Eh?

I just read Horton Hears a Who. I was showing a class some children's books for an assignment they had, and I picked this one up to look through because the movie is coming out and I don't know if I've ever read this one, or maybe I just haven't read it in a very long time. (It was published in 1954, so I could well have read it when I discovered Dr. Seuss four years later, when I was in kindergarten.) My personal favorite, and prominent on my shelf at home, is Horton Hatches the Egg. Funny, I liked the book, but from the clips and such I've seen of the movie, the movie looks better, and I say that rarely. Certainly I thought the recent Grinch movie was a travesty of costume and special effects. Maybe this looks better to me because it's animated; I think it seems to resemble Dr. Seuss's later, more developed, drawing style.

Speaking of which, I saw a clip from the Where the Wild Things Are movie that's being made, and it was fascinating. (I tried to find it again now and link to it, but it's been withdrawn from any site that was playing it.) It is not animated, but is live-action, with known actors supplying the voices of the wild things. They are certainly going to have to flesh out the story more, or at least, the dialog, since the book itself is quite concise, not to mention perfect just the way it is, but the clip had a very charming feel to it.

We actually have an English department elective in this school called Children's Literature (although that's not the class I was working with this morning), which I think it about the dumbest elective a high school can offer. We don't have an elective in Shakespeare, or the short story, or modern drama, but we haver children's literature? This is because a former department chairman had to design an elective for a college course she was taking, I think, and she became enamored of the idea. I've always been amused by it, probably because of all the staff members in the building, I'm the one who's most qualified to teach it, since I'm a certified English teacher and I minored in Children's Literature in graduate school, but no. And anyway, I think it's ludicrous. But enough of that. On to other foolishness.

I was feeling very bleeeeeh last night and this morning, but now I feel fine except that I am RAVENOUS. Lunch in ten minutes, and I have lovely leftovers from last night's jaunt to the Macaroni Grille. Dinner with the girls was very nice, although it was so loud in there and hard to hear, and coming out into the parking lot I had another one of those weird cold experiences, where I started to shake and shiver and I was so cold that I could hardly function. I couldn't survive up in the wilds of Minnesota and Wisconsin and Alaska where some of you folks are! (Although it was maybe about 15 degrees last night, and the wind was blowing up a pretty big chill factor, so I'm not as much of a sissy as you might think.) The first time I experienced this was a few years ago as we were leaving my sister's house after Thanksgiving dinner, and it sparked a kind of panic attack, but last night I was able to keep that in check, since I knew I was getting in the car and driving home. Maybe the first time it caught me off guard, I don't know. But I was terribly cold, and couldn't warm up all night, until maybe two a.m., when I started pulling off layers. Spring is only three weeks away, you know, at least on the calendar. And it is sunny today, although there's a bit of snow coming later tonight, they say.

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Home now. I had to stop on my way home and pick up a pound of sliced turkey, since I have that for lunch every day (unless I have pasta leftovers.) There are probably a dozen delicatessens in town of one ilk or another, but the best turkey, I've discovered, is at The Swiss Pork Store (We're More Than Pork!) This place has always intrigued and delighted me, and I think that's been the general take on it for everyone in town. It has an incredibly good and distinctive aroma; it sticks with you after you leave the store. And now, because in his last year or so my father had me bring him there weekly for those few specialties he couldn't get at the kosher deli, just going inside and inhaling that smell reminds me of him.

Here's the legend of The Swiss Pork Store. It has been there forever, or maybe at least since its little strip mall was built in the early 1930s. Or, possibly, it came into existence shortly after World War II, when the population of Bizarro Town exploded. Actually, the MIL would probably know, since she moved here as a kid in the late thirties. I'll have to remember to ask her. Anyway, when I would go in there with one of my parents when I was a kid, the place was packed; you could barely open the door and squeeze inside. And once inside, you would realize that almost everyone in there was speaking German.

Some people found this a little unsettling in a post-war heavily Jewish suburb, but as the sign reminded us, these people were Swiss, and some of the people in Switzerland, as we all knew, are German-speaking. So, okay. But my friend E, who was born in Brooklyn to German-Jewish refugee parents, had spoken German before she spoke English, and in later years, she would go into The Swiss Pork Store and carry on conversations in German with the various butchers, and she assured me, these were no kind of Swiss people; they had good country German accents. As everyone suspected all along, Swiss, in this case, was a euphemism for German. Which would explain why the store also has racks and stacks of German magazines, candy, and other delicacies. (I need to bring K a kinderegg whenever I go in for my turkey.)

Anyway, so that's the story, such as it is, just an amusing local legend. When I go in now, it's practically empty, and no one is speaking German, or even English with a German accent. I can't imagine who's going in there to buy all those German delicacies these days, unless they're drawing from all over the county. These days in B-Town, the two or three Russian delis are doing a much bigger business. Times, as we all know, change.

I'm in a pizza mood for dinner, but I think, not just yet. Hey, I could always have a turkey sandwich or two.


WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1690

Make It Work!

I ate salad! (Film at eleven.)

And I got me juuust a twinge of feeling not so good, but I don't think even salad works that fast, so I'm guessing it's maybe left over from the stress of the last couple of days, even though the big psycho and the little psycho are delightful and charming this evening. Sometimes I feel like the only non-bipolar person in the house, and I'm the one with the most genetic claim to it.

And there's not a thing else going on. No snow or rain today, and some decent sunshine, but a cold, cold wind blowing. Looks like the same for tomorrow.

It looks like I'm not sick enough to make me want to stop eating, anyway. I've gained back everything I lost when I was sick, probably more, but I'm afraid to look. As promised, once I knew I could eat things, I just started eating them. No chocolate or ice cream yet, but plenty of cookies and crackers and things, lots of potato chips (baked), and I've also rediscovered my old friend Pez. I may be my own worst enemy.

Okay, I'm going to go see if I can catch a little nap before Project Runway. Who will make it to the final three, obnoxious Rami the Draper or adorable Chris the Drag Queen Costumer? And am I the only person anywhere who watches this show? Do you all love Tim Gunn as much as I do? Make it work!

WATCHING RAYMOND :: ENTRY #1689

Welcome To My Life

The inmates are taking over the asylum here. And I'm talking about people who belong in an asylum. The other day, all I thought I had was a psycho husband, and today, my darling daughter has been channeling her father.

Let me backtrack a bit.

You will recall last Friday, when it snowed, and the Hubs announced that he had been fired, and yada yada yada. Monday morning, of course, he got up and went to work, because he was not fired, his boss loves him like a brother and would fire everybody else in the office first, if he had to. But I guess work was not the Eden he would like it to be, because when he came home last night, after a short "hello," he said not a single other word all night long. Except for this little creepy detail: he was mumbling under his breath as he went about making his dinner and doing what else he was doing. Now, this was especially creepy because I didn't hear at all, but K commented on it, and said he does it all the time when he's angry. And I never hear it because I can't, and I had no idea that he was even doing this. So that was freaking weird.

The other one, the junior psycho, has been doing the snotty-teen-being-short-with-mom thing on and off for the last few days, which lost its charm totally, let me tell you, when she stopped being a teenager four years ago. Anything I say is answered with an eye roll. If I tell a story, she tells me that a) I have told it before, probably many times, or b) I'm so funny I should be on TV. (Eye roll from mom, at this point.) But what I can't stand is the anger. If someone is going to be angry about something, fine, but if I didn't create the anger, don't take it out on me. I learned long ago to control my temper as well as I could, and I think it's time for Papa Bear and Baby Bear to figure it out, too.

Anyway, so the kid and I, as it turned out, both had appointments with the dermatologist this afternoon. By the time we left there, she was in some pain (an acne treatment of some kind) and was so snippy and mean that I just didn't want to be around her at all. And like someone else I know, every snotty thing she said, and even any important thing she said (like that she hurt or had to go to the bathroom) she said so softly that I couldn't hear it, and I didn't ask her to repeat because that really ticks her off. (Oh. I. Am. So. Sorry. If. My. Fucking. Handicap. Is. Inconvenient. For. You.)

We got home and she vanished upstairs, leaving me to sit at my little desk here and wonder if just ditching them all wouldn't be a good idea. After all, the Hubs was yet to come home, so that joy still awaited.

And home he came. He said a cheery "Hello!" and then actually looked at me and asked me what was wrong. I did not have an answer prepared, so I said something about the dermatologist, at which point I heard K, in the kitchen behind him, tell him something about her treatment and why her face is all red. In a normal tone of voice. And there followed a semi-normal conversation amongst the three of us.

I am in the Twilight Zone.

He came back after changing his clothes, laughing, and told me about an email he was sending his father and Bcc-ing me. Um ... okay. You psycho.

So he seems normal tonight, the kid is turning back into normal, and guess what? My guts are churning. It's not food that actually triggers a Crohn's attack, you know. It's stress.

Oh, goodie. Goodie goodie gumdrops.

WATCHING FRIENDS :: ENTRY #1688

Back to Work

So vacation is over. I was talking to someone on the phone this morning, a librarian at another school in town, and she said that she was bored by the end of the week. WTF? To me, every day off (except when I was sick, of course) is practice for retirement. This woman is two years older than I am -- she was two years ahead of me in high school, as I recall -- but still has a younger child, only 13, and she says retirement isn't even on her radar yet. Gee. It's sure on mine.

I seem to have much more energy today, although that's still relative to me and not to a normal person, but during the lunch period, I didn't even turn on the software that lets me sit at my desk and monitor the kids on their computers. Instead, I was up and walking around the whole time. It felt very good. Although something has been triggering my allergy eyes since yesterday, so even though I have energy and am wide-awake, my eyes want to shut down and rest.

