Boogie's New Kitty

Sometimes I sit and watch T-Boogie, and I am completely overwhelmed with how amazing she is. I have never seen a more beautiful, intelligent, friendly child in my entire life, and I don’t feel entirely biased even though I helped create her. She is truly an incredible kid, and I feel so blessed, day after day, that she chose me as her Mommy.

It trips me out how smart she is. I don’t think her father or I had that much common sense when we were her age. We took her to the Civic Center lagoon yesterday to feed the ducks all the stale chips and cereal I cleaned out of the pantry earlier in the day. When we got there, I threw a few handfuls of food so they would come closer to her. She crouched down in a semi-squat with her hands in front of her, and started calling to the geese as she slowly baby-stepped towards them. I don’t know where she learned that, with most animals including our dogs and the cat, she sort of just tumble-runs towards them, and tackles them to the ground for pets and giggles, but somehow she sensed that approach probably wouldn’t work with the ducks and geese.

Earlier this weekend, I had her on the bed just playing around with whatever we could find, an empty birth control box, the lids off perfume bottles, and clean but unfolded socks. She saw Tygir lying on P’s pillow sleeping, and crawled over to her. Now normally, we don’t let her mess with the kitty because she’s old, and doesn’t particularly like kids. I think they are too loud, too rough and too fast for her older sensibilities, but Boogie doesn’t really seem to care, and laid her head on Tygir’s side, wrapped both arms around her, and plastered this huge grin on her face. She must have lain like that for 10 minutes, one hand on the back of Tygir’s neck, one stroking her belly, and her head firmly planted on her stomach. Tygir was purring like a mad-animal, little specklets of drool dripping from her mouth, and occasionally Boogie would lift her head up, smile and me, then plop it right back down on Tygir’s side.

It was such a beautiful sight, my old cranky cat who doesn’t like very many people, snuggling with my baby. And I realized it’s not my cat anymore, she’s all Boogie’s.

I'm SO Cool

Have I mentioned before the hideous painted-gold three-light monstrosity hanging from the ceiling in my living room?

No? Well, let me elaborate... It came with the house, and it's ugly as dirt.

Aside from the fact that every single fixture in this either silver or brushed nickel, and I can't wrap my mind around the thought process to put a cheap-ass GOLD colored hanging light in the room we spend *almost* most of our time in.

But they did.

And now... it's gone.

I bought this beautiful ceiling fan a few weeks ago at Home Depot, and I was being all Damsel in Distress about putting it up. I had requested assistance from a few different men, but none seemed to have the time to get it done, so I said, fuck it. I put it up, just me and T-Boogie while P was picking up the Nanny at the airport.

And I was thisclose to being finished, and I realized I'm missing a piece. It's not a huge deal, but it's supposed to hold the frosted glass over the lights, which are under the fan blades, so I need to go order it soon so I can take a picture and post it on here.

I probably should have taken a "before" shot, but I don't want any reminders about how stupidly hellacious that other light is, so, you'll just see the beauty, and you will be impressed, I promise.

Soon

Completely and Utterly Fucked Up

I wish from the bottom of my heart that I could blog about an incident that occurred today, but I think that if it gets out, he will never be forgiven.

Steps are being taken to stop P's alcohol consumption, because he is out of control. I know I'm inviting questions by even posting this, but I appreciate your understanding that I need to get some of this out, and I don't want to answer questions.

I never thought it would happen. I'm heart-broken that it did, because it can never be taken back. It's one of those things that will forever taint my view of him, and if it ever happens again, I will face being a single mother, because I'm not having it. I told him to leave today, but I did let him come back on the condition that he stops drinking.

My initial suggestion was to drink in moderation, but I realize that's not an option for an alcoholic. He's tried that, and once he starts, he can't stop. It's peaking now with the black-outs, not remembering the fight at Maya's, not remembering the horrific incident this morning, it's got to stop.

Support and suggestions are welcome. I don't know what to do right now.

Presents

You can tell a lot about a person by the present they buy for your child.

