A Hard Winter

I've been particularly whiny lately, self-pitying and dissatisfied. None of these are very admirable or noble traits, but in my defense, it has been a long, cold, snowy winter. Snowfall is at near-record levels (I guess I should apologize for the mean tweet regarding the plow guy at my apartment...), and the season started out with seven weeks of fifteen-degree-or-less temperatures. At one point, seeing that it was snowing AGAIN made me unreasonably angry, tooth-grindingly mad.
And this winter has been seemingly full of tragedies, large and small. A young female moose died in a friend's yard, apparently of starvation. The deep snow taxes the moose population. They starve or get hit by cars on the plowed roads. Another friend's dog of eighteen years had to be put to sleep. And, the deepest cut, Tom and Jean's son, Lucas, 25, dying in his sleep a month before he planned to move up here. A hard winter, indeed.
The days are getting longer and the snow is melting, finally. Sun storm activity made the Aurora spectacular this year. Alaskan summers are really something to look forward to. But that little niggling voice in the back of my mind just whispers, "What about next year?"

39,000,000

Big number, huh?  That's the number of sexually abused children in the U. S., according to Darkness 2 Light.  Thirty-nine MILLION.  Million.  Mind BLOWN.  And I'm one of them.  One in six boys.  One in FOUR girls.  And that's just the U.S.  It's really tripping me out right now, I guess because I try not to think about it much, and when I do, I minimize (it could have been worse, I was actually kind of lucky...).  It can be a lot to deal with, and I don't think I've necessarily done a very good job of it.  I'm not an addict, not a prostitute (although I did come close).  There's still so much anger, so much shit that I don't know what to do with.  I need to call my therapist, and maybe find a lawyer.

Having A Bawl

I miss good Chinese food. I miss warm nights. I miss Fatburger. I miss reallyreally good thrift store shopping. I miss long drives with my husband. And I MISS my fucking mom, who got me into this mess in the first place.

A Timeline of the Events of the Beginning of May, 2009

• April 29th- A last-minute dash to the airport with three cats and waaay too much luggage, but all of us made it to Alaska okay, if uncomfortably. (sidenote- Yin Yin reacted to the Xanax preflight test like a belligerent little drunk, staggering around and hissing at the other cats, it did NOT calm her down at all. And, not that I recommend drugging your animals for amusement purposes, but it was VERY funny to watch.)
• April 30th-May 3rd- Unseasonably gorgeous weather in Anchorage at a pet-friendly hotel, we celebrate a friend's birthday at a questionable club, shop for camping supplies and other summer essentials, and hang out with NSA's son. Hectic and more expensive than I would have wished, but a reasonably good time.
• May 4th- A friend drives us down to Homer in a mini-van packed to the roof, we find a hotel room, smuggle the cats in. NSA's asthma is bothering him, probably due to the very fine ash from Mt. Redoubt and the very dry spring that hasn't kept it down. And the stress of moving, travel, etc.
• May 5th- Friend and I pick up a few missed items while NSA relaxes at the hotel room. After a couple of frantic texts, we return to the room to find NSA drenched in sweat, his breathing intensely labored, and having already called 911, who take an excruciatingly long time to arrive. Ride in the ambulance, which pulls over on the way to the hospital to let the paramedics work on NSA, who is semi-lucid but completely frantic.
• May 6th- A horrible, horrible night during which NSA has to be put into an induced coma and intubated because he's combative and not responding well to the drugs. I have the unenviable experience of seeing my forty-five year old husband on a ventilator in the ICU.
• May 7th- It rains, washing away some of the volcanic ash.
• May 8th- I learn a new word, "extubated," the opposite of having a tube stuck down your throat. NSA is loopy and out of it from all of the drugs he's on, but in a relatively good mood since he has a constant supply of IV painkillers. We watch Casanova and I can't help but think of Heath Ledger, while NSA finds it particularly enjoyable in his altered state because of the bright colors and broad humor. He alternately calls me by his ex-wife's or sister's names. He's smiley and fun, and charms the nurses.
• May 9th- 13th- We get an inexpensive hotel room in town that doesn't care that we have cats to give NSA time to build up his strength.
• May 14th- After chinese food and making love, NSA has an evil, evil pain in his groin. When he wakes me up writhing around, I insist we call the paramedics. He's resistant, but eventually gives in. And so back to the hospital we go. In the ER, they're surprised to see him again, but won't give him anything for the pain until he starts vomiting blood.
• May 15th- After determining that the stone in his right kidney moved, NSA is released from the hospital again, worried about the expense of everything and how much insurance will cover. I'm understandably upset and feeling overwhelmed.
• May 16th- NSA passes an 8mm kidney stone, the size of a small pea. It's strangely impressive. We move the three cats and the little bit of stuff we brought with us into the cabin, which is dusty, and either cozy or cramped depending on our moods. The cats adapt remarkably quickly to their new environment, mostly due to the windows and abundant wildilfe to watch.

