Oh, hello! Help yourself to some hot wings and fries. Good stuff.
I had to force myself to not do the ugly cry tonight.
Almost three years ago, Madam X started to not feel well. We didn’t know what was going on, but she kept getting worse. She was tired all the time, her spleen was enlarged, her mental faculties were diminishing. She was gray. There’s no other way to accurately describe how she looked.
After six months or so of living like this and slowly deteriorating, Madam X was taken into the hospital emergency room. Her spleen was of a size that warranted immediate surgery. Since so much blood had been diverted to her spleen, she wasn’t able to think clearly. That explained her inability to think clearly and remember things and walk more than a block without needing to sit down. While they were in there, digging around, they found out that Madam X has cancer. Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.
During that time, Madam X and Mister Y were in the process of selling the house in which they had lived for more than 40 years. They were moving into a smaller house that was newer and more manageable. There was a lot going on. Madam X was going through chemo, moving,. Everyone was completely stressed. Luckily, the cancer was caught early enough that radiation wasn’t needed in addition to the chemo. We were all really hopeful.
After the chemo, Madam X went into remission. She recovered slowly, but we were convinced that it was a blip on the radar. Every checkup seemed to be a reaffirmation of this, as the blood tests showed that all counts were good and this vile disease was being defeated.
This past summer, Madam X started to not feel good again. She was tired all the time. She didn’t want to go to the doctor until her regularly scheduled checkup, despite me begging her to do so. I think she knew, better than anyone, what the results were going to be. I should have known. So, in September, when she should have found out that, yet again, she was clear, she instead found out that the cancer is back.
Her doctor seemed to be optimistic and encouraging. Chemo was scheduled for every three weeks for 6 courses. The doctor said this was going to take care of it. I’ve been watching Madam X during all of this and I see that she’s not recovering as well this time. She remains tired all the time. She is certainly not bouncing back as quickly. I can feel my heart breaking.
Thanksgiving is coming up. Madam X does not want to, or can’t, do such an event. Her daughter suggested that we all go out for dinner instead. But even that seems like too much for Madam X. The last time I spoke with her daughter, she callously shot off a “She probably won’t be alive for it next year, so we should do something.”
(Pausing for the ugly cry now…. brb…)
I’m back.
So ever since, that statement has been on my mind. I asked Madam X’s son if he thought that statement was accurate too. He said that he didn’t think it would be that soon, but that it was coming. Hence, the ugly cry.
I love Madam X more than anyone else on the planet. She has been there for me through everything – good, bad, or indifferent. She has been an inspiration. She has been my cheerleader, my leveler, my hero, and my friend.
I know that, at 42, I am of an age where people in my life will be getting sick and/or dying. But in this situation, I feel like I am 12. I should be mature enough to handle this. Of course I will be sad. Of course it will hurt. But do I need to have a complete meltdown at just the THOUGHT of this person not being in my life? People die all the time, and their loved ones go on. They go on with life, with love, with living. They don’t lose their sh*t.
I don’t want to hurry this process along, but how am I going to deal with this brilliant, lovely, loving woman not being in my life? I need to find a way to hold it together the next time I see her, the next time we get together for breakfast. I mean, if I am this much of a mess as a result of some off-hand, snotty remark by Madam X’s daughter, what will I do when the real thing happens?
I am angry and sad and I know that it is completely unfair that this woman is sick. She has worked hard her entire life. She has given everything to her family and her children. She never asks for anything in return. She is kind, and loving, and sweet, and (normally) full of life.
Tonight, this is my struggle. This is my challenge. This is my reason for sobbing.
Madam X deserves better. She deserves to reach the end of her life surrounded by joy and beauty and love. She doesn’t deserve to have this horrible disease get the best of her.
Madam X, I love you and I want you to get better. And if fate is cruel and doesn’t allow that to happen, I want you to know that you will be with me forever – as a constant reminder of how to live, as a good and true person. I can only hope to, one day, be a fraction of the woman you are.
Oh, hello! Help yourself to some cheesy-poofs.