It's been a quiet day in library land today, and the kids have been very pleasant and polite all day. Next week, however, we go into state testing mode, which won't make the kids any less pleasant, because they know the drill by now, but which is a useless waste of time. The state tests are used primarily to evaluate the school or the school system. Doesn't it seem kind of unfair to the students to make them do that work? Shouldn't there be state inspectors or paperwork or something that makes that happen? I don't like the way the whole school has to stop dead so that we can test one-quarter of the kids, and I don't like the idea of teaching-for-the-test, as opposed to teaching for learning. Also, the security that surrounds this testing is absurd. The people who run this whole shebang are the ones who should be in charge of airport security.

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So I went to Walgreen's for a few things after school, and I picked up a box of crayons. I had to decide between a box of 16 and box of 24. I was amused to see unit pricing on the label; of course, the 24 crayon box is a better buy, although it costs a little more. Either way, Crayola crayons still smell the same as they did 50 years ago, when, if I was lucky, I might get a box of 64 crayons (with sharpener built into the back of the box) for Chanukah, maybe once every five years. Maybe. I mean, why buy a kid a new box of crayons if she still has a whole lot of them somewhere, probably in one of Uncle Ben's old cigar boxes and most of them broken, but still. It's not as if they don't work anymore, they're crayons.

My own kids, however, got a 64 crayon box if they whined at the supermarket. Alas, I did not have the fortitude, let alone the sales resistance, that Shirl had.

Anyway, I downloaded some coloring pages and I just finished one of a witch, whom I colored with green skin because I'm in the middle of reading Wicked. I don't know the last time I colored, but it dredged up a very old memory for me, maybe I was four or maybe less, of lying on the floor at my aunt's house in Connecticut and my cousin Joyce trying to teach me to color inside the lines. I couldn't see the point, and I was a little scared that Joyce was paying attention to me at all, although she was always nice to me; it was my sister she hated and was constantly trying to kill. (They were the same age, and Joyce's awful parents would always say things to her like "You're such a fat pig! Why aren't you a nice little lady like Cousin --- ?" at which point the adults would leave the room and Joyce would try to sit on my sister and squash and/or smother her.)

In other news, I ate olives today. I want to eat a salad, but I don't want to go buy all the salad ingredients if it turns out tomorrow I can't keep eating it; I just want to go buy a fast-food salad, but I haven't been able to find one that doesn't have stuff in it I already know I can't eat (because I couldn't eat it before.) I can pick out stuff like cucumbers, but it's hard to find nuts and things and avoid them. The hunt continues.

WATCHING RAYMOND :: ENTRY #1687

No Such Thing as a Free Toaster

Alas, it was not to be. I went to Macy's today to get the toaster I had reserved with a rain check, and it was the stupidest toaster ever. In order to make toast, you first had to set the temperature (from a dial) and then choose the time in minutes (from a dial.) Yeah, that's what we need: toasters that are more complicated. This was not the toaster for my house, which left me with a Macy's gift card to spend, and they didn't even have the socks that I wanted. I came home and went online, and seriously, all I could find was underpants. So that's what I ordered. Big whoop.

I'm having a family-is-making-me-crazy day (but not R), which is always stressful. Add one more thing to my next-life list: family members are not allowed to make me crazy. And also not treat me like I'm already in my dotage, have no memory, and can't complete simple tasks. I'm fine. My kids just need to get married and/or move out on their own. My husband needs to normal up and start having normal conversations. (Oh, he does sometimes, usually unexpectedly, but otherwise is just silent, until he has a temper outburst. Oy.)

So, what's fun? Oh, I don't know. Maybe a Target run tomorrow, that would be nice. It's supposed to be a nice day, just cold. Today was gray, with occasional flurries. Ick. And then back to school on Monday. Joy.


WATCHING WILL & GRACE :: ENTRY #1686

And In My Next Life ...

There's only so much you can plan for. Sometimes, you just have to give up and realize that whatever it is, it ain't happening in this life, so you might as well just decide that you'll put it off until next time. Y'know?

So far, I can only think of two things that I really want in my next life (as opposed to this one.) One, I never want to think, or worry, about money. I want it to be someone else's responsibility, and that poor soul can just go the ATM once a week and give me an allowance. Because that's a sweet deal, if you ask me.

Next. I want to marry someone who isn't a lunatic.

This is problematic, of course, because first it would depend on who my parents are in that life, because even though my father wasn't a lunatic -- not to me, anyway -- I certainly married someone with a whole lot of his quirks. For example, I wish that this life could have had a longer stretch of time when a heavy snowfall didn't mean looking out the window every ten minutes to make sure that the designated snow shoveler isn't dead in the snow from a heart attack. Jack, at least, let us go out and shovel with him. The Hubs does not do that, although I almost keeled over before when he told me that he was allowing two neighborhood kids to do some of it. So he's just doing the driveway and the cars, and of course, going over what the boys did to make sure it meets his standards.

