, because men who are people-persons usually lead me to make stupid decisions. Be that as it may, since he did have an advanced degree and years of surgical experience, plus the personal recommendation of Dr. JewishName, I heard him out on his interpretation of my Jank Jaw.

*   Jank jaw is jank, y'all.

*   Dr. PlasticFantastic thinks the next (and also, in my case, the LAST, on which more in a moment) step would be arthrocentesis of the temporomandibular joint.

*   Arthrocentesis (go ahead, Google Image that shit, I'll wait) may or may not work. My insurance company may or may not agree to cover it. It may or may not be a good idea for various reasons inherent to both general risks and specific physical oddities of mine. If it doesn't work, though, I either have to figure out how to live with the symptoms (which currently I do) or pursue pain management as an ongoing part of my permanent medical "team." Which? Barf. But my connective tissue disease (which I had stupidly neglected to put on my intake paperwork because seriously what would that have to do with my clenching and grinding my jaw? OH EVERYTHING APPARENTLY IN THAT AN ENTRAPPED PIECE OF DETACHED CARTILAGE IS BEHIND THIS BULLSHIT) makes any kind of open joint surgery (YES HE MENTIONED THAT) dumb(er even than for the general population--joints are like engine cases, people, you open them and it voids the warranty no matter how skillful you are about it). Bottom line is, my body is going to do what it's going to do, and any attempts to stop it will be temporary at best and crippling at worst. 

*   So I have to decide whether I want to pursue arthrocentesis (in theory--in reality I don't know for certain how I will feed everyone for the next six days and surgery? OH HAHA, YOU SILLY GOOSE!), which may relieve current symptoms, most likely on a temporary basis, or just shrug and choose to live with this evenifIcouldaffordtofixit.

*   Hotter's computer is totally dead. Like, giant lovingly hand-built paperweight attached to desk-sized monitor dead. He is very sad about that. And bitter. By which I mean prone to sniping at loved ones. But he's so upset I don't even really want to call him on much, so I'm gardening tons. "That's fine for you," he groused at me yesterday, "but what about MY rage and anxiety?" Implication being that I should come the fuck inside and keep him company. "I can't address YOUR rage and anxiety," I said, "I can barely handle my own." And I kept on digging, so. Yeah.

*   My health, aside from the various ongoing TMJ/ENT/Asthma clusterfucks and despite my major "diet/lifestyle/headspace adjustment," is not what I would like for it to be. I am retaining a TON of water right now (by which I mean more than ten pounds' worth that appeared literally overnight), which is uncomfortable, unsightly, and unsettling. I am starting to fear that my autoimmune bullshit is waking and stretching preparatory to looking for a nice snack. I don't want to talk about my health. If you asked me to describe it in one word I'd hiss at you like a cat.

*   So things are...not good here. At all. How are YOU?

So. Much. Rage.

*   Today I had The Rage. I keep trying to tell myself it is just the steroids, but you know what? While I am sure they are not helping, and also that I am overreacting to at least a CERTAIN extent, there is also a lot of really infuriating shit going on.

*   To wit: my ex. I don't know if CATHERINE! stopped putting out, or he needs his psych meds adjusted, or he has some kind of post-concussion psychotic break happening or WHAT his deal is, but he has sunk to new lows of sucking at life (which is REALLY SAYING SOMETHING) and also general interpersonal offensiveness. If I told you what he recently did in relation to my children, and the bullshit he threw out to try and deflect my righteous outrage, you would bang your jaw on the floor. It's ridiculous! But I probably shouldn't go into specifics! Even though I'd love to, because even Hotter and I have to laugh at this shit so you would just DIE!

*   Yesterday's work-drama. Oh my word, y'all. It is over with, dead and buried, forgotten, and business as usual except one person CANNOT seem to let go of it. And that person? Is typing this. It's not so much the drama itself as the fact that it clued me in to a certain naivete I had been guilty of when it came to PseudoCorp. And this is so dumb, but see, I had kind of lionized the corporation as a whole and built it up in my mind to the point that finding out it had feet of clay all along is breaking my heart a little. Probably it's for the best that I figured that out or else I would have been devastated not to be hired on permanently, but...well. It's kind of like how the therapist of my formative years used to pry and poke and prod as to why I always defended my father (who was no angel, really, in fact not even remotely CLOSE), until one day two years in I looked at her and my chin started to wobble and I bleated "because SOMEone has to be good in all of this!" And she sighed and said "no, not really, although it's very human to WANT to see it that way."

