I do not want to be here, Sam-I-Am. 

I had a fabulous weekend.  Starting Thursday, I had a much needed bonding evening with the girls over a margarita before heading home.  Friday brought a night out with more folks from work, soothing some of those rough edges that exist between us on any normal day.  Saturday was my “birthday” of sorts…Mr. W took me on a dinner cruise on the Potomac, followed by a romantic evening in a fancy hotel…The Mandarin Oriental.  Beautiful.  It was a wonderful evening all around.  Sunday, we headed home and opted for dinner out and a movie with the older kids:  Inception.  Really good movie.  So why am I crying in the ladies room?

Well, Monday was strained.  Sunday’s dinner, and probably the mass quantities of alcohol I consumed from Thursday onward, left my belly a little “unhappy.”  It’s actually still a little unhappy.  So I stayed home, with Mr. W (his every-other-Monday off) and the two older kids.  We ran errands, went to lunch, discovered Mr. W has high cholesterol and a fatty liver, and began getting “short” around 4 or 5 pm.  But we maintained.  The kids went back to their mom’s, so I thought maybe this would be an opportunity (empty house) to continue the wonderfully frisky trend that the weekend prompted.  No such luck…we ended up going to bed mad, although I’m not sure what about, and waking up even worse.  Long story short, the car ride to work this morning had us both shouting, me in tears, and us splitting up…sorta…I think. 

But it’s not that simple.  Our lives are so intertwined that we can’t just “break up.”  We are dependant on each other in every facet of life.  We share everything, and I really do mean everything.  We have kids to think about.  We have a 2 year lease on a house neither of us can afford alone.  We share bills, food, childcare, everything.  Well, everything, it seems, except what’s important. 

We fight, a lot.  We don’t communicate.  Most days we would probably both agree we don’t know each other at all.  So why are we together?  Well, there’s love.  I do love my Mr. W.  With all my heart and should, I love him.  I wouldn’t have let myself get so tied up if I didn’t.  He wouldn’t be my home if I didn’t.  (For as long as I can remember, “home” was my parents’ home…until Mr. W.  I would get ridiculously home sick within months of visiting, and would visit at least twice a year, every year, since I left in 1999.  But now, when I think of “home,” I think of him.)  But love doesn’t seem to be enough.

I asked him this morning if he wanted to be done.  He said yes.  I said I was going to leave.  He didn’t say no.  I told him I loved him.  He stayed quiet.  And then I got hit by a bus:

Him: You must have known this was coming. 

Me: What? Why?

Him: Well, why haven’t you sent out the invitations to the wedding yet?  You must have known this was coming since you haven’t sent them out.

Me: (granted, in hysterics)  WHAT?  I haven’t sent them because you are supposed to send them 6 weeks before the wedding.  If you don’t want to marry me, why didn’t you just tell me.  If you don’t love me, why don’t you just tell me.  If you don’t want this anymore, WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST TELL ME?! 

Him: Oh.

Somehow that said it all.  He was expecting this?  He was waiting for this?  He had an inkling this was going to happen?  Why not say something?  WTF?  Was he just waiting for me to?  I can’t even begin to understand this.  “Hey, there’s a bus coming, but she probably knows that, so I’ll just watch while it runs her down.”  Fan-fucking-tastic.  Obviously, if you read my blog, you know I’ve got baggage.  You know I’m nuts.  You know I’m a bitch and raving lunatic at times.  Apparently he does not.  Apparently he thought I was a Stepford.  Apparently all the apologies in the world will never be enough.  Apparently my insanity has driven another one away.  2 years 6 months.  Yep, that’s about right.  So what the hell do I do now?  I can’t leave.  I can’t stay.  Money is lost, and will continue to be.  I’m lost, and will continue to be.  So what happens now?  What happens when I get home?  What happens when he gets home?  What happens tomorrow?  I can’t concentrate.  I can’t think.  I can’t function.

And crying alone in the ladies room is just so damned cliche!

“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses.” — Lao Tzu

“The heart has reasons that reason cannot understand.” — Jacques Benigne Bossuel

 

def. Splendor: –verb (used with object)  to make splendid by decorating lavishly; adorn.