For instance, a person who buys a gift, no matter how small, when they refuse to speak to you is a person who genuinely cares about your kid. Or they could be a complete a-hole trying to make you feel guilty for your actions by still thinking of your child. I like to believe the former.

Then there are those people who will throw cheap, thoughtless items together as a gift. They might be procrastinators who forgot to stop by the store ahead of time, or they could only be buying a gift out of a feeling of obligation, not really caring too much if the gift is something your child will use or enjoy. I believe the latter on this one, and yeah, it's nice you remembered to bring something, but next time, don't bother.

And finally, my favorite, are those folks who go out and search for that perfect gift for your child. It may not be exactly what you were expecting, or maybe it was, but it is something your child is guaranteed to use and enjoy for a long time, because a lot of thought went into it. These people love and treasure your child, I think, and also value your friendship. If someone doesn't care enough about your child to get them something they will really like, that person in my mind doesn't value your friendship as much either. And I don't mean these are expensive gifts, but they are thoughtful.

I've been buying a TON of gifts lately, and more gift cards this year than I can ever remember doing in the past. Part of that is I don't want to buy people I don't know super-well something that they won't like, and I also don't want to over-step the friendship bounds by buying something inappropriate. I don't want people to be weirded out that I remembered that 7 months ago they mentioned they really wanted something and I got it for them, and then they are like, "How did you know I wanted this? Weirdo-stalker, eh? Nobody pays that much attention to other people..."

***

So anyway. I think it's the little things that count. I'm big on intention. And I feel awful right now because people I care about are hurting and I don't know how to make it better. I know it's not my job, and I have all these ideas on what I could bring to them to try to make things a tiny bit easier, but I don't want to overstep some invisible boundary that I never learned about. I don't want to show up unannounced and intrude on their grief. I don't want to belittle their loss by bringing them something that I think they would appreciate, but maybe it's not the right time. Maybe my ideas are not appropriate, maybe I should wait a week until I figure out how much I can give without being creepy.

I have this problem a lot. I love to give. I love to hang out with my friends, but I don't want to appear like I'm overly-needy, or trying to buy their friendship. I don't want people to be wary that I was thinking of them at the farmer's market and picked them up something. I don't know when it's okay to do things like that, if we have to be friends for a year first, or if we discuss the intimate details of our lives, it's okay to sporadically buy them stuff, not gifts necessarily, but if I see something and it reminds me of you, can I get it for you without being weird?

Psychosomatic

I feel sick.

My neck hurts, my stomach is upset, my throat is sore with the dry coughing and I’m irritable.…

I thought maybe I caught a bug somewhere, but when I called P to ask how he was feeling, he suggested maybe I’m just stressed. I can see that, maybe, considering the circumstances and my lack of control about them, maybe I’m a bit stressed. But I thought I was handling this well. I thought I wasn’t too worried about anything, that money wouldn’t be too much tighter than it is now, but I’m rethinking that idea, and it’s very possible that I’m psycho-somatizing.

Is that even a word?

I’ve been feeling really tired lately, and that gaping chasm in the earth that is my depression feels like it’s going to swallow me whole again. But this time instead of hurling myself over the edge without abandon, I feel like one of those circus-clown bears riding a pink miniature bike with streamers flowing off the handlebars and those clickety-clack beads on the spokes bouncing up and down as I slowly spiral my way into it.

I thought I was handling this well, but I’m scared.

Being faced with possibly losing the house when we already barely have enough cash after bills to pay for food and gas is terrifying. Where would we go? Would our marriage survive a loss like that? We are so far from being content with each other as it is, the stress of worrying more than we already do about money is taking its toll. But I know we’ll have enough, and he’ll find another job soon. At least I think we’ll have enough. We have no savings. I can’t afford insurance for him and if something happened…. We would be screwed.

But I didn’t realize I was so worried about this. The loss of control, and knowing that next week there will be another check is hard. We’ve been hand to mouth for so long I thought we would be comfortable by now, but we’re not. One thing could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. It wouldn’t be like this if he listened to me, but part of marriage is letting the other person have a say and this is what happens when he makes financial decisions for us.