*   The Twitter. I have put myself in a time-out on there, and haven't even corrected my last (misspelled) tweet. Ordinarily I love the Twitter with every fiber of my social-media-addicted, ADD-riddled being but...lately, dating back to BEFORE the steroids but oh boy, right now ESPECIALLY? Well. It's just a steady stream of 140-character long reasons why a lot of people need to SHUT THEIR HOLES ABOUT THEIR FIRST-WORLD PROBLEMS FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND DECENT. I spent a large portion of my lunch chatting with a very understanding friend, and listing all of our mutual friends who need to shut up and why they needed to shut up and how one in particular needed to shut up and then maybe go and hang themself in a closet and then she, as one of very few people who could say such a thing to me (especially right now) and have me not only not tell HER to shut up but also listen, suggested that I take a break from the Twitter until I was less ragey. And she is right. Because if I do not then I am in serious danger of being abhorrently unkind to a number of mostly-undeserving people, and I am doing an absolutely MISERABLE job of following my self-proclaimed motto of Plato's "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle" inside my head, and I am kind of starting to horrify myself. I don't even like admitting this. But I figured I would, because a lot of the time people are all "OMG I NEED TO TAKE A BREAK FROM TWITTER AND THE DRAMA" and I am all "seriously? TWITTER is stressing you out? Pansy!" If anyone knows how many calories are in one's own unspoken words, let me know so I can plug that into MyFitnessPal, mmmkay? There's no drama with anyone on there, though. I just need to take a powder, possibly until the steroids are out of my system.

*   And finally, and this is probably what's driving all of the above EXCEPT for the mishegas with my ex (who just sucks objectively speaking no matter what is or isn't wrong with me or society as a whole): I am just so VERY goddamn angry about my health right now. A few weeks ago I felt like I was on the way to being healthier than I have ever in my life been, nothing was wrong with me that wasn't being controlled nicely with maintenance meds (except for my eyes but, well, those at least do not HURT), and now? Well, as much as I whine on here about my health, there is plenty that I do NOT go into (largely because my ex has attempted to use my health against me in a court of law and Stalky used to go on and on accusing me of making my medical history UP, which damn, I am NOT THAT IMAGINATIVE OF A WRITER...but also because it's fucking depressing and at one point in my life I laid down in that and wallowed for a bit and it wasn't a good look so I try not to dwell on it), and as of today there are, in addition to the ENT clusterfuck y'all know about, not one but TWO (completely UNrelated, either to the ENT situation or each other) additional issues that surgeons ideally ought to address in the very near future and seriously WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK? I am SO MAD. Even if I had the money to just have this all of this taken care of in an expedient and minimally-painful manner by competent medical professionals like some kind of fancy person it would involve AT LEAST THREE OPERATIONS, one of which would temporarily have a major impact on my motherfucking MOBILITY and I am THE BREADWINNER IN MY FAMILY and can barely make my HEALTH INSURANCE premiums, nevermind afford the 20% coinsurance I'd have to pay to get this shit fixed!

*   I think the above would be enough to give just about anybody The Rage, but as is so often the case, down at the bottom of all The Rage is The Fear. Because all of the last bullet point is just logistics. There is also, time and money and pain and fury aside, the fact that of all the times--and there have been more than I can count on one hand--I have gone under the knife it has NEVER ONCE GONE ACCORDING TO PLAN. There has ALWAYS been AT LEAST one hideous complication, and most of the time it isn't even anybody's fault, and rather something no one present could have predicted or has ever even SEEN, but at the end of the day I end up going in with one problem and coming out with bone sticking out where it doesn't belong, or MRSA sepsis, or a piece of gauze erupting from my scar, or hemorrhaging, or a nearly-lethal drug reaction, or SOME GODDAMN THING to the point that it is like I am CURSED, and while I want as much as anyone in their right mind would to have these things that are currently wrong with me fixed because they hurt and also because intellectually I know that the various situations are untenable in that they will cripple me or cause me ever-increasing pain or rob me of one of my senses or possibly even my LIFE if left unaddressed IT SCARES THE HELL OUT OF ME TO CONTEMPLATE SIGNING ON FOR ANYONE TO HAVE ANOTHER GO AT ME BECAUSE MY MOTHERFUCKING LUCK SUCH AS IT IS IS SURE TO RUN OUT EVENTUALLY.