So, I just recently found out about this thing called National Novel Writer’s Month, or NaNoWriMo for short. It’s a challenge for would be writers to commit to writing 50,000 words, or a novel of about 175 pages, in 30 days. Quality is not the focus. Quantity is. It’s a way to challenge yourself, and IMO give yourself a kick in the butt to get writing.
My friend K2Kid has often said that she wants to get a book published. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that she is one of the most brilliant people I know. So, when I heard about NaNoWriMo, I sent her a text with a link to the website, and 3 words: I dare you. I would love to see her do this and maybe get published. I mean, let’s be honest, there is some real dreck out there. If that can get published, something smart should be able to, right?
K2Kid signed up. And then challenged me to do it with her. YIKES! Have I ever wanted to be a writer? I don’t know. I mean, look how long it took me to start a friggin’ blog! And now, 50,000 words?? What in goat’s name would I write a novel about? I’m not one of those people who “see” their characters in their minds and know what they will be doing 100 pages in.
But, peer pressure being what it is, I signed up. In the back of my mind, I figure I can always sign up and cheer on K2Kid, along with Debra of Reflecting fame, and Jose of FabergeMonkey fame. I mean, I’ll give it a go for a few days, but quite honestly, 1,500 words in and I’ve already learned that OH MY GOAT I’M BORING!! If I’m boring myself, how in the name of all that is good and holy will anyone else want to read it. No amount of editing will save this.
I’m going to look at this as a great way to challenge myself, and definitely get out of my comfort zone. If nothing else, maybe I can use this as a way to be introspective and find out what’s going on inside. Maybe even find out how my fun got broken. A journaling intensive, if you will. I won’t be disappointed if I don’t make it to the 50,000 words. I know that it was a huge step for me to even sign up. And no matter how far my friends get, I will be there cheering them on for the same accomplishment.
FMI, or if you want to sign up or donate, go to www.nanowrimo.org.
Oh, hello! Lovely salad today. Dressing on the side.
I used to be fun. Honest.
Back in the day, I would get dressed up and go out with my friends. We’d drink, and dance, and laugh, and pick up boys (who wanted to be men.) The night would be considered young at 10pm. Heck, we wouldn’t even leave the house until after 10. That was back when people could still smoke in bars – you’d come home reeking of cigarettes, and need to take a shower. Sleep (or pass out) for a few hours, then start making plans to do it all again.
But, somewhere along the way, my fun got broken. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to it, and when, but the thought of going out and being jostled in a loud, too crowded bar holds all the appeal of the cats chewing my toes off. Maybe it’s a function of getting older, or the after effects of being betrayed by the above mentioned friends, or the result of acquiring more mature friends, or being more choosy with who I do consider a friend, but my fun seems to be gone. (I know I previously described how I suck at the whole “I wanna be your friend” thing, so I won’t go there.)(Okay, just one thing about that – if someone calls to go to lunch or dinner or whatever, and I am not *completely* sure they are among my handful of friends? I experience something that can only be described as a mild panic attack. Seriously. WTF is wrong with me??)
Now, it seems that “going out” is more around the happy hour time frame. A lovely night is home, with a book. Dinner out? I’d love for it to be done by 8pm. Bed? On a school night, I like nothing more than to be in bed by 9, reading. Weekends? It’s later, but still not the crazy early morning hours of the next day. It’s a very low-key, comfortable existence.
But the more I think about my fun and what happened to it, I realize that what I have really *is* just an existence. Sure, it’s comfortable, it works (sort of), it’s somewhat lonely, but I’m not really *living*. I do have fun when I go out with my true friends. Or when I go to the hockey games with Herb. I really do. But how do I get out of my head, stop over analyzing every word/look/gesture with the ones who haven’t forced their way in. (And let’s face it – they do have to force their way in. And for those that have? Thank goat they did. I cherish them.)