I feel awful. I don’t even have the energy to want to read a book and oink out on ice cream, just want to sleep it all away. I really did think I was handling this better, but I guess suppressing the fear and anxiety just makes it manifest in another way.

Damn.

Month Fourteen

It never seems to fail that when I sit down to write to you, I can hear you miserable in the background. The entire month hasn't been this bad, but this past weekend your sleep schedule was severely disrupted, and now we are both paying for that sin. But what can two party girls do? It's a good lesson to learn early on...

This month has been pretty cool though. You really embody a toddler now, no longer my helpless little baby, you have a mind of your own and you don't mind sharing it with everyone. That may be an exaggeration, you are very well-behaved in public, but in the privacy of our home you really stretch those wings and express your opinions.

Like, you won't be fed by a spoon, unless you are up walking around. Nothing new there, except that now you won't eat finger foods yourself either, unless it happens to be frozen berries or Garden Burgers. And you want water all. the. time. The sign language is progressing well, but anything with four legs and fur is "kitty" and you want water from a cup, not a sippy cup, but an open top one you can drench yourself in, every six seconds.

And now you run, sort of. When we pretend like we're chasing you, you do this high-step baby-run which usually lasts about two feet before you fall over giggling. Hilarious. And when we say "noni" you immediately lay your head down on the closest thing you can find and pretend you're snoring. Sometimes you lie of the kitchen floor, sometimes on a dog, or a box or a book. Doesn't really matter because you find this game hilarious (and really, we do too) and do it on queue every single time. Even in the middle of Target, you'll lay on the floor and kick one leg as you giggle and stare up at us.

And there is a developing fascination with the toilet the last couple weeks. I hate to put this out there as something you may forever be teased about, but you pooped in the bathtub the other day. When I realized what you were doing, I sort of freaked out and put you straight on the toilet, and you finished your business there. It was your Papa's job to fish your angels out, and I don't know how he did it, but I hope I never have to. The next evening, you started straining in the bathtub again, so I put you on the potty again before you dirtied the tub, and you pooped there! I even gave you a square of toilet paper and you wiped at your leg. Darling, I was so proud. Thirteen months, and already pooping on the toilet, AND you knew to wipe! Although I shouldn't be surprised at that part, when you are in the restroom with me, lately you've been trying to wipe for me too. And maybe that's another thing I shouldn't just post on the internet, but it's adorable, and you are so smart to know what to do without ever being explicitly shown.

Forgive me for being in awe of you. So much seems to have come to your awareness lately that every day is a new lesson for both of us. You're now saying Mama, which could almost make my heart explode, but it's more of a demand, like "Mama, get me that NOW!" Than an "I love you Mama," tone. But beggars can't be choosers, right?

I've been trying to go on walks, but... well, we never make it much further than the curb in front of the house. There is just too much to look around at, the cedar bark on the ground, flowers, ants, pieces of plastic trash. Everything must be examined, picked-up, shown to Mama, thrown away, and then chased again. I can't imagine what you are thinking, but I like to think you understand me when I'm explaining things to you. And as of now, you are most definitely bilingual. I hope it sticks, your Papa's family is so excited that you respond and follow directions in Spanish, and I'm hoping that's also the reason you aren't really talking much. Besides Mama and Dada, you don't say much verbally, but your sign language repertoire is getting better, you've mastered hungry, water, more, kitty, poop, and probably more that I can't think of now. And you know what we're saying, though obviously you don't always listen.

So there it is Sweet-Sweet. You are amazing. You amaze me. Even though you turn off the printer and computer when I'm in the middle of working, and you try to step on the kitty when she won't let you play with her. And even now that you are always wanting to wash you hands, and then spread lotion on them, and your face, and my face, and the dogs...

I love you more than I can ever explain.

Mommy.