Two Things That Make Life Without Running Water Slightly More Bearable

• Baby wipes
• Hand sanitizer
  

Desperately Seeking Dynamo

So, it's been an eventful couple of weeks, to say the least, and my blogging has suffered for it. Last week, Yin Yin was sick, like reallyreally sick, and although I took her to the vet and he put her on antibiotics, I wasn't trusting him. I know I was being a little crazy and irrational, but the thought of losing Mom's sweet little cat was almost too much for me to bear, I got crumbly around the edges. She's okay now, some expensive intestinal nastiness, but dealing with it seriously did me in for a few days.
A few things came to an ugly head at work. I was quitting anyway, put in my notice Monday, but the shit that went on before that was more than just the final straw, more like the final log- the final fucking Sequoia!- and while I'm not going into details, it was just a huge mess that I shouldn't have had to deal with in the first place, it should never have been allowed to get so out of hand. Knowing that I only have a week left has done me a world of good. And while leaving a decent job with good benefits makes me afraid, especially in this economy, it's also helped me sleep better at night.
All of this to say, we'll be packing boxes and moving very soon, and my inner dynamo seems to have gone missing. She's usually pretty reliable; an energetic, if slightly disorganized being who manages to get things done just before the final deadline. She hasn't shown her frenetic face yet, but then, it's not quite crunch time, and she might need to be bribed with double-lattes and promises of a nice vacation. Or maybe she needs a couple Xenadrine with a Rockstar chaser, she's not gettin' any younger after all.

5 Months and a Dream

I woke up early this morning with tears in my eyes, dripping on my pillow, not sobbing. I dreamt that I was sitting by Mom's hospital bed, talking with her, and she looked really good, like she did when she vacationed down here. She was smiling and animated, telling me very important things, things I needed to know, and I was paying close attention because I wanted, needed, to remember. I thought, I should be writing this down. And then I woke up.

It was still dark outside, weird for me to be up this early, but clearly my subconscious was at work. NSA was in a bad place of his own, so I sat on the couch with a blanket, waiting for my coffee to brew, watching the minutes tick by, reliving this morning five months ago moment by moment. I didn't remind NSA of what day it is, I don't know if he thought about it, nor did I tell him about my dream. Maybe I'm being selfish, or maybe I'm trying to spare him. It's hard to say.

I know that I'm moving forward, I mean, things progess, time marches on, it can't be stopped just because you need a breather or eight hundred, but I have very little faith in the future. Some days, I feel like I've had the shit kicked out of me, and just as I start to recover from one blow, another lands.

I can't remember what Mom was telling me in the dream, and that's why I was crying. It was important, and I woke up to the real world not remembering.

An Accurate Representation of My Current State of Mind

I'm sitting on the office floor, picking all my favorites out of the candy dish, because that's the frame of mind I'm in. Wanting massive amounts of what's not good for me, and feeling selfish enough to take it. I've put on a few pounds lately, and I don't wonder why. At least this decision is easy to make, unlike the next few months of uncertainty I'm facing. Sometimes, I find I need the littlest act of control to keep me from going completely batshit.

Oh, The POWER!

I needed to talk to this person today, so I went over to her, only to be totally ignored initially, and then when she did acknowledge me, she was completely nervous, stammering, and made an excuse to get away very quickly. She would not make eye contact! I was a bit nonplussed. My first thought was could she have read my blog?, but I don't think that's the case. I mean, I'm not scary, I'm not Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, I'm a rainbows-and-fluffy-bunnies kind of person, but obviously she's picked up on how I feel, and I find that kind of thrilling. Wow, so this is how it feels to have someone afraid of you, or at least to make them really, really uncomfortable with your mere presence. I can see why Anakin went over to the dark side if this is the kind of reaction you get.

So I did what any normal person would do, I smiled and was extra-super-sweet to her. Because sugar helps the poison go down that much easier.

Zinc is for lifeguard noses and countertops,

NOT for lozenges! However, I have this awful little scratchy feeling in the back of my throat, up toward my sinus', and so I'm sucking on these nasty things in the hope that they live up to the hype and prevent, or at least shorten, any viral ickyess I may have picked up. I want to visit my dad this weekend, I haven't seen him in a very long time, and I DON'T WANT TO BE FUCKING SICK!! Bleah.

Maniacal

Do you ever have really destructive tendencies? Like, elaborate and well-thought-out revenge fantasies that are frightening in their detail and specificity? Or pitch-black thoughts that make you suddenly realize how Dr. Mengele must have felt? Yeah, me neither.