The hearts are strange things.  I say “hearts” because there really are two, at least.  There’s the physical heart, with all its functioning and definable purpose.  And then there is the metaphorical heart, full of hidden agendas and feelings.  They are two very separate entities, but are still somehow so closely tied that they are often mistaken as one.  But it’s the solitary, metaphorical heart’s power which holds the physical under its whims so effectively it seems as though it’s the physical heart’s doing in the first place.

Love.  So totally owned by the metaphorical heart.  The physical has absolutely no functioning reason to get involved.  It’s far too busy pumping X amount of blood through the body every Y amount of time, there is no room for feelings and metaphors.  It’s kind of like math and literature.  Logic and emotion.  Science and religion, if you will.  But love, in all its mysterious glory fills us up so much, metaphorically of course, that we physically feel something, and mistake the two hearts for one.  The flutter at the sound of his voice.  The skip at the sight of her.  The heat we feel under our skin.  Even the easily measurable increase in our pulse screams that this is a physical reaction by our stoic and indifferent central organ.  But, really?  Is it any wonder that there is so much intertwining confusion of the origins of these physical and emotional feelings? 

Love itself is a frustratingly confounded endeavor, and yet we strive for it, believe in it whole-heart-edly, yearn for it with all our being.  But what is it?  How many people have gone into a relationship believing it’s love, and yet coming out the other end believing it never really was?  How often is it said: “I’ve never really been in love,” and yet equally said: “I’ve been in love so many times”?  Love is neither measurable nor quantifiable, yet we insist on giving it a solid body with which to represent itself.  We try to quantify our love as “so much”  or grant it a time measurement of “always and forever.”  But what measures are those?  Non-measures.  Fake numbers.  Even the “imaginary” numbers we learned about in algebra hold more real value than any sort of measurement we tout in the name of love.  Yet we give credit to our physical heart and all its well functioning logic, as the metaphorical heart sits back and grins while pulling the strings of our lives. 

And then there is the pain of love lost.  The burning in the chest, where the physical heart resides.  The fast or hard beats of the physical heart.  The shortness of breath, again in the chest.  The loss of blood to the head or limbs, brought on by a malfunctioning heart perhaps?  Not at all, but as someone who has felt these very symptoms, I can attest to the all-encompassing power of the metaphorical heart and to it’s complete control over the physical body.  It’s not logical.  It’s not a scientifically sound argument that something that doesn’t even exist except in the “hearts” and minds of we humans to have such a profound physical effect on us.  And yet it does. 

So this metaphorical heart.  This invisible force that drives us to feel emotions, and especially to yearn for, seek out, feel and dread love, all at the same time.  What is it?  What gives it its power?  Why do we, as logical, soundminded, intelligent beings allow something so intangible hold such utter control over us?  Because the heart wants what the heart wants?  But as a non-entity, how can it want? 

But it does, and we do, and a-round-and-round we go!  Wanting, desiring, yearning, searching, reaching, loving, hurting, hating, and even dying in the name of love.  What silly animals we are!  But is there a choice in it?  Is it an unbidden torture we endure, or is it a self-inflicted condition which we happily maintain?  Either way, I for one don’t think I would ever step away, if the ability existed.  Of course, my hearts are “full of love” at the moment, so I may not be the best source of reason. 

The boy is gone for the summer.  My heart feels as empty as our new big house, my heartbeat echoing in my chest in tune with the leftover echoes of little running feet across the hardwood floor.  I feel empty, no less than empty.  I feel almost like I don’t exist at all.  Is it possible to exist when your heart is 4 states away? 