Still Embracing

I’ve been having this weird sensation lately of listening to people talking and thinking “Holy! Is that what I sound like?” Or seeing people walk down the street in an outfit that I could have picked out myself and wondering “Gawd, do I look that weird?” And not in a bad way, but more of an “I wonder what people really think of me” way.

Because I have all these odd preconceptions about myself, and many of them have been validated, but in this new striving-to-not-give-a-shit-that-I’m-a-Weirdo mode, I’m wondering how many of the misconceptions about me I’ve perpetuated.

Let me give you an example. People who don’t’ know me think I’m a bitch. Well, people who know me think the same thing, but for good reason. And it’s not that I’m stuck up, but I’m very shy. And I started musing on why people assume that I’m evil, when they’ve never heard a word out of my mouth. I don’t trust people who don’t’ speak up, so I know that’s part of it. But I started to look at the people I am around, or see on the street, and try to see form an outside perspective how I appear to others.

And wow.

My habit of jumping from topic to topic without finishing a thought? Very annoying.

Smiling at everyone I pass in the hallways at work, but not always saying Hi or Good Morning? A little creepy.

Trying to dress-down fancy pants with sneakers and a tee-shirt? Looks really odd.

Black eyeliner in the middle of the day? Maybe not the softest look.

And all of the above on a pretty girl? Weird. Score!

But really, I think people see me and assume I’m unapproachable. Which it not true most times, but very true some moments. It’s fun to recognize traits in others that you know you have, and I can be amused at the quirks. I’m not perfect, I used to think I was the closest thing to God walking this earth, but I’m over that. I think everyone else was over it before I was.

I know I have blind spots, maybe a look in my eye or a tone to my voice that warns people to stay away? And even if I don’t mean it in the moment, it’s something I’ve developed to protect myself, to set boundaries with people I didn’t want to approach me. So it’s my own fault, but I feel like I have enough maturity and strength to verbally let people know when they are infringing on my personal rights, and I’d like to get rid of my “Stay Way” vibes.

I do notice that people approach me a lot more when I have Taryn. Maybe I need to act every day the way I do when I’m with her. I would probably be much happier if I really felt that all day long. Gawd, that kid is amazing. I can’t pinpoint what it is that makes me act differently with her, maybe because I really am happy, or because I’m less self-conscious since I’m so focused on her. Maybe my self-consciousness is mistaken for bitchiness?

The thing that is irking me with this whole line of thought, and excuse me for being an a-hole by saying this, but why are normal-looking people allowed to be shy, and it is expected that I am not? Not to blow up my head bigger than it already is, but I know most days I look good. It’s just not fair for people to assume that since I’m not outgoing, I’m snotty. If I was ugly, would I have this same problem? I really don’t think people would assume that I quiet because I thought I was better than them, they would assume I was quiet because I was shy.

And I’m shy because all my life I’ve been attracting attention that I didn’t want. It’s traumatic as a 12 year old to have old men at the bus stop telling you the things they want to do to you, thinking you were older. And it’s intimidating to be singled out by teachers as the “very smart, exotic-looking one” and be expected to represent the entire African-American race. It’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid who just wants to fit in and be normal, because no matter what I did, people saw me. I became self-conscious at a young age when I realized that some people could walk into a room and not be noticed, but I was never one of them. It wasn’t always a bad thing, but it was fairly consistent. And I started to over-think every single action, knowing that someone would see it.

And I’ve partly grown out of that, because while yes, people still notice if I walk into a meeting and have a wedgie, I’m realizing that their opinions of me really mean jack. So you think I have no fashion sense? Fine. My hair isn’t perfect? Neither is yours. I screwed up a case and my face turned bright red? Yep, and in about a minute it’ll be back to the beautiful café au laite color you wished yours was. I know, easier said than done, but it is getting easier. And even though it takes constant attention to remind myself that my world will not end if you don’t approve of me, I obviously don’t have much else to focus on right now.

So thanks, you’re helping me to become the Weirdo I’ve always known I was.

