YOU, go to your room.

YOU, Time Out. Now.

YOU, lighten up.

YOU play nice. Don't make me come over there.

YOU, put down the lighter fluid and step away from the grill.

YOU are NOT taking that into your room. Put it up.

YOU ... well, I don't know WHAT you're doing, but stop it this minute.

I heard that. YOU go to your room, too.

YOU need to step away from the computer. Take a dandelion break.

YOU need more coffee.

YOU need a reality check. Yours bounced.

I don't care if SHE said you could, YOU can't. Face in the corner.

What the hell do YOU think you're doing with those scissors?

YOU go play in the microwave.

YOU, stop instigating. We've got enough of that already.

YOU, get a girlfriend.

YOU stop leaning on your elbow.

YOU stop trying to nuke the cats.

YOU sit down and stop walking on your damned ankle.

RSI Public Service Announcement

Attention, campers, Pooka has a few Rules of the Road for you to remember.

1) RSI is not a funny word. Repetitive Strain Injuries can be extraordinarily painful, detract from your quality of life, and impair not only your work but even your daily activities.

2) Any unusual signs of tingling in your limbs that aren't 'normal' like your foot falling asleep, and tend to repeat, need to be checked by a doctor. (especially to rule out something far more serious)

Tingling is usually the first warning that something isn't right on several fronts, though it doesn't always show up. Different people have different 'tell signs' that an RSI is occurring.

3) Early warning is just that. Watch yourself. Watch how you sit, how you sleep, how you type, even how you brush your teeth. Patterns of aggravation to RSIs are easily spotted. Breaking that behaviour is the hard part, but could prevent the injury from becoming serious.

Rearrange your work space. Adjust the height of your chair, your desk, buy a better keyboard. Watch yourself in the kitchen, how you cut food and stir.

4) Moonmama, stop leaning on your elbow.

5) Don't automatically take the word of the first doctor you see. Seriously. Some are cut-happy and want you on the table immediately. Consider surgery a last resort. Some won't take it seriously at first, oh, it's just a muscle strain, you slept wrong, it'll go away.

RSI does not "go away" without the cooperation of both you and your doctor.

You know your body. If you're tingling or hurting and you know it's normal for you, then you have a problem and you deserve a doctor that will take it seriously.

6) RSI is not the end of the world. It can be treated. Nerves can regenerate, muscle strength can be built back up. You don't have to give things up -- just change how you do them.

7) Anyone can develop an RSI. Anyone. Even Clark Kent. Being a perfect employee, a perfect mom, none of this matters to RSI. Equal-opportunity offender. Physical structure can play a large part in it as well. Particularly long pointy elbows? Guess what, you're at risk.

8) Moonmama, stop leaning on your elbow.

9) You aren't alone. There are RSI support groups, web sites and BBS, mailing lists, and book after book on the shelves that can help you on the way to recovery. If the condition is brought about in the workplace. there are people that will come out to your office, watch you, and point out changes that need to be made.

10) Non-surgical options don't work for everyone. The cause of the RSI is only one problem, and can be combined with several other difficulties.

Non-surgical alternatives wouldn't have helped me, even had I gotten in when it first started. Yes, I had classic behaviours that can cause an RSI. Yes, they were a large part of the problem. But they weren't all of it.

When my surgeon went in, he removed a large knot of tendon in my upper arm that had twisted and coiled around my ulnar nerve, choking it off. In addition, I have very sharp pointy elbows, and just normal movement with my arm caused the nerve to catch and slide over bone.

He cut the tendon section out, then removed the ulnar nerve from my arm. Muscles were then removed, and the nerve replaced, this time on the bottom closer to the cubital tunnel to allow more freedom for it to move. Muscles were then replaced over it.

I wasn't kidding when I said they rebuilt my arm.

By the time the stubborn Pooka went in, the muscle mass was already wasting away and I had almost no feeling in my hand at all. I couldn't turn a doorknob. I couldn't even open diaper tabs for Thing 2. I could run a pin through my pinky and couldn't feel it.

My hand was all but useless by the time my surgery date arrived.

After the anesthesia wore off completely, and the pain pills had lapsed ... I already had some feeling in my hand. I remember the day I reached for something and stretched over a lit candle. I burnt my arm slightly -- and FELT IT. It was amazing. I started crying in the shower once because I suddenly realized I was using both hands to wash my hair, and my left hand could actually feel the soapy spots.