His lunacy has few bounds, but I can't even go into that all now. He did come home and tell me that he'd been fired, but I don't believe that for a minute. He just likes to say that sometimes. (See "worrying about money", above. For years, when he said that, or that he was quitting his job, my first thought would be losing the house, or pulling the kids out of school. Now I know it's bullshit.) I'm also reminded of that t-shirt I've seen that says My next husband will be normal.

But the other problem with marrying someone who isn't a lunatic, and maybe there's someone out there who can verify this, is that I think that if you're a woman and you're not gay, then you're pretty much doomed to marry a lunatic by definition, or at least, someone who certainly seems to be a lunatic to you. So the answer to this is that in my next life, I would have to be gay, I think. Although this doesn't hold any particular appeal for me, I have to assume that if I'm in a new life, and it starts out that way, then hey, no problem. I would need a bigger bathroom, though, because the Hubs' only products are toothpaste and ivory soap, which take up very little space, and the more women you have sharing a bathroom, the more room you need for products. I'm just saying.

Hold on a minute, gotta go look out the window.

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He appears to be at the final stage of shoveling, which is that he clears the snow away from the street in front of our house, to the curb, so we can park on the street if we need to. Yes, he shovels the road in front of our house. Even my father didn't do that.


WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1685

Cheeses Are Just All Right With Me

(with apologies to The Doobie Brothers.)

Okay, so I eat cheese, I ate bacon, and I'm starting to think that I can eat whatever the hell I want, or at least, anything that I could eat without getting sick before I knew I had Crohn's. I mean, I had Crohn's since at least last summer, probably longer, and the only food I can directly tie in to getting an upset stomach is McDonald's and/or Burger King cheeseburgers. I never could eat onions, and chocolate gives me reflux. (But I would still have it, just not at night.) So that's what I'm thinking. (But yes, I'm still cautious. I'm just not as afraid as I was.)

Anyway, I did not go for the needle biopsy I had scheduled for this morning, and here's why. Before my appointment, I called to make sure they'd gotten the MRI results, which the person read to me over the phone. This isn't a direct quotation, but in essence, it said that the MRI showed absolutely nothing and was completely clear, but hey, go ahead and do the needle biopsy anyway. Uh ... wait just a cotton-pickin' minute. Why am I having a needle biopsy if the MRI showed nothing at all? Turns out that the doctor doing the needle biopsy said I could come in "in a week or two" if I want to, which is fine, but now I think I'd like to talk to her first. So I'm waiting for a call, which may come tomorrow. Whatever, it just proves what I said all along: there's nothing there to worry about.

K and I went to Costco this morning and spent an obscene amount of money on, it would seem, toilet paper and plastic forks. Okay, and paper plates. What on earth did we buy that cost so much? That's the trick of that place, you fill up your cart with really cheap stuff, but boy, does it add up. I also got dinner for tonight (and four other nights) because I got some really nice looking tilapia in a serves-an-army size package, and this time I even remembered to bag and freeze the extra right away. So that's dinner, with some mashed potatoes, and peas. My new food for today is peas.

We're supposed to get snow tomorrow, not really that much, only up to 3 inches, but with sleet and freezing rain. My doctor's appointment at 12.30 tomorrow is not far from the Hubs' office, which means that it's in that city that you have to go up and downhill to get in or out of, so if the weather isn't good, I'm canceling that one, too. (I don't know if I mentioned, after the Hubs told me a few weeks ago he couldn't get home from the office because of the ice, that someone else I know was near there that night too, and personally saw buses getting stuck on the hills and blocking the traffic. So he wasn't making it up, which I didn't think he was, he was just over-dramatizing it. Once they cleared the buses out of the way, the cars had no problem.) Anyway, if there's ice, I'm not going. So that's that.

Oh, and after I posted yesterday, I discovered something that didn't work: the closed captioning on my fancy shmancy TV. Apparently being connected to an HD cable box disables the TV's captioning. Swell. But I called the cable company this morning and they told me how to access the HD cable box's own captioning, which, to tell the truth, is easier to read and easier to turn on and off. So, hey. Not only does it work, it works better. Wonders are never ceasing around here. (And the hearing aids are still working. Wow. Really looking forward to Lost tonight.)

WATCHING THE GOLDEN GIRLS :: ENTRY #1684

Everything Works!

But first ...

If you are a reader of Rob Rummel-Hudson's blog, then you already know about his remarkable little girl Schuyler, and that his book about their journey together, Schuyler's Monster, has been published this week by St. Martin's Press. I just finished it, and it was really wonderful. I just thought everyone in the world should know.

Okay, now about meeeee.

I got up early this morning for a possible 8 to 11 cable visit (and, let's be frank, because I wake up early every damn day), and he arrived around 10. A rather amusing fellow. Anyway, we have a new cable modem, I now have HD TV in the family room, and we have that cable company telephone thingy, but with the same phone number we've always had. And it works! It all works! He was gone a little after 11.