I go to bed with a pounding headache.  Not enough water?  Too much sun?  I can only hope that is the case.  And then, as I lay there, a familiar sensation washes over me.  I used to be scared of it when I was young, but now I savor it as feeling something physical that is stronger than the emotions that are wracking my heart and mind.  It starts with mild vertigo, spinning, tilting.  I’ve never felt it standing up, but I’m sure the result would be me crashing to the ground.  As the bed tilts around me, I shut my eyes tight and ride it out, savoring each sensation almost as if I’m on a carnival ride.  As the vertigo subsides, new feelings sweep over me.  I read once in some magazine that it’s known as “Alice in Wonderland Syndrome.”  I always loved that story.  I feel parts of my body begin to grow, while others shrink down to twigs.  This was the scariest part as a child.  I used to look at each growing or shrinking body part while trying to convince myself that my eyes were wrong.  I used to move each body part in an attempt to regain my sense of appropriate dimension.  It never worked.  Terrifying may be a better description.  But now, I find myself concentrating on the sensations, marveling.  I feel my head swell to three, maybe four times normal size, inflating like a balloon.  My arms shrink down to shriveled up pencils protruding from my normal-sized shoulders.  My hands become the hands of a giant with ridiculously long, skinny fingers.  Then everything reverses.  The terror is long gone, and I’m left with wonderment of the power of my mind over logic and physical truth as I drift off to sleep, knowing I’ll wake with a migraine. 

If only my dreams would actually take me down that rabbit hole…it would be a nice escape from the emptiness at least.

I am really, entirely unhappy with being the token “skinny girl” for all other’s comparison.  Really?!  Does it have to come up everyday?  Do all insecurities have to be compared to me in a way that makes me both ashamed of my looks/body/whatever, while also ashamed of my own insecurities?  Yes, I said it.  I have insecurities.  Amazing, I know. 

Yes, I am generally easy on the eyes.  Yes, I am moderately thin-ish.  Yes, I am mildly intelligent.  Should I be ashamed?  Should I feel bad?  And what do I do when compared to others in that, “oh you can wear anything,” or, “you can eat anything,” or, “it’s all so easy for you.”  Am I supposed to thank them or apologize, or maybe some jacked up combination of both…but then which comes first?  Ladies, there is no genuine compliment in the statement: You are so skinny.  Really.  Not a drop. 

Everyone has insecurities.  Everyone.  Whatever you see when you look at me, I probably don’t.  Unfortunately, because those around me feel the need to push their insecurities on me in some unfair comparison, I am not allowed to talk about my insecurities in 0pen public.  And I know it’s not just me.  I’m willing to bet anyone blessed with something has to deal with similar comparisons and guilt.

But what are my insecurities?

I’m out of shape, severely.  Mostly due to my recent struggle with Lyme disease, but also because I’m lazy.  I know it.  I deal with it daily when I’m winded going up the stairs, when I can open a bottle, when I’m so tired I want to collapse, when I can’t run or do a sit up or lift a heavy object.  And I’m insecure about it.

I have small boobs.  They’re deflated and odd and just small.  Skinny girls tend to, but not all.  It sucks.  I wouldn’t dream of wearing a bra without padding.  And even then, on my more bloaty days, my tummy still sticks out further than the girls.  I’m insecure about that too.

Speaking of my tummy…I float somewhere between a size 4 and size 8 (depending on the brand and cut), but usually settle on a size 6 and a longer than normal shirt to cover the inevitable muffin-top situation.  Oh, and you don’t see that particular pleasant feature on me because I spend most of my time holding my breath and/or sucking in my gut.  Yeah, I’m insecure about that too.

My hair rarely cooperates.  My skin rebels like a teenager.  I have wrinkly hands and rough feet.  I have varicose AND spider veins, increasingly, on my legs.  I normally have dark circles under my eyes and less than white teeth.  My upper arm flab lets me do the “double wave” thing that is oh so pleasant to watch…so I just don’t extend my arms very often in any sort of wavy motion.  And I can’t find a decent razor to save my life, so there are bumps and missed spots and ingrowns galore, all the time. 