I now have full range of motion back in my arm, and complete use of my hand. Only a small strip along the scar line that is still a little numb, which is normal.

If I seem a little militant on the issue ... well, I am. I've been there, and I screwed around and ignored it. It almost cost me my hand. Just another month of letting it go, and I might have had damage that couldn't be repaired.

Until they perfect cybernetics, you only get one body.

Use it wisely.

Stray Wheeeee

Note to self: Do not take Lortab with Testosterone before bedtime.
Hydrocodone makes Pooka hyper.
Hyper is not conducive to sleep.
Had to leave bed before DG tried to smother me with a pillow.

I'm talking to the big purple Cheshire Cat on my monitor ... and I think it's answering me.

Can't sleep, clowns will eat me.

Hair has finally gotten longer again. Makes trying to brush or wash it with my shoulder all hose a real bitch. Had the temptation to hack it off again, but after some of the reactions I got last time ... I may just shave it all off, hah!

Harley has assassinated Batgirl again. Out of all the action figures and toys on the shelf above my desk, Harley has singled Batgirl out for termination.

Giger is doing ... things in his cage. I think it's the rodent version of Tai Chi from what I can see of it. Man, he's tall when he stretches up on his hind legs.

.
.
.
.

Black hole.

Dammit, out of all the injuries from the fall, my knee is the only one that looks cool. Still haven't seen a bruise come up on my arm (apparently they're hiding deep inside the muscles so they can taunt me), and only mild bruising on my face. I mean, what the hell? Here I go and do this great fall, only to not get anything usuable out of the damage pics.

Mark ... finally got your email about the project. As I am a doofus, I'd been forgetting to check that one. Yes, I'm interested. Sounds fun. I like fun. Let's talk.

My new client for the second album cover is a riot. I swear, if this guy perks and bounces anymore, I'm going to be very very scared. I mean, with "Antipathy" as the band name, he's entirely too excited. :) They're wanting t-shirts out of whatever designs I come up with for them. Must get to work there.

Though can you see my fat wounded ass in their mosh pit? Don't think so.

Why is it 4:30 in the morning?

I'd like to go to sleep now. Can someone please page the Sandman? He missed part of this house.

Still no word from Compaq. Tommorow I call and the blood-feast will begin.

Ow

Superjuiced on what can only be called Lortab with Extra Testosterone, the day is a smoodge brighter.

Finally saw someone about the fall. Woman took one peek at my shoulder. "Ew. Ow. I am NOT touching this until we get xrays."

My kind of doc.

For those of you familiar with injury proceedings and the joy of xrays (which inevitably mean you have to move whatever is hurt into the most uncomfortable positions imaginable, ie, hurt enough to make Mother Teresa say Very Bad Things), you know that their main usage is in determining broken bones.

The muscle tears (by which I mean Many) were easily visible on the film. Joint was back in place by this point, but yowsa. If it's in my shoulder, it's either torn, inflamed, or both.

I have orders for small range of motion exercises -- ONLY, and I mean ONLY with Lortab with Testosterone in my system -- and a follow-up in a week to make sure the RSD isn't dinking with the healing and causing the muscles to start cratering on me.

Whoa. Spaced out there. That's it, I'm puttin the Pooka to bed.

Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

Fall down, go boom

My bad leg stopped working in mid-step. Just quit. Threw me sideways into the corner of the Things' doorway. Side of head and my right arm took the full impact.

Last thing I remember is thinking "Fuck, that HURT!"

I don't know how long I was knocked out. But my right arm was caught under my head, and all of the blood on my hand was dry. I figure I was out cold for a good five minutes.

Woke up to Thing 1 crying and tapping me in the head. "Mama, do I need to call 911? Mommy, please wake up." Somehow she found my cellphone and the charger to call DG. I have no idea what woke her up. Instinct, maybe. Happened too fast for me to scream.

Haven't been this nauseous from an injury since I got thrown off a horse. Really dizzy. Shaky. Felt frozen for hours. Took every blanket on the bed and then some to stop the shivering.

Top to bottom.

Line from right temple to jaw. Top cartilege hole now big enough for 3 earrings. The one in it had to be cut off. Back to it is still missing. Stone fell out because the prongs were too busy cutting into my ear. Nurse Voodoo assisted the removal procedure. Ear is really swollen. Lobe enlarged and a small cut there.