I made sure to clear all the clutter away from the wall in the two places I was pretty sure he'd have to work, but no, he didn't go to either of those spots. He did need to reach the telephone outlet in another corner, one that is literally three feet deep -- hey, maybe more -- in furniture and clutter. Shortly after I realized this, he said he had to get something from his trunk, and as soon as he left the room, I charged the corner, and began tossing things back over my head onto the couch until he could reach what he needed. When he came in, he said something like he hoped I hadn't done that just for him, which made me chuckle. Anyway, he finished up (and it all worked!) and then I pretty much just filled two trash bags with a lot of the stuff that was there that I totally didn't need.

My first call on the new phone line was to the audiologist, to see if my hearing aids were back from the shop, as it were. There were in, but he said he wanted to check them over, and he'd call later and I could get them in the afternoon. Lookin' good.

I had lunch with the Chum, always pleasant, and do you know what I ate? I HAD A BACON LETTUCE AND TOMATO SANDWICH. And yet I live. I'll let you know tomorrow how that all .. er .. worked out.

Home, hanging with K, who is on a kick to watch as many classic movies as she can that she's never seen, and she was in the middle of Close Encounters of the Third Kind, always a fave of mine. Those five tones are the cell phone ringtone I always want (and can never find.) At which point I realized that if the audiologist had called, we would never know, because I forgot to set up the new voice mail. So I did that. And then he called. And I went to pick up my hearing aids. And guess what?

THEY WORK!

So, yay, and god, everything is so loud! Yeah, I know.

WATCHING REBA :: ENTRY #1683

Well, This Was Unnerving

So, it's about 8.30, and I'm sitting in the "waiting room" at the breast MRI office. Their slick pamphlet made this place look like the Mayo Clinic, but you know, not so much.

There was all kinds of security to get in, and then inside, the image kind of popped like a thought balloon in a cartoon. No place to stand or sit while handing in and going over all my paperwork. No actual waiting room, just chairs in a hallway. There was an absurdly cheery man sitting there, presumably waiting for his wife. On the form I had to fill out, there was a line that said "Social History" and under that, this: ATHO/TOB. ? Well, my social history, as you know, is that I'm something of a recluse, and I was about to write that, but I asked, and they wanted to know if and how much I drank and smoked. "ATHO" apparently is code for alcohol use. O. Kay.

But the weirdest thing was that the noise of the MRI was clearly audible in the waiting area. Yuck. You know, the worst thing about an MRI is the noise; it's like a jackhammer. So it was unnerving to have to listen to it twice, for the person before me and then for me.

When it was time for me to change into the little strange robe-thingy, they actually had the man go wait in the lobby outside the office, because I would have to go back and wait in the same hallway waiting area we had both been sitting in. So, a very strange place.

But the MRI itself was fine, went well. I had made an "MRI Mix" on the iPod and they put that on, and I could even hear it behind the pounding.

You're wondering why I had a breast MRI this morning and am not freaking out. It's because I already know it's nothing. When I had my mammogram in early December, the radiologist decided to really investigate these cysts that I've had for oh, maybe 15 years. They've been examined before, and by several doctors, including a breast surgeon, and I've been assured that they're nothing. I think that maybe they were inflamed because, remember, this was when the Crohn's was just starting up and all kinds of parts of me were inflamed. And I'm hoping that now, thanks to the prednisone, they will be down to nothing, and the radiologist will be happy. Otherwise, I have to go for a needle biopsy on Thursday, which hurts, and I know from past experience -- I've had one before -- that these cysts kind of vanish when a needle hits them.

Okay, TMI yet?

Anyway, that's my day. I couldn't eat before the test, but when I got home I made scrambled eggs and I ATE CHEESE WITH MY EGGS. So far, I am still alive. I'll let you know if that changes.


WATCHING FULL HOUSE :: ENTRY #1682

My Quest

For some reason, I think that the world owes me a free toaster. I don't know why I seem to believe that, but I deserve a free toaster, and by jingy, I'm-a-gonna git me one.

Okay. When I was a kid, my parents bought a toaster/broiler kind of toaster and we had the same one sitting on the counter and working just fine for 15 years. I have not had that success in my adult life. The best toaster/broiler we ever had turned out to get recalled, and I brought it back (this after several years) and they replaced it with a new one that was never quite right. I just can't seem to pick a good one.

Anyway, at some point when I was sick, we got a flyer in the Sunday paper from one of the big home stores, either the BBB or the L&T, and there was toaster on sale for $29.99 and if you bought it you got a $25 gift card, and there was a coupon in the flyer for 20% off. So, free toaster, right? Oh, I wanted that toaster; it came close to being the motivator to getting me up and out of bed. My sister and I planned it for days, but I just couldn't do it. Alas, the free toaster slipped through my grasp.