I realize I don’t have as much to complain about as some.  I realize I’m blessed in many ways.  I realize that most people don’t even see a third of the imperfections we see in ourselves.  I can handle my own quite solitary brooding in the mirror each night.  What I can’t handle is the barrage of backwards-ass compliments that do nothing but throw others’ insecurities in my face while making my own feel unworthy and petty.  I don’t thank you and I’m not sorry!  I love all my friends dearly.  I adore the ladies I work with.  Strangers, I could mostly give two shits about.  But I will do anything to lift the spirits of those around me.  I see all of your beauty.  I envy those things that make you sparkle and shine, but I refuse to deny you the right to revel in it.  No one should be made to feel bad about the things they don’t have; but also, no one should be made to feel bad for what they do have, so just stop already!

I have been desperately trying to map out some sort of career path for myself, oh, for the last 23 years or so, and so far? I have no idea!  In my younger days it was a teacher (of course), the president, a marine biologist.  I’ve dabbled more than once in the idea of being a cop or deputy sheriff.  In high school, when I actually gave some small amount of thought to my future (not very often), I vaguely remember an interest in psychology.  In college, I went down the ROTC path and wanted to be a pilot…oops, can’t due to my vision, so ok, how about a flight surgeon: the doctor in the Air Force who treats those on flying status.  But then I got pregnant, dropped out of college, had an abortion, went into a deep depression and enlisted in the Air Force instead, which brought me to my first real career direction: Air Traffic Controller.  Awesome job!  But various life choices have left me in a place that doesn’t suit Air Traffic Control well, military or civilian. 

Since separating, I’ve been falling  back on my military training as my “this is what I can do” thing.  The problem is, ATC training prepares you to be a controller…and not much else.  It’s not really a transferable skill set.  Sure, in college I did early childhood learning and data entry for an insurance company.  Since the Air Force, I spent a little over a year doing background investigations for a county public safety office (another fun interesting job).  But now I’m back in an ATC-ish job with a little light engineering and data processing on the side, and no expansion potential.  While the job is easy, and occasionally mildly rewarding, I’ve been struggling with the question: “is this really where I want to be?”  And I think I’ve determined the answer is a resounding “NO!”

But what do I want to do “when I grow up?”

My answer changes every month or so, it seems.  A year and a half ago when I was contracted to do some photography work, I thought, “this is it!  This is my in to a career I’ll really love!”  Yeah, no work since or besides that one job.  And would I really want to be a professional photographer?  Well, yes and no.  I would a la Ansel Adams.  Taking pictures of what I want, how I want, and selling them by the dozen to faceless masses?  That works for me.  Portrait work or anything that involves more than minimal interaction with actual people?  Not so much.  I don’t play well with others and it shows.  I’ve considered getting a math degree, but really, what do you do with that?  A physics or other science degree, but a research scientists (I would totally love that) gets paid basically nothing, and that’s if you can get in with a company like NASA (double love!).  Stay at home mom sounds better and better every day, but even with our recent jump in income, our equal jump in spending (yeah, we’re kind of retarded that way) has made that a total pipe dream.  So what to do?

First step is education, right?  I’ve achieved my Bachelor’s degree, albeit in a kind of BS way (no pun intended), but it doesn’t get me anything except a pretty piece of paper and a pat on the back.  So on to my Masters…but in what?  The smart choice is some sort of Management; Project Management, Business Management, Choose-Your-Own Management.  There are so many to choose from, but one problem is true to all: I would end up being a manager.  Did I mention I don’t play well with others?  While I can lead others, I am almost positive I don’t want to.  I like to be more hands on, more involved, and I like to work solo.  Depending on others is definitely not a strong suit with me.  Gee, don’t I just sound like a peach to work with?  So while I have achieved a BS BS degree, I really have no where to take it.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not totally BS.  It did educate me in the multiple facets of my current job, and after all, that is the goal of education, right?  To educate?  But it doesn’t move me forward.  It doesn’t open any doors of opportunity.  I learned stuff and got a feather in my hat.  Sweet.  Now what?

With a little bit of self-exploration (not that kind, you perv!), I think I may need to work on a second Bachelor’s rather than a Master’s, at least for now.  But options are limited by college offerings: must be all or mostly distance/online learning; by work intensity: I’m still working full time, commuting 1 1/2 hours a day total, and have two kids to worry about…oh, and I tend to go through lazy periods; and by financial feasibility: why spend the time and money on a degree that I can’t use to get a job after and that doesn’t even remotely apply to my current job? 