He also held my hand while DG cleaned it. Ow.

Thank you, Will.

Right arm. This is the bad one. I'm pretty sure it hit the wall first. Shoulder joint throbs and normal motion is not only painful, but nauseating. Swollen. Line of knife-edge pain down outside of arm along tricep. Possible cracked bone. Trying to wait it out in hopes of being able to move better. It is COLD here, and I can't move my arm to get dressed. Can't type with it either.

Right knee. Actually the best of the lot. I'm not sure what I hit with it. Skin is missing, like a rug burn. Hurts more than the impact bruise under it. Maybe it just kept folding and I landed on it. Puffy, but I can at least hobble with the cane.

Don't worry, Heidi. I'll get you pictures when the bruises finish blooming.

Ow. Ow.

Unplugged

She earned her Nemesis nickname an hour after I took her out of the box.

Two weeks of blue screens, fatal errors, massive crashes, programs spontaneously deleting and uninstalling on boot. 16 hours on the phone with tech support. 4 complete fdisk reformats. No resolution.

I got pissed. I started digging. I solved the problem, not them. They shipped the damn machine out of the warehouse with a bad RAM chip. They replace, things improve.

Christmas Eve. Won't start. Dead. Nothing. Will not boot. Go through the hard boot, removing cords, battery, etc. Power gets TO the unit, but the unit won't use it to boot. Great. More phone time.

Send a box. Send the laptop in. Get it back, with a note that says it worked for them, oh well. They did .... NOTHING to it. Nothing.

Three hours later, it died again. Same problem, power to it, nothing happens. More phone time. Get a new box. Send it back in new box. This time, told that the heat spreader was dusty and they switched it out. Uh huh. They send it back.

Three days later, it's dead as a frickin doornail, RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of a paid contract piece. Yes, it's ON at the time, and I lose everything because it died in the middle of CTRL-S.

Why, yes, it's phone call time again. I'm on hold 14 minutes while they try to get me a supervisior. By this time .... So I go through the whole sordid story, throwing names and dates and error messages and case numbers at the woman.

"Faces of Death" had nothing on this conversation. PookaMouse ROARED.

The solution?

Hurry up and wait. I SHOULD "get a phonecall" from a Quality Manager in 7-10 DAYS. Apparently only someone with a spiffy title is allowed to make any real decisions.

This is my second Compaq. It will be the last.

The first one I fell in love with. All of the problems I had with her resulted from physical damage (note to self: you still need to make that cat fur bikini for the kids). Despite bad things I'd heard about them, I had a wonderful experience.

So I bought another one to replace it when she finally died.

I'm waiting once again to hear Frisco tell me, "Shoulda bought a Mac."

Santa Thing

Thing 2: (rushes out into the living room with the exaggerated arm-pumping) "Gotta drink more CoRed! Gotta keep up my emergies! Can't let my emergies stop!"

(repeats rushing and exits, stage right)

Thing 2: (from other room) "What?!? Don't make me kick your rear!"

Me: (thankful she at least didn't say 'ass' this time)

Thing 2: "Ho ho ho, now shut up! I gotta put THESE over HERE. Move it, people!"

(loud crashing noise)

Thing 2: "I didn't do it!"

This is going to be a very long day.

... And Cancel Christmas!

Christmas is cancelled.

Come out this morning, my laptop is dead. D-E-D dead. No power. Nada. Flickers pathetically at me. Extended tech discussion (after my phone number popping up sends the techs into a DefCon 4 panic and the one with the shortest straw has to take my call without benefit of cyanide pills) resulting in the same bloody conclusion I came to half an hour before my total hysterics started -- Power Supply, 1 each, D-E-DOA.

Estimated time before box gets here: Saturday. Estimated time for it to be fixed: How does some time in 2005 sound?

All my client information is on that harddrive. All the documents. To work, I'm going to have to email every one of them, providing I can find all the email addresses somewhere in my brain, and ask them to resend.

The images and base files I had been finishing as Christmas presents for others are all on that machine. No presents now. Shit. I'm sorry, guys. Dammit.

The money DG and I were given as pretty much the total of our presents from the monster is Gone. Spent. Poof. All the little things add up. No presents for us.

Big freakin winter storm last few days. Pooka has no limbs, just these deformed objects that used to limbs and are now closer to nuclear meltdown. "Whoosh, into the ground. Like a big ole glowing gopher!" I couldn't sleep last night. Hurt too much.