*   I don't know, y'all. The only other time in my life that I have felt so helpless, and angry, and scared, and dangerously close to straightjacket-crazy was when Little Child was a tiny baby in the hospital for weeks on end and nobody could figure out what was wrong with him. It started to mess with my mind. I started to tell myself lies like "they are only running all of these tests and doing all of these procedures because I told them he did x, y, and z and I will just TAKE IT ALL BACK and tell them I was wrong or hell that I just LIED and they will leave him ALONE!" I literally had to put poor Little Child down in the hospital crib wailing at one point and take a step back, because I wanted so badly to grab my baby and run out of there. But this time it's me. I was talking to Hotter today and saying that maybe I'd just cancel that ENT appointment Monday since I felt a LITTLE bit better and it's not like anybody with a medical license had looked in my ear so maybe I was MISTAKEN about the eardrum and Dr. Anonymous was reacting to my IMAGININGS and...he very kindly said it was up to me, which forced me to admit that that was a bad plan, but my point is that sometimes in a situation like this the ONLY way to not do something utterly stupid is to take a step back, but I can't exactly take a step back from mySELF. 

*   FuckshitcocksuckingsonofawhoregodDAMN!

*   Plus also? Steroids! LET'S GO LIFT HEAVY THINGS AND THROW THEM AT PEOPLE! WHO IS WITH ME?

unnngh

   I wrote a post but it vanished, anyway I am suddenly sick as a freaking dog and wahhhhh. After my third nap of the day I e-mailed Dr. Anonymous a list of my symptoms to ask what she thought, and she replied that she thought I really ought to get my arse to a doctor. I decided she was an alarmist and took another nap and when I got up Hotter came up to me, cupped my face lovingly in his hand, looked into my eyes and said "Honey, I love you deeply and with all my heart, but you look like shit. PLEASE go to the doctor." So I went to Urgent Care where a twelve-year old MD gave me a diagnosis of severe allergies and a stern lecture on the evils of overusing antibiotics, and said he bet my ears hurt based on the way my eardrums were bulging, but that it was "clear fluid" from the allergies and I ought to get myself some Actual Sudafed and change from generic Claritin to generic Allegra or Zyrtec and see how that worked for me. So I left $30 poorer and with the distinct sense that I'd just wasted $30, and came home and took my feelings for a run since I try not to eat them these days and hell, the doctor said I wasn't sick! What do I know. Oh, wait, I know that I retain water when I have an infection and gained six pounds overnight! Hahaha! Fuck.

   And how was YOUR weekend?

bullets! we haven't had those in a while!

*   I think I have that post-steroid taper depression thing going on. It sucks.

*   Today a red beverage exploded on me at work and drenched my shirt, my newest pair of pants, THE PURSE, and The Precious. To say I was not amused would have been an understatement; this motherfucking beverage basically assaulted every non-living thing I hold dear. I nearly cried, especially after Googling said beverage and finding that it is notorious for exploding on people and staining things indelibly. Fortunately, the Otterbox saved The Precious and Oxiclean saved everything else. YAY, OXICLEAN! BOO, SPARKLING ICE BLACK RASPBERRY WITH EXTRA RED #40! 

*   To try and shake myself out of the doldrums (and burn off angst from some fuckery on the part of the men of the planet) (The XY is being a tool and Hotter has lately confused his role as the resident Jackass Whisperer with being the resident Jackass Advocate), I started the Couch to 10k workout program today. YAY, RUNNING! Unfortunately, BOO, COUCH TO 10K! I found the app (a NON-FREE one, no less!) to be anything BUT user-friendly, and ended up programming the intervals it seemed to be suggesting for Day One, Week One into Runkeeper (which is free, which would seem to defeat the purpose of paying for Couch to 10K). You win some, you lose some, I guess. The good news is, I went running (or run-walk-run-walk-run-walkOMGing) and did not die. My legs felt alright. My lungs were a little bitchy. I had way too much jiggle going on. But I did it!

*   I was ready for it to be Friday yesterday. 

*   Chia seeds are my new favorite thing ever. SO delicious. I mentioned this on the facespace and people's reactions were divided between "HELL YEAH!" and "what do you do with them?" So yeah, you put them in smoothies or float them in beverages (I like them in kefir, both the milk and the water kinds). If you float them in beverages they swell up and sort of en-goo-ify to a tapioca consistency. So if you are skeeved out by tapioca they are not for you, but I happen to love the stuff! Textural bliss aside, the things are packed with Omega 3s and fiber.

*   k mentioned today on the Twitter that she wanted a soda fountain, a Murphy bed, and a butler for her office. Doesn't that just sound fabulous? I think I would like the same.

*   Condescending Wonka is cracking me up. The Northface jacket one is a classic, but this one may just be my favorite. Of course, this one is kind of awesomely meta...

*   I have a post brewing about my hatred of Banfield Pet Hospital...but I'm pissy enough today without getting into all of that hot mess.

*   Like right now? My ex-husband is sweating my jock via rather aggressively via text message about my youngest's shoes, which he claims are irreparably damaged. He wants to know when I am going to buy the child more shoes. I want to see the shoes before I answer that question, and possibly augment them with some duct tape as a stopgap measure. EVERYONE WANTS DIFFERENT THINGS, OH THE HUMANITY.