Top of the list at this very moment? Graphic Design.  Ok, so I may not be 100% familiar with all that Graphic Design is, but I think I would enjoy it.  And, ok, so I have no certainty at all that I will be able to find a decent paying job after, but I think I would enjoy it.  And, ok, so I’m only actually 60% sure that I would even enjoy working in that industry, but I think I would enjoy it.  I have a small amount of talent in design and art.  I enjoy artistic creation in almost all mediums.  And in an ideal world, I could work at home, with my family, on my beautiful Mac, and life would be all sunshine and roses…theoretically.  So I sent away for information from the Art Institute of America, and we shall see.  But, if any of you readers out there have some sort of experience or insight in this area of the career world that you are just dying to share…please feel free!  I could definitely use it. 

And in the meantime…more soul searching, self exploration, dreaming and hoping, while plodding along in this thing called my life until some sort of answer comes my way.  *sigh* and ho-hum.

The older I get, the less significant time seems to become.  Or more significant, depending on how you define significance.  There are seemingly fewer minutes in the day.  There are seemingly fewer days in the year.  I remember when the two months of summer break felt like a decade and the school year felt like a lifetime.  But now, with only two short weeks left in the boy’s kindergarten year, it seems like only yesterday we had our first meeting with his new teacher.  Like only a week ago, he was gone to his dad’s for the summer.  And in the blink of an eye, he will be back there again for this summer.  Part of me, I suppose the more selfish part, is looking forward to his (and my) vacation.  I will still see the girl as normal, but I won’t have child or children around every day.  That part of me looks forward to me time.  That part of me looks forward for the opportunity to do what I want, rather than what is expected of me.  That part of me looks forward to shucking off a good portion of responsibility, even if it is only for a short while.  But the rest of me dreads his departure as one might dread the amputation of a limb.  As I dread each and every time I have to say goodbye to one of my children.  More often with the girl, but in no way less painful.  You’d think I would have gotten used to the idea by now.  I’ve been saying temporary goodbyes to one or both of my children since the boy was a year old and his father “decided” to be a father.  Granted, there isn’t the stream of tears that once followed his departure, even if only for a weekend.  At least not an outward display of them.  But there is still the inconsolable pain of loss in my heart.  Thankfully this gradual shortening of time does make their times away seem slightly less “significant,” if not any less painful. 

But really, why does time shorten as years on the planet lenghten?  I remember when an 8 hour day was more than sufficient to finish any project I decided to take on.  In my mind it still is.  But in reality, 8 hours is a drop in the bucket.  In reality, I can lose an entire 8 hours to researching the compatibility of Rock Band and Guitar Hero games and equipment.  Or more recently, researching wedding invitations and photographers, only to not find a suitable option for either.  Apparently time has a cruel sense of humor.  The older I get, the more I have to accomplish, or alternately, the more I take on.  And the less time I seem to have.  Does this time-warp phenomenon only exist in my life, or is it universally true?  I could have sworn it was only 10am five minutes ago.  Only now I look at my clock and realize I have less than an hour left at work.  Where did the day go? 

It might be different if I accomplished something every now and again.  Or even if I just sat, but had incredibly prolific thoughts all day.  But no.  I simply maintain.  I maintain a household, barely.  I maintain a couple children, most of the time.  I maintain a functioning body and mind, sort of.  Even my maintaining is lacking in accomplishment, and I swear it’s because I just don’t have the time to do it right!  10 years ago, I could get things done, done well, and still have time to party all night and do it all again in the morning.  15 years ago I could write an impressive 10 page report in a couple hours.  And 20 years ago, days seemed like they would never end. 

Today?  Today I accomplished nothing.  Today I will feel hurried and tired all day.  Today the sun will go down before I realize the time.  Today I will go to bed exhausted, far to late, and dread tomorrow as I fall asleep.  And in two weeks I will have all the time in the world, yet will accomplish nothing with it.  And two months later, the boy will come home. The school year will start anew.  And life will keep on trucking at far to fast a pace, leaving me gasping for breath until the end.  How very depressing it all is.