Had my first severe asthma attack in months last night while failing to achieve sleep.

The weekend at the monster's was mostly awful. She started on me before I even finished getting out of the car. I'm not even going to go into that Hell. It's not worth the additional stress. At least the Things got presents.

Did see Two Towers with Klash and Lisa. Only bright point to the weekend. DG got pulled over for speeding on the way home.

We get home, to find out that Voodoo had another car wreck. At least he's safe and alive.

I feel like I'm in a twisted virtual reality version of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas," surrounded by mutant Whos.

We're here. We're together. We're alive.

It will have to be enough.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Please ignore my age and any past suspicions that you weren't real. No one else is listening, and I think I've moved beyond the hope that prayer is going to do any good.

I want my body to work again.

I hurt so bad, Santa. The last two weeks ... I'm sitting here crying, Santa. Every day the pain seems to get worse. I can't even control my own hands. I'm shaking and aching and nothing is making it better. I have bottles of meds that do little more than dull the increasing agony.

I'm tired, Santa.

I'm tired of hurting, tired of disappointing my children and my family. I'm tired of waking up in tears because the pain is too much for me to stay asleep. I'm tired of having one of my children ask me a question, and suddenly going completely blank. I'm tired of going 3 or 4 days with only a few hours sleep total. I'm tired of waking up feeling more exhausted than I did before passing out. I'm tired of the drugs, I'm tired of the doctors, and I'm tired of being tired.

There's a wheelchair on my Christmas list, not because I want it, but because I'm slowly losing the ability to walk. The cane doesn't do me any good when my arms won't work. I have a handicapped placard for my car, the one that is permanent.

I want my mind back.

I want the brain cells that have been short-circuited to wake up. I don't want the fogs and confusion and frustration. I want to be able to do a damn crossword puzzle without bursting into tears because I can no longer remember anything.

I want to be there for my family. I want to be able to stand up long enough to make dinner. I want to be able to make bread again, or even something as simple as a cake. I want to be able to go to school plays and open house and go roller skating with my kids at parties.

I want to remember what my husband told me five minutes earlier without him having to tell me again. And again. I want the look of frustration and the growl in his voice to vanish. I want to remember being me, and I can't even remember what it was like.

I want to help my kids with their homework. I want to splash in puddles with them and chalk up the sidewalk and go to the zoo. I want to hold them in my arms, I want to be hugged, I want to be touched by them without crying because the pain of contact is too great.

I don't want my children to be afraid anymore. I don't want to hear "Is Mommy going to die?" I don't want to hear "Mommy, I hope you get better." I don't want my children to have to pick up after me because I can't hold onto anything and can't bend over to get whatever I knocked over.

I want to make love to my husband again. I want to be touched. For it to not hurt. I don't want to be scared of it.

It all seems so very selfish, but Santa? For Christmas ....


.... can you give me back to my family?

COW-umbas Day

Thing 2: "Do you know what howiday it is, Mommy?"

Me: "uh."

Thing 2: "It's COWUMBUS Day, Mommy, and I got to make one of his ships!"

Me: "Did you make any of the Indians that got massacred because of his discovery?"

Thing 2: "No, Mommy, I wan out of time."


...She ran out of time.

And it's not even halfway through the school year yet.

--

Thing 2: (dramatic sigh) "Hi Mama. Apparently I'm naked."

(minute later, naked Thing runs into living room)

Thing 2: "Whoa, this is scaring me!"

She's holding up two matching pairs of underwear.

Me: "Your panties are scaring you?"

Thing 2: "YES, cuz they're the same! Oh. My. GOD! I don't believe it!"

Indeed.

Total Recall

How do you remember? What does it take for a moment to sear itself into your memory? Pain, joy, grief?

How clear is your recall?

I remember the day the Challenger exploded. I was in my computer math class, with the scary bug-eyed bleached blonde teacher. We had a TV on in the room while we worked. We couldn't believe what we saw. Surely ... The loudspeaker came on. The principal, a definite hard-ass, was crying.

I remember the day that DG proposed. I remember what I was wearing (and I still have the skirt, though it stopped fitting me years ago). I remember the car he was driving. I remember when he pulled over to the side of the narrow country road, and I gave him the "what the hell?" look as he stopped. Not a lot of passing room. He shushed me, got out of the car, picked a handful of wild flowers (including some black-eyed Susans), opened my door, got down on one knee, and asked me to marry him.