*   I noticed last night that Isis appears to be down one nipple as a result of her recent surgery, and it irks the hell out of me. Not because she has any use for ANY of her nipples or because of the symmetry so much as because THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG WITH HER NIPPLE, WHY TAKE IT OFF? Maybe I need to simmer the hell down with my feminism when it gets to the point of anthropomorphosization and body outrage by proxy, but MY DOG WAS ROBBED. Thank you to everyone from the Twitter who expressed their condolences regarding this horrible travesty. We are attempting to move past it as a family.

*   How are all of YOU?

yesterday sucked too, actually

   Oh ha HA! Yesterday after I posted Hotter ROYALLY pissed me off and...well, I might no longer be married if I hadn't been too crippled up to kick his ass, because he really effed up. 

   On the bright side, I was so furious I cleaned the bathroom, hallway, and kitchen. And they all needed it.

   Today I worked again, which was just as well, I think. I also work tomorrow (PseudoCorp is closed but New Weekend Warrior Job is not), which is good. We need the money since it's another short week at PseudoCorp (made even shorter by the face that Hotter OOPS FORGOT to tell me he has Transplant Clinic this week! Yes! HI THERE NEW BOSS, I NEED A DAY OFF WITH VERY LITTLE NOTICE BECAUSE SOME PEOPLE AROUND HERE ARE REALLY FUCKING INCONSIDERATE, OMG SOMEONE SHOOT ME PLEASE).

   I still feel like utter crap. I don't even know, y'all. Something's got to give, and soon, because I can take a lot of shit but there are LIMITS, y'know?

MFA Mama, Mickey-slayer (and Little Child, mic-key slayer).

I. Mickey

   Casa MFA has a mouse problem. Not a huge one, and not house mice, but field mice that apparently long for warmer places than fields. Field mice with a taste for Mennonite-ground whole wheat flour, which pisses me right on off.

   So far I've caught two in snap-traps (I originally caught one of those in the Havahart, which has a faulty spring so that when I picked up the trap to take the mouse outside it JUMPED ON MY GLASSES AND RAN ACROSS MY HEAD, at which point I said fuck it, bring on the cruelty and the killing, because some things just WILL NOT STAND) this winter. The one that seems to live inside the kitchen stove, though, is a wily little fuck. It's sprung a snap-trap and licked it clean of peanut butter, and feasted on celery (which Hotter inexplicably left on the stove claiming that it was "bait," only what the fuck kind of mouse passes up peanut butter for celery? Is the mouse on a diet?). It will sit somewhere in the inner workings of the stove (how? I do not know. Of course it doesn't make any sense that a mouse would live inside a freaking stove, that's just STUPID, but it wasn't MY idea and I've seen it run into the rear burner-vent, for fuck's sake) and gnaw loudly at something, and when you walk into the kitchen and stomp around and turn the light on it will pause, probably to laugh evilly under its tiny breath, and go back to gnawing. 

   I never thought I'd say this, but it may be time for glue. Because I'm not willing to go with anything toxic (that's cruel, plus then the afflicted creatures die in your walls and stink) and clearly humane and not-so-humane traps are not up to the task of dispatching this particular mouse. I agreed to give the snap-traps one more night, and if they come up empty-jawed I am buying a glue-trap tomorrow on my way home from work.

   Hotter already isn't speaking to me over that. Hell, I'm not sure I'm speaking to me over that! But it is what it is and when it comes to things effing with my family's food and spreading germs I have a heart that is shaped increasingly like an axe.

 

II. Mic-key

   Last night, after an epic twenty-minute argument over checking the balance in the balloon, I finally decided six months of leaving the thing in "just in case" was more than enough and removed Little Child's mic-key button. For the first time since he was seven weeks old my kid is tube-free. Now everyone go and knock on some wood that he stays healthy for the rest of the cold and flu season and let's not celebrate it too loudly! We don't want to anger the gods.

et tu, 2012?

   After a tense standoff in which he expressed hope that I would wait until he was "in a better spot financially," the XY paid the first child support installment of the new year two days late.

   Yay!

   Unfortunately the check was $300 short (and perhaps even more infuriatingly, he called me "babe" when he dropped it off, which isn't even something he used to call me while we were married so it's CATHERINE'S pet name, which ewww poor her).

   This...does not make my heart sing, nor does it make me optimistic about making rent (due in three days), because last week was a short week too so my paycheck this week will be short and I already went grocery shopping today in anticipation of receiving the full amount of child support due so we can't even tighten our collective belts.

   Et tu, 2012?