My Ass Is SORE!!

And not for any good reason (like horseback riding, you with the duurrty minds!) No, my posterior is tender from the SERIOUS chewing out it got from my boss yesterday. See, this past quarter, my performance has been off, not surprisingly, what with my mom dying and all. So, in the spirit of Christmas, my boss calls me on the carpet to tell me that my job is in danger. This from the same woman who offered support and proffered understanding, but hung me out to dry when it came down to it. What really burns me is that I know of at least two other employees who are having the same problems I am, without the same obstacles. I have consistently been a top performer, so it feels really unfair to bust my chops over three bad months.
I've long suspected that my boss is pretty heartless when it comes down to it. Last summer, a co-worker had a really bad stomach infection, he was in the hospital for a couple of weeks and then out for about another six weeks recovering. The way she treated him when he returned, you'd think he pissed on her grandmother's grave. She treated him like total shit because he got sick. He tried to warn me when I talked about what Mom was going through, but I thought maybe he was exaggerating, I didn't want to think she would be so uncaring. Boy, was I wrong!
In all fairness, I think she's worried about her job too. In these shaky economic times, everyone's feeling the pressure and no one is immune, but her anger and anxiety do nothing to endear her to me. Time to step up the job search, get my exit strategy in place, and be happy that the GFOD (get the fuck outta Dodge) fund is pretty healthy.

"It's Alright To Cry,

crying gets the sad out of you. It's alright to cry, it might make you feel better." From the '70's animated musical Free To Be...You & Me, featuring Marlo Thomas, Mel Brooks and Alan Alda (who my mother completely adored.) A friend of mine had the record and book, so we spent a lot of time singing along. My favorite part was the exchange about gender roles between the baby boy and baby girl when Mel Brooks exclaims, "A cocktail waitress!"
I guess I thought of these lines for the obvious reason, I've been crying a lot lately. This morning I was bawling and called in to work a couple of hours late because it's my fifteenth wedding anniversary, and Halloween, and while I'd like to go out and do something fun, I just don't have the heart. I feel like curling up under the covers with a couple cases of hard liquor and not emerging until I feel better, which might be a while. Right now, I'm thinking vodka, tequila, and maybe a decent Scotch, just for variety.
Of course, I'm still hurting from my mom's death, and the legal/financial mess she left behind. And the problems NSA and I have been having don't help. And the fact that I really dislike my job, but the economy's not doing so well and I'm afraid to quit. Fuck.

1939-2008

My mom died October 16th at 6:05 am. I found out about three minutes later. I was already awake when the call came, which was a little odd for me. I wasn't shocked, of course, but it's still a hell of a hit. Like when you see it coming, you have time to brace yourself, so maybe it hurts less, but it still hurts. NSA was asleep, so I took a little time before I woke him. I was in a daze for most of the morning, calling people, trying to get ready. My dad really came through for me, buying a plane ticket and making travel arrangements. I'm glad, because I don't think I could have done it myself. I wish NSA had come along, but for his health and general sanity, we decided it would be best if he stayed home and took care of himself and the kitties. The actual flying time from San Diego to Alaska is only about six hours, but with early arrivals and layovers, that stretches into around twelve hours, a long and tiring day.
I left early the next morning. From San Diego to Seattle, passengers were sparse, I had a row of seats to myself. Not so on the flight from Seattle to Anchorage, and while the guy next to me was clearly in a chatty mood, my teary face didn't encourage conversation.
I arrived at my final destination in the late afternoon, took care of some necessary paperwork, and went to see my mother. An old friend of hers was already there, keeping vigil with candles and incense. The morgue is located in the old part of the hospital; a small, locked, unlabeled room containing two horizontal refrigerators, some filing cabinets, and various bits of office equipment. It also allows access to the telephone room, a fact that I'm sure the poor repair man resented, since he had to contend with the two of us and my mom just to do his job.
She looked kind of beautiful in the candle light. Her eyes and mouth were closed (something I was worried about), brow smooth and hair sleek. Her expression was peaceful, seemingly slightly concerned, like maybe there was some small matter she had forgotten to tell me about. With the overhead fluorescents on, she was, I guess the right words are deathly pale. Except for the beds of her fingernails, which were slightly purplish, strangely dark. I sat and talked to her for awhile, not because I was sure, like her friend, that she would hear me, but because I needed to, and because it felt like the right thing to do. I told her I loved her, and that I hoped all of her questions were answered.
(More later...)