I remember the night that my paternal grandfather died. I was in bed, it was late. The phone rang. I heard my father start to sob. I've never heard him cry like that. My dread of late night phone calls started then. My father sounded broken.

I remember the day DG came home, with that hesitant little smile. I met him at the door, since he didn't come further inside. He took my hand, and slid the ring on my finger. A silver band of roses from James Avery. My engagement ring. So I would always have fresh roses, no matter the season. It all started with a rose, after all.

I remember the day we went to pick up my baby sister from the adoption agency. I was only 3 and a half at the time. I remember, because as we were getting back into the car, I cut my hand on something on the seat. A deep slice, between the webbing of my fingers.

I remember the phone call from Sabrina. I was getting ready for a date, Charlie was already at the house. She was crying, and as she tried to explain, the news show finished the story. We'd heard sirens maybe half an hour before. Two of our graduating seniors, two of the most popular and friendliest guys in the class, had an accident only a few blocks from our house. A drunk driver ran a light. One was killed instantly, thrown through the windshield. He wasn't wearing his seat belt. His passenger was critical for weeks, and suffered permanent brain damage. Graduation was only two weeks away. I always wear my seat belt, have from that moment on. And when we pass the cross erected where the accident occurs, I still tear up.

I still remember falling/jumping out of the persimmon tree that was in the field behind our house, knowing fully that my grandfather was there below. I knew that I would be safe, even if I couldn't fly.

I remember "falling" into the lake with my sister. "Don't get wet," my mother would scowl as we left with my grandfather. "Oh no, we won't," we'd tell her. And every time, we "accidentally" managed to fall in. And since we were already wet ....

Blackberries. I remember trip after trip with my grandfather, many times with me on his back. "No, THAT one, Poppie!" And he'd bend and pick that very one. We'd go out with bags and buckets, and every time we'd come back with only half full, and me stained utterly purple from lips to fingertips, scratches from brambles on us both. They never tasted so sweet. I had to pay for blackberries this year. It hurt. And they just weren't as good.

I remember seeing the look on DG's face the day Thing 1 was born, the day he thought he was going to lose us both. The day he almost did. I remember feeling like I was floating (blood loss isn't such a bad way to go), and my only worries were for DG, and for the baby that wasn't breathing.

I remember playing Danny's Game Boy (Tetris) while I was in labour with her, and the doctor coming in, scowling, and asking me if I knew I was having a contraction. I told him to hush, I was about to get a high score.

I remember Danny showing up right before visiting hours were over and after we'd both been dragged back from death, with food, with a huge chocolate milkshake. I hadn't eaten in two days before that. Milkshakes haven't tasted as good since then.

I remember ... GRRR ... that because Thing 1 was two weeks late, that DG and Roy used MY tickets to Jethro Tull and WENT WITHOUT ME to the concert while I sat in the hospital and sulked. Damn them! :P (Yes, I told them to go. We'd paid for the tickets anyway, no use in wasting them. The bastards.)

I remember getting the phone call saying that my great-grandmother was in the ER and that it didn't look good. We rushed to Tomball, and then SAT and sat, waiting. She had still been alive when we got there. By the time they talked to us, she was gone. They let us into the room to see her. She was still on the table in the triage room. I remember the towels over her throat to cover the emergency trach that failed. And I was Angry. Furious. I fled. Ran out of the room, out of the ER, down the halls ... I remember stopping when I couldn't breathe anymore. A nurse came over, gentle, with a clucking scold that I was bleeding on her floor. Somehow, in my flight, I'd ripped open the back of my hand.

I still have the scar.

I remember the absolute ROAR that Thing 2 gave out when she was born. The doctor and nurses were startled. No butt-spanking for this kid. She was out and ready to take over. I remember the words: "Oh, she has a birthmark" and utterly panicking. Imagination took over fast, but it turned out to be a relatively cute round brown "witchmark" under her right arm on the side. Talk about foreshadowing against the future.

I remember the utter shock at having my name called out after our UIL One-Act play performance for All-Star Cast. I remember my father, chasing me down after we were through to hand me an enormous bouquet of pink roses. I remember power-barfing in the bathroom AFTER we were done. I always let stress go afterwards. Before, I was the rock. I remember, in my shock at being named to All-Star, seeing an old boyfriend in the crowd that I hadn't seen in years. Jeff smiling, and giving me the thumbs up.