Hmmm…really? 

Thanks to a quick trip to phychcentral.com, I’m now totally obsessing about my apparent “issues.”  The handy little “do you have a problem” quizzes have determined that not only am I moderatly likely to have Adult ADD/ADHD, but I’m also likely to have moderate OCD.  Hmmm…that would explain a lot!

I’ve also been struggling with my age lately.  Not so much the actual number, as I realize I’m not really old, yet, but rather the feel of my age.  It’s bothering me more and more when I look in the mirror and see another bright white hair laying against my naturally dark hair, or waking up in the morning with the general ache in my bones and a desperate need for a shower and coffee before I can utter a coherant sentence.  The Lyme has taken it’s toll on me, but I’ve also not taken very good care of myself and it’s showing all day long (as well as all night with my goal of being in bed by 9:30 and waking up at least once to pee).  When did I turn into an old lady?!  Has my fire really fizzled out, already?

My 6 year old son, in all his wisdom this morning told me: Mom, you don’t have to be old.  Just exercise and take care of your body and you won’t be.  Nice, hon.  When did you get so smart?

This will be a quick one…but necessary I think.  I’ve been away for so long, too long…

I got a comment email from the old writebrite site hosted directly through wordpress on one of my drawings.  As I dug a little deeper into my stats there, I noticed I’m still averaging about 50 hits a day, despite the fact that I haven’t posted anything at all in over a year.  I do understand this is not fantastically great number, but that people are still finding me intrigues me.  Most of the hits have been on my drawings as well…which gets me thinking…

I’ve allowed myself to become removed from many things for too long.  Whether because I’m personally avoiding them for whatever reason, or am “encouraged” to avoid them…maybe I’m missing some of me in the shuffle.  I haven’t been here, blogging, writing, expelling my demons sharing my innermost thoughts on the world, and other stuff.  I haven’t been drawing.  I haven’t been taking pictures.  I haven’t done anything at all that is mostly or totally focused on only me and my happiness/pleasure/relaxation/etc…hmmm…that must say something… Well, that’s going to stop…maybe…probably…maybe……..

No, really.  It’s time.  I’m getting my tube out Monday and it’s about time to get a handle on my life and what does and does not make me happy, because, dammit, I deserve to be happy…right? 

Tonight I drink a beer (or two, or three…) and toast me.  Care to join? 

I’ve been playing hooky from my blog lately.  Not exactly sure why.  Maybe I’m tired of whining about how I feel.  Maybe I’m having some guilt about blogging when there are a MILLION other things I should be doing that I’m just not.  Maybe I’m being lazy.  Whatever it is, maybe I’m over it.  Maybe I’m not. 

So how do I feel I (don’t) hear you ask.  Well.  Lyme disease sucks.  It really does.  Physically, I have more bad days than good days.  There is pain, pretty much everywhere.  Some days it’s not so bad.  Some days it’s excruciating.  Think of a body part…yeah, it hurts there too.  So that’s fun.  Also, there is the “floaters,”  the harmless little black lines and spots everyone has in their eyes from time to time.  Only, mine are multiplying like horny rabbits and are always there.  Seriously, the words on my computer screen are dancing right now.  It makes reading anything very difficult.  And a new addition to the eye thing: now there are white, or bright spots along with the black spots.  It must be similar to what celebrities see after being flashed with a thousand flashbulbs on a regular basis.  My ears, constantly ringing.  Constantly.  It’s like after going to a really good rock concert, only I don’t get the perk of actually going to a really good rock concert.  It makes me very sensitive to sounds.  Annoying sounds are that much more annoying.  Loud sounds are that much louder and more grating.  Even whisper sounds drive me nuts.  I’m seriously craving a sensory deprivation chamber right about now, but all my problems are internal, so that probably wouldn’t work anyway.  I’m nauseous, and my appetite fluctuates between famished and I never want to eat again.  I almost always have a headache.  At the moment (I think) I am developing a nasty cold, since I’m stuffy about 50% of the time and there is a golfball-sized lump where my left lymph node should be in my neck.  My hands and feet swell randomly.  I’m tired and achy when I wake up in the morning, every morning.  After my shower (at $5 per shower thanks to needing a 6×6 tagaderm patch just to take a shower…gift ideas anyone?) and coffee, I am fairly awake for about 2 hours, then back to sheer exhaustion until I finally make it to bed at night.  I have cotton mouth pretty much all the time thanks to the pain meds, which don’t full work.  I get horrible stomach and muscle cramps thanks to the antibiotic infusions every 12 hours.  And now I’m on ADHD meds for the severe memory lapses and brain fog, so who knows what kind of side effects that will bring.  The antibiotics are also bringing about all the “normal” antibiotic side effects: candida, indigestion, digestive issues, upset stomach, etc, etc.  Probiotics are holding it off to a tolerable level, but then that just adds another couple pills a day to choke down.  Yea! 