In yesterday's Macy's flyer, there was a $29.99 toaster and a 15% off coupon, and someone gave me a $35 Macy's gift card for Christmas. So, free toaster, right? (And I figured, a couple pair of socks to kill the gift card off.) Who was at Macy's bright and early this morning? You know who. Did they have the advertised toaster in stock? THEY DID NOT. How do they dare to stand in the way of the free toaster I so richly deserve?

Anyway, I got a rain check, and the clerk said that if they don't come in, probably a different toaster will be offered for that price, and he'll call me. Yeah, sure. Anybody wanna free bridge?

Okay, so that was my day, toaster hunting with no success. Otherwise quiet, reading mostly. I didn't try any new foods today because I'm having a medical test in the morning that requires no movement for a period of time, so a return of the runs would be a bad thing. When I get home, though, I may try just a little bit of cheese, glorious cheese. I'm finally having that red snapper for dinner; it's defrosting on the counter as I type.

And that's it.

WATCHING OPRAH :: ENTRY #1681

Sunday

So, a quiet weekend, mostly, not much to write about. Yesterday morning was consumed with picking up R and doing our little errands, including a nice haircut for me, since it had really gotten too long -- collar-length -- when I was sick, and my only haircut since then was just a trim. But now I'm back to a little shorter, although still on my neck, but more manageable. Didn't do much in the afternoon but watch TV with the girls, and a quiet night. Today, K and I went to the supermarket and that's about it, other than a long afternoon nap.

I think I'm okay. What I mean by this is that I think I'm okay with the medication I'm on and being off the prednisone. I don't seem to be getting sicker. This is a good thing.

I'm also branching out a little bit food-wise, and yesterday I HAD A CUP OF COFFEE IT WAS HEAVEN COFFEE IS THE DRINK OF THE GODS AND I HAD ANOTHER CUP TODAY and okay {breathe}, anyway, I had coffee and it was wonderful. So now I'm back on coffee. And some other stuff.

A few times today, I would remember that it was Sunday and so there would be work tomorrow, and then I would remember that this is vacation week and that's just lovely. My plans for the week include, let's see, a doctor on Tuesday, a doctor on Thursday, and a doctor on Friday. These are all appointments that I had to cancel in December and January, all for *gasp* not-Crohn's stuff, because I still have the rest of my body other than my gut to take care of, although it doesn't always feel that way. If I have anything major to report, I'll let you know, but I'm not expecting anything. I've already got my lifetime chronic disease, thank you, so I don't need another one right now.

But tomorrow there's a little shopping and a few phone calls. And enjoying the luxury of a Monday away from school.

WATCHING CLUELESS :: ENTRY #1680

Just One of Those Nights

Last night, right after I got home from the doctor's, K and I decided to get KFC (pot pie warning: excellent crust, inside not so good), and then the phone rang as I was taking my last bite and didn't stop for an hour, and then she and I watched Wednesday's Project Runway and then it was time for Lost. So, no post last night.

The doctor, henceforth to be known as Resnick, was very pleased with my progress, but reminded me that I am now at a point where I may begin to feel less well again. He had discussed this when I was first diagnosed, that the prednisone would make me feel great, but we wouldn't know until I was off the prednisone how well the other, the more specific medication, was working. And that's where I am right now. I have a bit of trouble with my tongue, and my feet hurt some, but I'm hoping that these will improve within a few days. If not, and if my stomach starts to get worse, I will have to move up to the next level of Crohn's medication, which, Resnick says, always works. I have read enough on message boards to know that this is not necessarily true, but I'm also starting to feel that I don't have one of the worst cases of this. The other medication is going to have its own side effects too, and I'm hoping I don't have to go there, but if I do, I will.

The other thing Resnick said was that he doesn't want me to go to a dietitian. He says that in his experience, people who do that end up eating more restricted diets and enjoy less quality of life. I pointed out that I preferred not to learn what I can and cannot eat through trial and error, but he said that's the only way to do it, and that I have to be less afraid of eating outside this small diet I've created for myself. But I did get his specific approval on artificial sweetener -- I guess I'm hooked on those little pink packets -- and coffee. So I've got my old standby iced tea waiting in the fridge for when I get home today, and I'm going to go get a nice soy latte someplace tomorrow morning before my haircut. The funny thing is, though, I have to try out new foods the way you introduce foods to a baby: try something, wait three days before trying something else to see if I react. I'm also keeping a log of what I eat. Who knows, tomorrow coffee, next week .... cheese? Ahhhh. Actually, Resnick said yesterday I should continue to "limit" dairy and I said "I'm eating zero dairy now," and he said I could definitely try small amounts of cheese. Oh boy, do I miss cheese.

Today's the last day of school before winter break, which means there are lots of people out, which includes, of course, the SCM, because he's never here the day before a vacation. Hey, whatever, at least K has work today. (But not in for the SCM; she's in the second of two days for a math teacher.) And the kids who are here are pretty squirrely.