It is amazing how we remember, and the clarity that surrounds some moments and yet is absent from others. The human brain is an amazing thing, and it frightens me now that many of those pathways are being closed off or severed as my illness progresses.

Still, I think that, no matter what happens, there are some things that will never be forgotten. There is always paper, there is always my journal to record those moments that might slip away.

I will hold them to my heart forever. No matter how painful, or how full of joy they might be. It is my past, my history, my future, and they are parts of what has made me who I am.

just me, pretending to be

On Remembering

It's not that I don't want to remember.

I never want to forget. But it's not just one thing that's the problem.

September 11.

It's a birth day, an anniversary. It's "special" to many people for many reasons, but life went on before, and it will go on after.

Something tragic, unfair, and horrible happened on that day. The thing is, horrible things happen all the time. To Other People. When bad things happen to Other People, it often doesn't seem as important, or isn't even remembered. It was Them, not Us.

But people do remember.

Mai Lai. Pearl Harbour. Hiroshima. Columbine. Fairchild AFB. Rwanda.

Nanking. The Holocaust. Jonestown. Yakaolang. Srebrenica. Apartheid.

The Challenger. Tiananmen Square. Bosnia. Khmer Rouge.

The list has no end. Perhaps it never will.

A few years ago, I was visiting Jon, and one of our trips was to the Smithsonian. (Several of them, including art, cultural history, and Air and Space, as Jon and I try to remember what all we made it to that afternoon)

Jon lost me for a while when we reached the Enola Gay.

I don't know how long I sat there and cried. It is overwhelming, when you see her. Everything hits you at once. Everything is suddenly, painfully REAL in her presence. And it hurts.

People are stupid, greedy, vicious, and single-minded. For every good, there is a corresponding evil. Someone will always want something that someone else owns. Someone will always want to be more in charge than anyone else. Someone will always have different beliefs, different faiths, different ideas of morality. Someone will always disagree with someone else.

And it isn't fair. It never will be fair.

We cannot forget what we as a race have done in the past, in hopes that in the future, someone will think twice or even three times before engaging in conflict. Violence sparks violence. There is no right way to answer violence, when every response seems and feels wrong. It hurts when it happens to you.

What we must keep is perspective.

No one atrocity is more important, more painful, or more vital to remembrance than another. Each act of violence is a failure on the part of us all. Commemorating a single event that happens to Us instead of Them is an act that will always be repeated. It's human nature, for the most part. What happens to Us is easier to feel and remember and is more Real to us than something that happened to someone else, far away.

Perspective.

Should you chose to remember the One, try to keep in mind the Many that came before, and that will come after.

Should you shed a tear for heroes lost, remember the others that have sacrificed their lives for the sake of freedom and peace.

In the end, we have only one world, and we must live on it together.

Some things, we should never forget.

Random Wisdom

-- First impressions are important, but not as important as to whether or not you maintain it.

-- If your track record is public, don't be surprised if the public knows about it. And discusses it. Often.

-- Physical pain can be forgotten, otherwise women would never have a second child. Emotional wounds take longer to heal. If ever.

-- Never do yourself what you can delegate. Then be prepared to do it yourself anyway.

-- Never light a cigarette with a blowtorch. It may look cool, but it takes your eyebrows forever to grow back in.

-- If you have a gut instinct about something, you probably had bad pizza. If you haven't had pizza, pay attention to it. It's rarely wrong.

-- To err is human: to forgive yourself, impossible.

-- The RED wire. Always cut the RED wire. Unless it's blue.

-- There is a reason why hair dryers come with a warning label about not using them in the bathtub -- people are stupid.

-- If you can't find anyone else to blame, it probably IS your fault.

-- Cold pizza and hot beer are only safe breakfasts if you're in college. After that, they just give you ulcers.

-- A cat will always decide to lay down on you at precisely the moment you need to move.

-- Your fart might be funny, but trust me, we don't want you to describe it in depth. Same goes for what you just did in the bathroom. We've already suffered enough.

Superwoman is D-E-D

Somewhere I lost what I think I was going to say, and it turned into some painful self-contemplation.

There are friends that I have made online that remember Super Woman. Invincible. Offline, as well. Nothing phased me. A catch-phrase: "I'm all right. Always am." has fallen flat. It was something of a thin running joke for a very long time.