Sometimes it Would Hurt Less to be Jaded

I didn’t know him, not really. I knew a lot about him, I knew where he lived and how much he earned. I knew his account balances and his medical history, but nothing that really mattered. I didn’t know his favorite color, of anything about his family.

I did know that he was dying, and now he is dead.

How can I shed tears for someone I didn’t know? I can grieve for the loss of life, he was young, and kind, but the weight pressing down on my chest is nothing in comparison to his mother hearing her child is gone. Or his lover losing his best friend.

People make immature decisions early in life. People are often uninformed, and in his case, the lack of information cost him his life. Twenty years of pain, I just pray he’s in a better place now.

Rest in Peace.

Loyalty

There aren't a whole lot of times in the course of a friendship in which you are able to prove, without a doubt, that you got your friend's back.

One I remember was at a party a few years ago. We were all standing around outside, drinking beer and having a cig break from the noise inside. Two guys started fighting about some BS, something about one being Mexican and one Brazilian, and they got all macho on each other and started swinging. Tere got popped in the face, and my first reaction was to jump on the guy who hit her. P grabbed me, picked me up and carried me inside where B was getting ice for her face.

Now I understand that B wanted to take care of his girl, it's sweet really, but I wasn't about to let someone walk away without getting hit back for punching her like that. And I didn't care if it was an accident, I didn't think, I just reacted.

Last night was another one of those nights. P got into an altercation with a restaurant manager. The manager started shoving him around, and without thinking my first reaction was to jump in the middle of them and try to get the guy off my husband. P was trashed. He wasn't thinking straight enough to defend himself, and none of his "boys" were doing a damn thing either.

The manager shoved me out of the way, grabbed P by the neck and pushed him down an outdoor flight of stairs. So I, in all my unthinking glory, jumped on the manager's back, holding onto his arms so he wouldn't go after him again. P was stumbling to get up, and the manager was a lot stronger than me and shook me off. He shoved P again, knocking him into a table and he tripped over a chair and fell. I grabbed the manager's face and was shoving him away from P, the guy kept raising his hand to hit me, and I dared him to do it, knowing he'd never make it out of a crowded bar alive after hitting a female in front of a bunch of drunk men. Finally some big guy from the bar came over and held the manager back while I calmed P down who was ready (haha) to kick the guy's ass.

And I was pissed. I couldn't fathom why in the fuck all these guys would stand around and let P get beat on, knowing how drunk he was, and not even stepping in when I was the only one trying to break up the fight. I don't want to be racist, but is it a thing with only minorities that we will defend each other no matter what? I knew P probably provoked the guy, but I also knew P couldn't fight him off, and I think his friends knew that too, but they would have let him get his ass kicked.

I wasn't even drunk, because if I had been I might have started swinging on the manager, which is not the right thing to do. But since I had stopped drinking probably 3 hours before, my only thought was to protect him from this guy who was raging. I'm so disappointed not only in how P was acting, but the lack of reaction from his friends. And maybe it's misplaced anger, but I would hope that my friends would jump into a fight with me if they thought I was getting my ass kicked. At least step in to help break it up.

And I'm not talking about high school, hunting some chick down and jumping her for some stupid reason. I'm talking about seeing your friend in a situation in which they could potentially be seriously hurt (like being shoved down a flight of stairs) and not remaining a bystander.

But whatever. That's how I feel about my friends. I'm loyal. Even if you've pissed me off recently, I'm still going to be the one to jump into a bar fight with you, or lock you in the trunk of my car so the police don't get you while you're still drunk. And I'll be the one to admit to the police that yes, I jumped in. So if you're going down for assault and battery charges, I'm going right with you.

So the Truth Finally Comes Out

(You may want to get some coffee first .... this is a long one)

For the past two and a half years, a beat-up old Cutlass Supreme has been sitting in the only covered parking space available at my house. From my doorway, it looked like a dusty black, but in fact it has red stripes up the hood (spray painted on, thankyouverymuch) and the opposite side of the care is alternately a baby-ish blue and stripped metal. He never got around to painting the other side.

