or ice cream
I’m exhausted and I didn’t do much of anything today
I suppose that walking 5.3 miles was something
In the heat
But other than that, nothing really
I think ice cream will help
I was gonna devote tonight to study and some candle work but I’m just too tired
My day:
Get up, run errands, get ready for book group.
Go to book group, drive around aimlessly for 15 minutes hoping a parking place will open up because this is the city and there are no parking lots and this chick doesn’t do parallel parking unless it’s an absolute emergency, by which I mean, “never.”
Send annoyed message to group leader suggesting that further meetings be held in a place that actually has a parking lot. Go home.
Gather stuff together, drive to park, walk five miles, then back home.
Clean bathrooms, get a shower because sunscreen is sticky stuff.
Start laundry
Grade projects for online class
Put laundry away
Make pizza for supper
More laundry
Is it bedtime yet?
A big part of my weight loss plan has to do with walking. Miles and miles every day – walking off the pounds, through the rain and the snow and the sore feet. I walk. I don’t love it but I do love how much weight I’ve lost.
I get books on CD and listen while I walk. I get 2 hours of me time, 2 hours of sore feet, sore legs, 2 hours of “I can’t take another step” while I keep on going. It’s becoming my daily ritual, one that helps me find peace and keeps me sane for the rest of the day.
My right foot hurts. A lot. It’s swollen and bruised on top and it hurts, all the time. Sometimes it hurts more than other times but it never stops. During my routine physical, I mentioned it to my doctor. He sent me for x-rays. It appears that I have one badass bunion.
Praying I don’t need surgery – because if I can’t walk for weeks, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Sigh
Everyone thinks they have the best dog in the world
Everyone is wrong
Their dogs may be wonderful but there’s only one Max.
I took him for a check of a lump because Golden Retrievers get lumps and sometimes they’re cancer and most often they’re not. This one was not. But the vet found a nasty, weird thing in his mouth. Surgery was scheduled for the next morning. It looked bad, and the vet was very concerned, he loves Max almost as much as I do. We picked Max up after the surgery, met with the vet to discuss what he did and what he thought. He was trying to be positive but I could tell he thought it was bad. He sent samples out for biopsy and we would know in a few days.
Two days of barely breathing, two days of trying not to cry, two days of worry. Secretly planning, what will we do if we hear that word? Praying that if it was bad, it would at least be fast. Never wanting to see my baby boy suffer, but not ready to lose him, not yet, he’s too young, he’s too much the center of my life, I can’t be without him, not yet. But I will suffer so he doesn’t. I will take the pain so he won’t feel it.
And then the call. The biopsy was back.
Broken tooth, bad infection, no sign of cancer. None. Not a single one.
Watching the media these days is giving me flashbacks.
My sister is a liar. Given the choice between a lie and the truth, she will tell the lie every single time. She’ll hold that lie to her breast and declare it true and anyone who says otherwise is out to get her, attacking her, their memory is faulty, how can they possibly think she’s not telling the truth?
If she doesn’t like you, fuggett abowt it. You’re done. She will move Heaven and Earth, make up stories, twist events, leave out relevant facts, do whatever it takes to make you look bad and make her look like a victim.
It doesn’t matter how many people say nothing happened, if people want to believe it did, they need little “evidence.”
You were promised Hillary. You didn’t get Hillary. So you’ll move Heaven and Earth to prove that you were robbed! The real winner must be impeached! Whether he does anything to deserve that is irrelevant. Keep saying it, and say it often enough and people will believe it.
Unless they don’t. It just might backfire. Take my sister as an example – she has very few friends and most of her family wants nothing to do with her. You can’t play that card too often – people get wise.
Apparently this is the “thing” to do. It’s apparently acceptable to be extremely annoying and in my face as long as you’re “raising my awareness” about something that is very important to you. The fact that I may already be aware of it, because how could I not be since it’s what defines you, is irrelevant. You must continually remind me that you are _______________(fill in the blank) so that I am aware of this condition and can treat you accordingly.
I would like an “I’m pretty normal awareness” week. This will be closely tied to “I’m not responsible for your issues” awareness week. This will be followed by, “it’s not my job to take care of you ” awareness week, and “I’m sick of your issues” awareness week.
I sound cold. I’m not really, I’m just tired of people who define themselves by their illnesses. I have a chronic condition. I refuse to let it define me. It’s not who I am, it’s a small part of me, and I won’t let it be the first thing people think of when they think of me. It’s not anyone’s problem but mine. I deal with it and I don’t treat people like shit when I’m having a flare because it’s not their fault, it’s just my body. I will care for those I care about when they need it. I won’t be lectured to and expected to become a satellite revolving around the universe of their condition.
I became an aunt when I was only 9 years old. I thought this was the most amazingly wonderful thing that ever could possibly happen. I remember holding my niece for the first time – I was so excited, I had to sit on the sofa and be very careful, while my sister put the baby in my arms. I remember looking down at her face, while everyone was taking pictures of this moment, and feeling nothing but love.
I was a baby, meself. A baby in love with a baby. 🙂
We kind of grew up together. A couple years later there was another baby, and then another, and then another. I was an aunt, and I loved it. I loved having nieces and nephews.
As I got older, I loved being the fun aunt, the one the kids loved, the one they shared their secrets with. I bought them presents on their birthdays and at Christmas. I bought them presents whenever I could, even though I didn’t have a ton of money. I made them stuff, I sewed and knit for them – always it was for the kids.
The oldest one liked to tell “stories.” No, she told lies. From the time she could talk, she lied. She didn’t know how to tell the truth. I realized when she was a teenager that there was something not quite right about her, but I told myself I was imagining things. No one wants to believe that someone they love is somehow wrong. And then she went off to college. She was there for a couple of years, stories she told of that experience were often unbelievable, but love won out over common sense and I let it all go without question.
And then she was somehow going to transfer to another college, and then not, and then she was home with her parents, and no one really knew if she was going back to college or what the heck was going on. We saw her in March of that year, 1994. She was wearing overalls, and obviously pregnant. I questioned her, and she told me emphatically that she was NOT pregnant. When she left, with her mother, I turned to my mother and said, “that girl is pregnant.” Mother denied it as well, but she knew.
And a few weeks later, we got a call. She’d had a baby. A girl. As angry as I was at her, the baby won my heart. Another niece, this time a great-niece, the first of many, and always the first in my heart. I loved her from the moment I saw her, so sweet, so innocent, such an angel. I will never forgive myself for not protecting her from the wrongness that was both my sister and her daughter.
And I am afraid
Some of you may say that I deserve to be afraid
That because I’m a white woman, I’ve had this wonderful, priviledged life where everything was given to me, everything was easy.
Does your desire to cause me fear make you better than those who caused you to feel fear? Does it not make you the same as them?
I don’t want to be your enemy
I don’t want you to be mine
I want you to realize that there’s an implied “only” in your slogan and a silent, “but so do” in mine.
Never thought I’d see the day that I’d rather work on creating a Connect page for class than watching TV
Why the fuck does he have that shit on? Shut up, Obama, you lost, go away, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