Maybe once I stop expecting the worst from people, or suspecting the worst of myself, I will be able to find the instructions and fix my fun. I just hope that all the years of sweeping it into the corner, and moving it from one apartment to another, from one state to another, and finally to this house, haven’t permanently crushed it. I suspect the pieces have been pretty disintegrated and crushed, but maybe not irreparably harmed. Hopefully, with a little bottle of self-love, a healthy-sized box of kind words, and a final rinse-off of trust, my fun will re-emerge as some shadow of its former self. Maybe then, I will be able to water it daily, play it good music, feed it good food, and have it return stronger than before. To be clear, I have no desire to relive the crazy days of leaving the house at 10pm and driving home (usually drunk. I know. You don’t have to say it. I KNOW!) several hours later. But I do want to not be suspicious of people and their motives. I do want to know that I have something to offer/contribute. I do want to hear myself laugh until my tum hurts.
I miss my fun. I hope it hasn’t given up all hope. After all, I did keep it with me for all this time, despite my neglect. That should count for something, right?
Oh, hello! Help yourself to some beef stew. Mum made it.
So, after having read Debra’s brilliant post, I was inspired to straighten/clean/discard/sort through my stuff. It’s slow going, but the end result is worth it. This past weekend, I tackled, among other things, the front closet. More specifically, the shelf in the closet with all the really important winter scarves, etc thrown up there into a ball.
What did I learn? Bottom line? I have a problem. Turns out, I have eleventy jillion scarves. All beautiful. All ones I think I love. Also? I have 24,000 baseball hats. Which, you know. Good thing. Because I only regularly wear 3 of them. What. The. Heck? What do I need this much stuff for? Yes, I love the scarves. And yes, I still wear a lot of them. I could probably sell them on eBay, but it would break my heart to let them go to someone potentially yucky!
Earlier in the week, I had been wondering to myself why I still had so much outstanding debt. Um, duh, Mary. Why do you think you have so much debt?? (Yeah, I’m talking to myself. Don’t judge.) At least now, I have cut up my credit cards and can’t rack up more.(That’s a whole other post.)
I also recently went through all my purses, and weeded those out. And shoes. And I’ve been going through my clothes as I change them out for the season. It really is freeing to get rid of “things”. I think I’ve said it before, but I read somewhere recently that you should have in your life only things that enrich your life, and make you feel wonderful. Trying to eliminate things that don’t fit that bill is a worthwhile challenge, and one that I endorse heartily. It still isn’t easy, and I will continue to chip away at the rest of my clearly necessary stuff that I don’t even remember I own.
What will remain will be all things that I love. And make me smile. As it should be.
Oh, hello! Have some tamale pie. It’s fab.
Do you blog? Or read blogs? If you read other people’s blogs, do you comment on them? I try to comment on the blogs I read. I don’t know if my comments have any meaning to the author or not, but I want them to know that someone is out there, reading what they have to say.
Me? I LOVE seeing comments on my posts. I know there are many of my posts that have no meaning to anyone other than me, so I understand why there wouldn’t be a comment. But I get that Christmas-morning feeling when I get an email telling me that someone has commented. Is that weird? Needy? I don’t know.
My friend, K2Kid, didn’t read my blog for a long time. Then she found it. And said she liked it. And claims she still reads it, but doesn’t comment. I’m okay with that because I certainly don’t want anyone to feel they have to comment. Unlike some other bloggers, I do this for my own amusement. (For now. But if anyone is interested in paying me to do this… let me know.)
I read some blogs that are very personal, and were bourne from some huge life change/tragedy as a way to get that “stuff” out. I get that. And it’s very likely that I may have a time for that too.
Regardless, if you read this, I’m glad you do. If anything I write hits a nerve with you, or makes you smile or think or whatever, then I’m glad for that too. And if the mood ever strikes you to comment, or say hi, do that too. (But not mean comments. I don’t mind comments that disagree with me, but mean ones? No. Thank you, though.)
Oh, hello. Have some tea and graham crackers.
Have you ever given someone advice about their life or how they are living it – whether invited to or not? (If you said no, you are a big giant liar. *grin*) I did this weekend and it got me thinking.