For the fisrt few months, P worked on the car every weekend, sanding down the paint, attempting to hammer out some of the dings, and laying a dingy blue rug throughout the interior to cover the lack of floor panels and ripped blue leather. The car is an eyesore, although that may really be an understatement. A piece of carpet was placed under it so that the oil oozing from the engine would be somewhat soaked up. Two tires are flat, and I found a hubcap in a bush a few weeks ago. The engine will only start if it's jumped, but otherwise that part at least is in decent shape.

The car was not exactly gifted to P. He sort of inherited it when La Tia threatened to send it to the junk yard. His Tio Toto loved that car, and drove it into the ground. When Tio Toto passed away from a misdiagnosed, God-awful cancer which ravaged his body making him unable to eat or walk, but left his razor-sharp mind intact, he gifted the Cutlass to Julio, who didn't have the money to make it driveable, so he left it in front of La Tia's house in Petaluma. And P claimed it.

So for two years, it has sat untouched in our carport, save the readjustments to the cover when the wind blew more than a single gust. Finally he got frustrated with the cover too, and left the car to blind anyone passing by, with it's degraded glory. For two years we begged foregiveness from the neighbors for leaving such an ugly, inoperable, unregistered vehicle park where they were forced to see it daily. And finally they started complaining to the HOA.

So I saw a note on it a few days ago that it was going to be towed. The note was old though, that's how much attention was paid to the car, and it was supposed to be gone a week before I found it. I finally convinced P that we needed to do something with it before they took it from him, and we decided it would be better to donate it to charity than have it torn apart for scrap metal. I looked online, contacted Marin AIDS Project who agreed to come tow it, and as of about 12:30pm yesterday, it was gone.

P had a really rough day. As he walked back into the house and the tow truck was pulling away from the curb, I could see him fighting back tears. There were people around, so I cracked a joke to give him some composure time, and headed back to work.

Last night I stopped at Safeway to get some beer, knowing he needed to grieve and that he wouldn't allow himself to lose face by doing it sober. We danced around the issue for a few hours, but he refused to discuss it, each time we came close tears welled up in his eyes, and he would angrily wipe them away and change the subject. When he finally had enough to drink to let his guard down, the tears streamed down his face and my heart broke open.

I don't understand. I've lost people before, but none were that closed to me. My great grandmother passed recently, and as heartbroken as I was it was more for the loss of life in general, than any real attachment to her as a person. It sounds cruel, but I didn't know her. We had a blood bond, but that was all. My uncle passed a few months after Tio Toto, and again I cried, but I didn't know him well. I mourned the sudden-ness of it, and the suffering my aunt would endure, and he was a good man, but I'd only met him once and so the grieving was relatively short.

But once the tears started flowing they quickly went from genuine grief to this overly dramatic spilling a sip of beer in his name, kissing his hand and holding it over his heart, asking for forgiveness, and I couldn't take it. I snapped. It was only for 10 minutes or so that he did that, and I'm sure I was a complete a-hole in the moment, but I told him to be real. I told him that if he was going to grieve, he needed to do it for the right reason. I said he didn't give away his uncle, he gave away the car, and I apologized for pressuring him, but told him that he needed to keep his Tio Toto in his heart and mourn his death, not giving away a material object that he once owned.

And I think he got it. He sat quietly for a minute, and then said, yes, I was right. He felt guilty that the day before Tio Toto passed away, he had called P to go visit him and he didn't. He regretted not going to say goodbye, and it felt like a double betrayal that he is now giving away the one thing he had left of him.

I remember at his funeral, P didn't want to say goodbye. I basically forced him to go up to the casket and say a prayer for him. I knew that if he didn't do it, as much as he opposed it in the moment, he would not forgive himself for missing that opportunity. I knew there was something wrong at the funeral, but I was busy taking care of the kids so the adults could say their goodbyes, and I never pressured him to tell me.