I survived it. Didn't matter what you threw at me, I survived it, usually with strained laughter and sheer stubbornness. I'd get over it.

So how do you explain to these people that Super Woman is dead?

There are people that I have never met in person that have been closer to me than any relative. People I utterly adore with heart and soul and that have been there for me, and I for them, time and time again. How do you tell these people that despite that, you no longer would accept a chance to actually meet them? That to show them what I have become and what I have lost would hurt me deeper than the lost chance of becoming closer?

It frightens me.

My husband told me yesterday that he had told one of our old circle about it. We haven't spoken with him much, DG much more than I. He explained, and that I could not walk without a cane, how I could no longer do simple things.

Part of me was torn. I was ... hurt. Angry, that he told, and didn't understand why.

Some part of me still wants to be remembered as invincible.

I know that most of my family does not know, that my monster has not bothered to tell them. She never had before, when I had surgery, or anything else went wrong. And it is strange, where she doesn't seem to care, I know that they do.

I've not told them either. Super Woman syndrome again.

Yet, she invites us down for the traditional holiday dinners. What does she expect to happen if I come, if they see me and realize what she had been hiding? She hasn't done herself any favours. My uncle's wife (as opposed to my mother's sister, who is perhaps the neatest lady I know, and who DOES know) already dislikes my mother intently. I used to wish that I'd been his daughter instead, so that Liz would have been my mother.

It did not take long, the last time we went down for Thanksgiving a few years ago, for them to find out why our trip down there lasted less than 24 hours. And Liz was Angry. I was invited to next time, stay with them.

It is not a bad thought.

My husband has the time off for us to go down this year. But it's at the monster's house this time. (Every year, Christmas and Thanksgiving trade out.) I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I can face what is to come when we show up.

I suppose in a way that a lot of it is that fibromyalgia is actually the least of my concerns, as it is also with Heidi and Cairyn. We have other problems that just amplify everything we can worry about.

I just don't want to be remembered as I am now.

CAT for sale

I'm not sure whether I should laugh, or gross out.

Zamboni moved slowly out into the living room, and hunched in the position that indicates that either A) the carpet is looking at him funny, or B) he's about to yark.

Another turn, and he saw me looking at him.

He turned a little again, looked up, and yes, I was still looking at him.

He gave me the Evil Cat Eye, the one that says "I hope you're a mouse in your next life so I can eat you, bitch."

AND HE TURNED HIS BACK ON ME so I couldn't watch him throw up.

DG, your cat is SO weird.

Of course, now someone needs to clean the hot cat barf off the carpet.

What Thing 2 has learned at school:

"I pledge allegiance,
To the Texas flag.
Under God,
I am invisible."

Stray Thoughts

Why, yes, yes I am STILL awake.

Spent most of the weekend with the Esoteric one. Lots of running around (okay, they ran, I limped and staggered and trudged a lot), food, movies, computer babbles.

Harley keeps leaping onto the back of the futon and staring at the back of my head. I don't really want to know.

Wow. I could actually hear the vacuum sucking the last remaining brain cells out in a glorious eruption of Brain Fartitis. Whooooosh!

Harley thinks it's fun to leap onto the table, then leap to my computer tray, then leap past me to the futon. She's also staring at the ceiiling again.

Things are up. They ain't awake, but they're up.

So why is everyone but me eating breakfast? I need a better slave, mine seems to be broken.

There goes Harley again. Boingy. Boingy. Boingy. The world is freaking Harley out.

Boingy! Almost right into the syrupy waffle plate of Thing 1. That would have been Bad.

WHOOOSH BOINGY BOINGY. Christ, Harley's turned into a gas molecule.

Thing 2 is sitting, um, mostly upside down in the computer chair. I seriously doubt that's going to help her wake up.

BOINGY! Ceiling looked at Harley funny, now she has to Make It Dead. I keep picturing the cartoon where the dog keeps sneaking up on the cat and barking, and then they have to pry poor Claude out of the ceiling. Instantaneous cat levitation. Harley is practicing it now.

Thing 2 is still upside down.

Black hole.

.
.
.

Dude, what is this "morning" crap and why the hell am I experiencing it from the wrong side of consciousness?

Boingy. That one almost clipped my ear, kinda like the arrows and Elrond at the beginning of LotR. WHOOSH.