A friend had made a statement that I interpreted to mean that while she currently was in a very happy place in her life, she was holding back celebrating it out of fear. The way I understood the situation, she was either afraid of being happy because she has other friends who are struggling and didn’t want them to think she was rubbing it in; OR she was afraid because she has other friends who celebrated their happiness and it ended up going away.
What the hell do I know? Who am I? I was able to work myself up into a snit to tell her that she needed to be thrilled with her happiness and to celebrate or keep it quiet as she sees fit based on her own feelings, not based on others’ experiences.
Again – what the hell do I know?? I’m so consumed in my own brain, and my own thoughts, that looking back, I recognize I do EXACTLY what I told my friend not to do. It is so easy to give advice to others. I suppose it has something to do with an objective view of a situation. Or fresh eyes. Or it could have to do with being really, really meddlesome.
I’m pretty sure I fall into the meddlesome category. I’m not asked for advice, but I readily provide it. I’d like to think that I might have some nugget of wisdom to impart on occasion, but realistically I either need to just STFU or spend a little time cleaning my own house, so to speak. I need to quiet some of those nagging voices in my brain, the pointless nattering, the over-thinking of EVERYTHING.
I know it won’t be easy. But it’s necessary. And, who knows? Perhaps soon, I, too, will have something joyous to share. (Or not.)
Oh, hello! Have a Tootsie-Pop.
It’s Columbus Day. (I know, big whoop!) But it normally is a day where all the *important* businesses shut down and celebrate some city in Ohio. Whatev. Since we here at the Gas ‘n Stuff switched to PTO this year, we no longer get all the holidays off. If we choose not to work, we have to take a PTO day. (If you aren’t familiar with PTO, it is where the company claims they are doing you a favor and gives you a lump of days to use for vacation, illness, bereavement, etc.) So, let’s see. A vacation day for some city in Ohio? Not so much. Not surprisingly, I’m one of the very few people at work today, and that suits me… just fine.
There is one other lady here in my department too. Velma is one that you would not normally think of as exciting, but sister has had a life!! She is always doing cool things and is certainly not letting life pass her by in any way. (Hang on. My point is coming.)
So Velma walked by and I started complaining about the rumor that we’re getting snow, and how I haven’t cleared the leaves off the lawn, and all my trees have not dropped all their leaves, and blah blah blah. I need to shut up, but that’s just how I roll. (Here comes the point.) Velma has convinced me to….. compost.
I know.
If you know me at all? You know, too. Kitten doesn’t like to do yard work.
But Velma was telling me all the benefits to it and how great it is for the environment and how easy it is and on and on. (Velma is a talker!) And I’m all “Yeah, but it will smell.” and “Yeah, but it will bring bugs.” (I know.) And she’s all *blink blink* and I could see the effort she was putting in to NOT roll her eyes at me. But the more she talked, the more it made sense.
So when I get home today, I’m going to take the 6 bags of Hosta leaves that I’ve cut back, and move them to the “Compost Corner” (I just now came up with that name) in the back yard. Then, when I tackle the leaves from the 3 ginormous maples in the yard (if the things ever decide to shed… *RUDE*), I’ll add to the pile. Velma tells me this is “Brown Compost”. (I”m getting greener by the minute.) Food compost is known as “Green Compost”. IDK why.
I’m a little leery about doing the green composting. Because I’m pretty sure that *will* smell. Velma told me otherwise, but I’m pretty sure Velma is a little crazy. (Ok, she’s not.) (Yes, she is.) (Not really.)*nods*
So, now, you’re all “What’s the big deal you sissy? People have been composting forever. Big deal.” And I’m all “Don’t judge me!” The big deal is, as I mentioned above, that Kitten doesn’t like to do yard work. I almost bought a condo for the simple fact that I wouldn’t have to do yard work, but that’s a whole other story.