Then there is the emotional stuff.  Long term pain = depression, of some sort or another.  I’m cranky most of the time, which I very unfairly take out on Mr. W (who is taking this all very well considering) and my kids, unfortunately.  (If only the ex-men would call more often to take the brunt of the crank!)  I’m feeling extremely unattractive, undesirable, un-everything thanks to a new, very short hair cut that I’m really  not liking (the showering thing, it only made sense to make my “getting ready” routine as easy as possible),  the bloat/weight gain that makes it difficult and uncomfortable to get dressed in anything but sweats, and, oh yeah, there’s the 4 inch long tube sticking out of my chest, just above my left boob, which requires wearing a sports bra to bed every night, and I’m already pretty flat in that area.  Like I need the extra compression.  My upper body has become a no fly zone, and with my flat-chested sports bra “lingerie” and my extremely short hair, I’m feeling more an more like a boy in the bedroom.  Not so great for the “mood,” at least on my part anyway.

Aren’t you glad you asked? 

Beyond the Lyme, I’m prepping for Christmas, which incidentally will be held over New Years in my house as the kidlets are with their dads this year.  Money is tight, but on-line shopping has provided me with some fantastic deals over the last couple months.  Yea for being proactive in something. 

Mr. W got a new job, starting just after Christmas.  Fortunately it’s like a 40% pay raise and in the field he loves.  Unfortunately, his office is about a 1 1/2 hour commute each way, even with public transportation, and his hours may be sporadic due to the type of work he will be doing.  So he won’t be home much during the week.  But we will be moving somewhere near the middle in the early Spring, and hopefully his new connections up there will throw out some info on jobs in my field of work and then we can move all the way up there.  I’m not planning on changing jobs any time soon…well at least until after I A) graduate, also early spring, and B) get the tube out of my chest and resolve all of my health issues.  “Nice to meet you on my first day of work.  By the way, I’m going to need to work a half day once a week so I can meet my home nurse, and I need at least 2 days off a month for doctors visits, and will probably average 1 other day off a week for just general sickness, and that doesn’t even touch any kid-related time off…thanks for the job.”  Yeah, I’m sure that would go over well with a new or potential employer. 

And speaking of new jobs, one of my best girlfriends is starting today at her new job, here, with me.  Yea!!  We met briefly in basic training (different squadrons there), and went on to Tech school together.  Although we were in different classes for the same career field, we had the same circle of friends and lived in the same hall.  We went to our first base together and managed to work out being roommates there.  Our friendship didn’t do so well in the dorm setting.  She was a party girl and I grew tired of that pretty fast as I was more interested in boys, and yes I do mean boys.  Looking back, I had pretty shitty taste in males!  I married ex #1, despite her loathing of him and warnings about him.  I even left her off the guest list to our wedding.    Anyway, we both eventually transferred and went on with our lives.  You know my story.  She went over-seas.  Grew up a lot.  Had a son.  Moved back stateside, and we reconnected about 5 years later, our friendship re-growing on a much more adult level.  Long story short, she was looking for more security for her and her boy, and my office was looking for more reliable new employees.  I introduced the two and wa-la.  She starts today.  All around, it’s great.  I have a close friend who is actually geographically close.  My kids and her son get along great, and they all have had a shortage of “at home” friends up to this point in their lives.  And she’s getting the security and benefits she needs for her and her son, while working decent hours.  I get a reliable, hard co-worker among a group of (mostly) assholes and slackers.  Win-win-win all around!