Oh look, breakfast. I guess I'll keep him after all.

Zamboni is staring wistfully at the place where Thing 1's waffle plate used to be. We've had that experience, and I have no urge to repeat it. Cat looked like a feckin cactus, his tail and butt all covered with syrup bits and EVERYTHING else he came in contact with. Coulda used him as flypaper. And boy, did he yowl when DG had to bathe him.

MREeeeoooooOOOoowwwwowowowowowwwww!

He burned the toast. What is up with that?

Moooom, Harley's doing it again!!!!!!!

Whaff fis? Wha ... whaff fis? Fere is food in my mouf. Whaf fis?

No. I mean it. No. Okay, well, maybe.

Brraaaaaaaap! Guilty!

Nerd Alert

Pooka: Uh. ::whoosh, black hole, this is the sound of everything on the list being consumed in a fiery brain fart::

Dax: Oh oh oh! Can I have one of those?!?! It would be great to have at least a couple a day at work. That's the great thing about the military sometimes. You can get away with not thinking for hours before people catch on.

Pooka: I still don't get the whole Gandalf breakdancing on his head scene.

Dax: Because we would turn him into a toad and shove a magic missle up his ass ... but this was suppose to be a pseudo-family movie.

Pooka: ::mope:: Yeah, and WE would have used grenade launchers on snipers.

Dax: They did just fine with the snipers, actually. :Grins, then cracks up: Actually, that would make a great cartoon. Aragorn with a grenade launcher, looking at a pissed Legolas, the caption reading "Sorry man, but you just became obsolete."

HP - 0 Pooka - 1

I just got an Error Message Report notifying me that the Error Message Report had an error, which it wanted to report.

Nemesis has given up on subtle and has launched an open campaign to drive me screaming off the deep end.

::CROWS louder than any Lost Boy::

"If you receive this error message randomly, or when you try to start a program, remove extra memory or have the random access memory (RAM) in your computer tested. This behavior may occur if you have bad RAM."

HAH!

Fuck you, Compaq techs.

Yipe. Had a Tarin moment going on there. Next thing you know, I'll be shouting "Ain't I good? Told ya I'm good!" at a room full of illusionary people.

Hunted down that damned blue screen error message, turned off the reboot, wrote the first error I got down.

Bad RAM.

I mentioned this repeatedly, but figured it wasn't applicable since I hadn't added any new RAM.

Too bad it was fucked straight from the factory.

Phone calls begin again tomorrow. With a vengeance.

UPDATE: Got three more errors. Curiously enough ....

"STOP 0x0000001a (0x00041284, 0xca9a2000, 0x000077e0, 0xc0c00000) MEMORY_MANAGEMENT

STOP 0x0000004e (0x00000007, 0x00007abf, 0x0000f17e, 0x00000000)PFN_LIST_CORRUPT

STOP 0x00000050 (0xc2332b94, 0x00000000, 0x00000000, 0x00000000)PAGE_FAULT_IN_NONPAGED_AREA

Cause
This behavior can occur when the random-access memory (RAM) on your computer has become corrupt."


And, more curiously ... HP/Compaq support is truly and utterly clueless. DG, I hope you're up to getting on the phone and barking at some folks, I still don't have my voice back.

Hey, speaking of RAM, does anyone know if DDR memory has a particularly short lifespan? Not as a known issue, per se, but via experience? Klash keeps getting DDR sticks eaten, and this machine apparently came with a bad one.

Harum. Growf.

Meowowowowowow

Ever hear a Maine Coon complain?

They do it so well. And loudly.

Siamese have a thing about the weird voice as well. The two breeds have relatively distinctive sounds.

Zam walked over towards the door, cocked his head. Looked confused.

Turned around.

"MREOOOW? Mroooooooooow. Mrow. MREEEEOOOOOOOOW."

Walked around a bit more. Stopped and MREOOOW?d at the floor.

Then at the ceiling.

The Mother Ship has been trying to communicate again, only, Zamboni seems to have his wires crossed.

I want a salad. A big Olive Garden salad.

Sigh.

Why is Harley sitting on the table, staring at me?

Or is she staring at the scary thing only cats can see that's lurking behind me, waiting to ...

Uh. Harley? You can stop that now.

But it looks so CUTE ... so long as you don't look into her ... eyes.

Yeeeees maaaaaster ....