So there it is. Guilt is an ugly thing. It makes you irrational, and it sucks that people feel so much shame, so much that they can't face what it really is about in order to work through it. I dont' think I did anything to "solve" his problems, but I'm hoping that when he starts to feel that guilt and shame he can remember that it isn't about the car. And anyway, we did a good thing. Hopefully when they auction the car off they'll get enough to help someone out with medications or doctor's appointments or something. Hopefully.

I know this is long, there is a lot to this. But P also said something that broke my heart and confirmed years-old suspicions that I've had.

He said that one of the reasons he felt so close to Tio Toto was that they both loved women their families hated.

Yeah. He finally admitted what I've known for years. His family hated me. I don't think they do anymore, but he made me out to be this crazy American bitch who broke his heart and trampled his self-worth, turning him into a depressed, angry, alcoholic recluse. And then when we got back together, I was the Golden Child. I saved him from himself.

At Tio Toto's funeral, people were whispering about the "other woman." The mother of his children would not allow her to pay her respects, even though he had been divorced for decades and the "other woman" had been by his side, loving him and caring for him when nobody else would. P said he understood the ostracism, loving an American, choosing a woman over his family.

And on some level, I always knew it, although he denied it up and down for the past 7 years, I knew it, and now I can stop worrying about pleasing them. It's hard to be yourself when you have a suspicion someone doesn't like you, but won't admit it. It's a weird feeling. It doens't change my feelings toward them, I love his family, but I'm glad to finally know why I felt so out of place for so many years.

One of Those Days

I want to sit at home, snuggled up in my jammies with a good book, a cup of coffee and some cheddar and broccoli soup.

But I have entirely too much to do. Drop off my leather jacket at the cleaners, write up P and I's Advance Directives and PoA's, take care of the little terror (who is feeling much better, and hence has MUCH more energy), get Vic a gift for her birthday, and make P some lunch in the next 30 minutes...

*sigh*

Of course I could have been snuggled up for the last hour or so, but this damn computer won't let me go!

I got bored with my book again, so I'm planning to start another soon. Maybe during her afternoon nap.

I am Fertile Again!

After a short 22 months, Aunt Flo is back for a visit and I am officially (biologically) ready for #2! If only my finances recovered to quickly. I'm bummed out due to the inconvenience, but stoked that my magical baby-making powers are back.

And it is on this old-newcomer that I am blaming the following statement:
I have been having some seriously inappropriate dreams about someone other than my husband.

And I'm slightly disturbed, because this is someone that I haven't thought of in that way before. Okay, maybe a little bit, but not quite so...graphically.

Gawd, and what to do? I see this person every day, more than a few times a day at work, and I know I'm blushing when we speak, so thank Goodness my office is so dark, but I feel like the bright red ACT NORMAL sign on my forehead is blinking and it's throwing me off so that I know I get a tiny smile in the corners of my mouth when we speak, but I can't help it.

How naughty, eh? But don't worry folks, this person is in a committed relationship, as am I, and there is not a hot damn thing that I going to do about this in real life. It's just tripping me out, you know, and since shame is not a word I'm familiar with lately, I wanted to share.

Thanks, I feel better. And I know it's only 9pm, but I'm suddenly very tired.

:)

Twinkle Twinkle

I was sitting outside last night, looking into the sky and wishing for a sign.

I've been feeling religiously stuck lately, and I want to get back to the innate feeling of being surrounded by God like I used to, but I don't know how. I really wanted a cash-sign, like a winning lotto ticket (even though I don't play) or a huge inheritance (but I don't have any rich relatives).

As I was staring out over the fence line, admiring the beautiful old oak trees on my hill I noticed a single star shining through the cloud cover. I stood up and searched the rest of the sky, but there were no other stars in view. It was before 8pm, and the sky was still fairly bright, so I sat outside for about 15 more minutes contemplating a recent decision P and I made.

No other stars were showing.

And I'm going to take this as a sign that I'm not going against my faith, that God is okay that I'm covering my bases. I need something, and the only way I can find it right now is through Taryn, and I think God understands that.