Speaking of squirrels, our assistant principal has just struck again. She's a very nice woman, but honestly, nuts. She is so hyper-organized that in fact nothing she does is organized at all; she works herself up into such a frenzy that she can't get anything right. Anyway, at 1.34, she sent out an email with six (!) attachments about the upcoming state testing: all the schedules, instructions, and duty assignments. She sent out the corrected version of the same email at 2.00. I think that's a record for her, only 26 minutes between the original email and the correction. I don't know how long it will be before the second correction comes out, but it's coming, because every email she sends is followed by at least two corrected versions. Gah. And most of her emails (although not this one) are decorated in pretty colors and giant pretty fonts. Let me repeat myself: gah. As I say, just another squirrel.

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Home. Yes, the iced tea is wonderful. It was pretty much the only thing I ever drank before I got sick, except for coffee in the morning, and I stopped drinking it because I didn't know if the artificial sweetener was bad for me. (I couldn't get it to taste right with real sugar, for some reason.)

My big plans for tomorrow included getting my eyebrows waxed at 11.15, followed by a haircut, and then it turned out that R had an 11.30 wax appointment, so we figured we would go together. And then today, she somehow threw out her back at work, so is now at home on a muscle relaxer and something for pain. So my day tomorrow just became going to pick her up first -- 20 minutes there, 20 minutes back -- since it hurts her to drive, and she can't take the meds and drive anyway. And maybe after the haircut, we'll come back to the house, pick up K, and have a nice lunch out. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Okay, enough of me. I'm on vacation now! Woo Hoo!

WATCHING THE SIMPSONS :: ENTRY #1679

WT ... Huh?

So we had this weird snow yesterday. It stuck but it was never deep, and it made the sidewalks and roads very slippery. R called around five to say that she was already home, her office had closed early. (They are wonderful that way.) The Hubs called at about 5.50 and said that all the roads out of the town he works in were closed, so he had no idea when he would be home.

Uh ... okay ... huh?

Now, he works in the small city -- small by New Jersey standards, population about 42,000, but it's technically a city -- that is our county seat. On a good day, it's maybe ten minutes away, maybe fifteen. But when he said all the roads were closed, I realized that all the roads leading in or out are hilly, and probably the police had them closed off because cars couldn't get up the hills to get out.

I asked if he was in the car and he said yes, just a few blocks from the office. He didn't know when he could possibly get home, or what he would do, but he would call with updates.

Okay. {deep breath} I wasn't so much worried as I was trying to figure out what he would do. He could go back and stay in the office, where there's no bed or food or even TV, but at least he'd have shelter. I remembered a hotel on one of the level roads out (in the opposite direction of home) and I thought okay, when he calls back, I'll remind him of that option. So already, K thinks I'm nuts, because I very cleverly did all that thinking out loud.

I called my sister to pass the time, and to make sure all her people were home. When I told her about the Hubs' situation, she asked me if the roads could really be that bad, and I said I guess so, unless he's just playing the drama queen game. She said, Does he do that? And I thought, well yeah, how he tells me that he's quitting his job and so forth. At which point, guess what?

Yes. He walked in through the door. It was 6.15. Six frickin' fifteen. His ten minute ride stretched to a whopping 25 minutes.

"What happened?" I asked.

"It cleared up," he said.

Seriously. And men think that women are strange?

WATCHING THE SIMPSONS :: ENTRY #1678

Free Falling

So yesterday was my first day off the prednisone. No serious repercussions so far, although I've got a killer sinus headache that I probably would have had before, but which was masked by the pred. I'm still taking the other med, of course, but there's a kind of feeling of being on my own. Strange. I was on that stuff for five weeks, and it really brought me back to life.

I took the opportunity yesterday, then, to make a few little changes in honor of returning to life. I wore jeans to work. (No one noticed, which I thought was interesting.) I started wearing a wedding ring again; I'd taken it off when my hands were all painful and swelling. (I'm wearing my original wedding ring, btw, the one I was married in. It's the most comfortable at the moment.) I also put on just a bit more makeup than I've been wearing, just a little something to cover up the circles under my eyes, and mascara. Up until then, I felt no need to cover up the dark circles, figuring that I looked sick and tired because I was sick and tired. Now I feel pretty much normal for me (although I do get The Tired here and there), just with occasional stomach upset. And gas. Once again, not far from normal for me.

I am very bored at work today. I have a lot of books to process, but the library management software is down at the moment, so that's out. We have classes in all day, but they are all just using the computer lab independently, no instruction required. One class was in this morning doing book research, but it was their third day here, so they were just working, and needed no help. Other than the I.D. cards (aka, the new bane of my existence), things are barely stirring here. I wish I had some crayons so I could just color or draw. I don't know why; that's not a feeling that comes over me often, since I can't draw, but I feel somehow like I want to color.

Oh, speaking of lapsing into my second childhood, I got dressed this morning for the storm that is allegedly coming later, and finally put on my new winter boots that have been languishing in my closet. K made a comment about me wearing them, and I said that it was the first time I was. She corrected me, and said I had worn them once before. I disagreed. And she said "Oh, come on, which one of us has the better memory?"