However, as I get older, I am more willing to recognize curb-appeal and pride of ownership, and I do want my teeny little doll house to look pretty. And I am more willing to make aesthetic changes to make it pretty. Well, you know, as long as it doesn’t take more than an hour once a week. *heh*
How could this go wrong, you ask? I know me. It is highly likely that come next spring, I will go out to Compost Corner, and think “ICK! WTF was I thinking? And now I have this huge pile of ICK!” and I won’t have anyway to get rid of it. And I’ll have a huge pile of festering muck and… *shudder*… I can’t go on. But you know what I’m saying.
So, here is me, trying to do my part. I’m going to need encouragement from anyone who already composts. And sympathetic ears from anyone who will be kind enough to listen to my whine about my festering muck. And I will thank both groups in advance.
Oh, hello! Come in and have some tea.
Yesterday, I woke up feeling like something wonderful was going to happen to me yesterday. (I know – MONDAY!!) I didn’t know what was going to happen, or when, or even where this feeling came from, but I just knew that it would be before the end of the day.
Nothing wonderful happened. That I know of. I think whatever it was just got caught in traffic, or delayed in the mail. It’s coming, but I just don’t know when. Although, someone also suggested that something wonderful DID happen, I just don’t know it yet. Like whatever it is set in motion something that will lead to the wonderful thing. You know, like the principle that a butterfly flitting in one region can cause a tsunami in another region. I kind of like the idea that yesterday, a butterfly set in motion something for me.
I’ll keep you posted.
Oh, hello! Come in and have some cantaloupe. It’s really lovely.
My intention was to write this (or similar) blog post Saturday night. However, life got in the way, so now it will be a “look back”, if you will.
As you may know, I was Slurpee Manager at the Gas ‘n Sip. For the past 2 years, an integration has been in the planning and execution so that we could merge with Pump ‘n Stuff to become one big giant gas conglomerate. The integration involved looking at every part of each company, determining who had better chip selections, who had prettier gas pumps, and who had more kick ass employees.
It became official this past weekend. The Gas ‘n Sip is no more. Pump ‘n Stuff is no more. We are now, collectively, known as Gas ‘n Stuff. We took on some of their stuff, they took on some of our stuff, and now we are all one. I’m still the Slurpee Manager.
So what’s the big deal? Part of this past weekend, all of the Slurpee staff, including the Leg Giggler and the two Co-Chief Pumpers was here, making sure that the Gas ‘n Stuff website was up and running correctly. (What? You would be amazed at the amount of Funyuns and Twizzlers we sell online. Don’t judge!) We were here from about 10pm Saturday night until about 8:30 Sunday morning. It. Was. MISERABLE.
There was a lot of sitting, a lot of “check in” conference calls, pizza, muffins, soda. I spent a bunch of time walking to stay away, since I don’t do caffeine anymore. By 8:30, I was so tired; I honestly thought I was going to vomit. I don’t know how people stay up for 24+ hours at a time. It scares me that medical interns do it. I was hardly able to form a coherent sentence, let alone have the wherewithal to do something important. Like, diagnose a problem or deal with a medical trauma.
So, what have I learned from this? What wisdom did I glean from this experience? I learned that the Slurpee staff is better people than I am that they can stay awake for extended periods of time and not become raging bitches. (Yeah, I became a raging bitch. I’m not proud of it. But there it is.) I learned that the Slurpee staff is a group of extremely talented, extremely intelligent Intertube people who should be very proud of their abilities. I learned that while I, too, am very talented and intelligent, it is a different kind of intelligence that doesn’t really fit with this group. I spent a lot of time feeling completely out of my element; more like I was creating MORE work than completing any. I learned that I need to get serious about finding another home – hopefully within the Gas ‘n Stuff family, but outside of it, if necessary. And I learned that while becoming Gas ‘n Stuff is exciting and may present new opportunities, I will miss the simplicity of the Gas ‘n Sip. I will miss the relative smallness of it. The fewer chip choices. The plainer pumps. After 5 years, it seems like it will be Business As Usual, but it’s still a fairly significant change. And I think I am sad about it.
But, onward now. Look to the future. The change has happened and won’t un-happen. Get on board, or go elsewhere. I have new Slurpee cups to unpack.
MagAndMoo's Blog 