Limbo

I'm in a weird and difficult place right now, trying to prepare for what's to come. I say "trying" because, how do you prepare, really? I've made some arrangements, there were financial and legal matters that Mom let go unattended (no will?? WTF?!), that I took care of as best I could. Other than that, I'm just waiting. Waiting. Waiting for something bad to happen, which is not a fun place to be. Not like when you were little, waiting for summer vacation or Halloween night or Christmas morning, that's happy anticipation. This is just inevitable dread that sits like a rock in the pit of your stomach, making it hard to think about anything else, making you wish you were somewhere else, someone else, even.
Emotionally, I'm glad I was able to spend some quality time with my mom while she was still cognizant and continent, I'm glad I spent the extra week. I don't know why I initially thought one week would be enough.There wasn't a lot left unsaid between us or anything, so we watched movies, listened to the radio and chatted with lots of friends of hers, an exhausting amount, really. Until she was spending more time asleep than awake, and, when she was awake, pressing the button on her morphine pump frequently. I hated leaving, but I couldn't afford to stay, and there wasn't much point really. We've said our goodbyes.
The really sucky thing is that, other than the cancer, she's in pretty good shape. Her heart is strong, her blood pressure is better than mine, so she might linger for a while, which isn't what she wanted at all. But unfortunately, there's not much that can be done about it now, so we're waiting. Waiting.

Still Kicking

Oh hello. Yes I do still intend to blog and I've been trying to keep up with everyone else's blogs, I'm just pretty overwhelmed right now. These past couple of weeks with my mom have been a mixed bag. I'm glad I'm here and able to spend time with her, even if it's just sitting by the bed holding her hand. Let me tell you, cancer is a fucking ugly way to die. I'd rather get hit by a Mack truck. I've got a LOT to tell, but it will have to wait for now.

Buried In An Avalanche Of Shit

This is what's going on in my life right now, and, FUCK ME!, am I ever sorry I complained about last year. I guess I was just asking for more punishment with my bitching.
NSA and I are in a trial separation. He's in Colorado visiting his family, trying to spend time with his father, who has prostate cancer. His dad, however, is not inclined to see much of his family, since mostly they want his money and don't have much regard for him. NSA couldn't give a shit about his dad's money, he's just interested in spending time with the old man before he dies. He's being tarred with the same brush as the rest of his siblings though, and his father's new wife is playing dragon at the gate and keeping everyone away. NSA is understandably pissed off and frustrated. It took a lot out of him just to get to Colorado, and he doesn't particularly enjoy living with the bitching, petty jealousies, and infighting that make up his familial interactions. On the plus side, comparatively, life with me in SoCal now doesn't seem so bad.
My mother is in the hospital dealing with the symptoms of her cancer. She's had to have fluid removed from her right lung again, and she's in a considerable amount of pain. She's to the point where she'll consider surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, but, according to her doctor, it's probably too late. Probably just a matter of months, weeks maybe. The cancer has metastasized to her lung and possibly her bones as well. So I'm trying to plan what will most likely be my last trip to see my mother alive. Thank you sir, may I have another?
I'm trying to practice the survival techniques you're taught for bad situations, like avalanches. Things like, don't panic, remain calm, assess the situation. But I feel like my air is running out and I'm afraid help won't arrive in time.

A Small Piece Of Wisdom

When drinking pre-made margaritas straight from the 1.75 liter bottle, Reser's Potato Salad for dinner makes a very poor base.

No Thinking, Just Doing

I'm not in a good place today. The long weekend wasn't relaxing, it was just more personal bullshit. NSA leaves Saturday to visit his family, for how long has yet to be determined. I'm just floating, getting some work done, not tying myself up in knots like I could be. I remind myself that nothing's permanent. And, for today at least, no thinking, just doing. Mindlessness can be a good thing.
(Check back later in the week when I might have something more interesting to say. No guarantees though.)

Bad Morning=Sucky Day

(Warning: It's a completely crap post today, so if you want something funny or uplifting, go here or here.)

It's never a good thing when you're woken from a bad dream by your alarm. The remains of the dream just seem to stay with you for the rest of the day. If I could have stayed sleeping, then maybe I would have dreamt something else. I made coffee and cried on the living room couch, NSA drank tea in anger in the bedroom. I finally felt a little better after my shower when the caffeine kicked in, but my eyes were puffy, clear evidence of crying, and I hate that. I've successfully avoided pretty much everyone at work, and one of my co-workers is out with a bad cold, so maybe my sniffles and puffy eyes are because I'm getting sick too (total lie, but I really haven't been feeling well lately, for obvious reasons.) It's afternoon now, not too much longer before I can go home, not that that's much to look forward to, but at least I don't have to pretend. I have a bad headache and all I really want to do is turn off the lights and put my head down on the desk, but that's not really an option. Jesus, I hate days like this.