So that’s that.  I’m successfully dizzy from watching the letters dance on my screen, my fingers are starting to tingle from actually using them.  And I need a smoke and a coffee refill.  Oh, yeah, and I should probably get to at least one of those previously mentioned MILLION things I need to get done, like, yesterday.

Just in case I slack on the blog again for a while…

I got it!  I got it!  I got it! 

The newest addition to our technological family arrived on Friday afternoon, after a long day of waiting by the door, checking the door, opening the door to see if anyone or anything was there, checking the doorbell to make sure it still worked…and then I saw it.  The glint of the sun reflecting off the white of the Fed Ex truck.  I ran to the door to greet the wonderful Fed Ex lady as she held it lovingly in her arms.  And it was huge! 

She was nice enought to bring it in the house for me because at 31 lbs, I can’t lift it.  Which means I couldn’t take it out of the box and do a naked worshippy dance for it…or, you know, just set it up and play with it…either one. 

So, the specs for the geeky types:

• 27″ Backlit, widescreen LED iMac  Yes, I did say 27 inches of LED fabulocity!
• 3.33GHz Intel Core 2 Duo processor with 6MB shared L2 cache
• 8GB (two 4GB SO-DIMMs) of 1066MHz DDR3 SDRAM
• 1TB 7200-rpm Serial ATA hard drive
• ATI Radeon HD 4850 graphics processor with 512MB of GDDR3 memory
• Built in iSight camera, mic, stereo speakers, wireless, bluetooth, Ethernet…you name it!

In the box:

• iMac
• Apple Keyboard w/ Number pad (I couldn’t do the wireless because I need the number pad on my keyboard) 
• Magic Mouse (the most amazing mouse ever!)
• Cleaning cloth
• Power cord
• Install/restore DVDs
• Printed and electronic documentation
• Apple Remote

And for the Greenies:

• Arsenic-free display glass
• BFR-free
• PVC-free⁵
• Highly recyclable aluminum and glass enclosures
• Meets ENERGY STAR 5.0 requirements
• Rated EPEAT Gold⁷

And I call him Mr. Wonderful!!  Yes, Mr. W ordered it for me, and took care of all the upgrades to make it just what I want!  I am such a lucky girl!  He set it up for me Friday night too, overwhelming my now seemingly little desk with the iMac’s massiveness and fantasticness!  It’s. seriously. HUGE!  And the “Magic Mouse” is the coolest mouse ever!  (ok, let me pause here to apologize about my overenthusiasm for exclaimation points in this post, but I’m a little excited over the whole thing, so bear with me.)  The “Magic Mouse” works kinda like the touchpad on the MacBooks, for those of you who know how they work anyway.  It’s a thin, wireless, bluetooth, optical mouse with only one button which covers the whole surface.  You can program it to use a single button, or two buttons, which just means you push the right-ish or left-ish side of the mouse to make it respond.  There is no scroll wheel.  Instead, you just scroll your single finger up and down, or left and right on the  mouse for scrolling.  Also, there is a two-finger feature which allows you to flip through web pages, photos, even andvance/rewind video by sliding two fingers horizontally across the mouse.  Oh, and you can zoom your screen by holding down the cntrl key and single-finger scrolling up or down, which is really handy when your monitor is 27 freaking inches and your web pages insist on remaining normal web page size and you can’t figure out how to maximize your window because it’s technically not a window since you are on a Mac OS and not on Windows, but it looks just like a window, but different, and totally doesn’t behave like a window…*whew* sorry about that…just some change-over frustration there…but totally worth it!

Here’s the “Magic Mouse”

It really is a fantatic and aesthetically pleasing little thing! 

And without further ado…drum roll…here he is:

In the box

And on my (seemingly small) desk