Well, shit, I guess the answer to that question is not "I do." She does have an excellent memory, she has my memory, apparently, or I should say, she remembers things the way I always did. Who has the better memory? God, I have never been in a time or place before where the answer to that question was not "I do." Gettin' old, folks. Gettin' old.

Did you know that the Rubik's cube is making a comeback? Every day during the lunch period, there are at least a half dozen boys sitting in the library, working their Rubik's cubes. What was that, the seventies that those things were big? Anyway, it amuses me to see them. They probably think they discovered something all brandy-new, like no one before them ever worked on Rubik's cubes. Which they then proceeded to toss back and forth to each other, like they weren't hard objects with corners. Kids are so weird.

Later in the day now, and I am getting sleepy. There's a very fine snow falling outside, and it's sticking. I don't think it'll amount to much in terms of snow, but it's supposed to get a little warmer later, so instead of snow, it will fall as frozen rain, or as rain that freezes on contact with the ground. And that won't be good. Once again, I'll be happy when I know everyone is safe at home. K doesn't have class tonight, so that's a plus, and R doesn't have far to walk from the train.

Later, at home. Still snowing. The roads were barely snow-covered, but very slick and slippery; there must have been a coating of ice underneath. K got home before I did and parked in the garage, as our first car home does, as that makes one less car to clean off in the morning. If there is anything to clear off. Will it snow all night? Turn to rain? It's supposed to be 42 degrees tomorrow, which should melt anything frozen, I think. Oh, who knows. I'm just glad neither one of us is out there driving.

WATCHING THE GOLDEN GIRLS :: ENTRY #1677

Isthmus Be My Lucky Day

Hey, I got a guest post from Golf Widow!

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Hi. I'm guest posting for The Diminutive Person Whose Name is a Strange-Looking Symbol and Who is Associated with the Color Purple, But Does Not Sing about Berets, Raspberry or Otherwise.

Well, you know what I mean. Purple Chai, not The Artist Currently Known as Prince, Formerly Known As the Artist Formerly Known As Prince.

Geez, his name's a mouthful. Rather, it's a handful, if you're typing.

Sorry. Saw something shiny.

Purple Chai is a Library Lady. I have a deeply rooted affection for Library Ladies, having been around them, literally, my whole life.

My mother, pre-college, worked at her town library and if I hadn't known that anyway, there was the fact that you could show her any book spine and she could tell you the Dewey Decimal number for it, often to at least one decimal place. Off the top of her head.

Even without that, there was that box of neatly-typed index cards, alphebetized by title, of song lyrics, including the recording artists and release dates.

And the fact that, after we kids started school, Mom started volunteering at our school's library. We had a librarian, who wasn't really all that smart, and we had Mom, who was the Library Lady. My friends learned how to use the card catalog to find what they needed because Mom showed them how, and they often came to me and said, "Your mom helps me pick out the best books." I was terribly proud of her.

I was four when I got my first library card. They told me I couldn't have one, because you have to be big enough to write your own name. Just because I couldn't see over the top of the desk didn't mean I couldn't write my name. I could. So they had to break down and give me one. It was blue. I carried it everywhere, in my shiny red pocketbook, just in case I needed to take out a book in an emergency.

My favorite library people were on the Bookmobile, when I was little. May was the Library Lady, who checked out your books; Lee was a Library MAN, who drove the Bookmobile and checked your old books back in when you got aboard.

Lee's last name was Reed, and I always thought that was, like, a perfect name for a Library Person.

I knew a lot of Library People over the years, and they got to know me, too. I was the one who preferred to hide somewhere and read the books IN the library to taking them out and reading them at home. They put up with this, because, having been raised in a Library Lady family, I was always quiet, I never brought in food, and I treated the books with the utmost respect.

When I was in high school, one of the Library Ladies took especial notice of me and recruited me for the High School Bowl team. We began having practices in the library, which was as much social as it was incredibly geeky and educational. Most of my fondest high school memories revolved around that back table in the library, near the biographies, and the smell of books, potato chips (Mrs. K, the Library Lady who mentored our team, did allow food as long as it was after school hours and we cleaned up after ourselves), and nerds with highlighters.

I think Purple Chai was the first Library Lady to make contact with me on the Web. She gravitated to my old Diaryland diary and I'm not sure what it was about me that attracted her, but she had me from "library", and we have been friends, ever since.

I haven't seen her in person in over a thousand days, and I know this because the last time I saw her was my thousandth day since quitting smoking, and as I write this, I'm at my two thousand and third day. (But who's counting?)

Last time Purple Chai and I saw each other, we ate Chinese food; next time, we'll probably have to have something more kind to her system. I hate that she's got Crohn's. I can't speak from experience, but I know enough people who have it to know that it's horrifically uncomfortable and difficult to live with. I wish I could take it away from her.

Until we can see each other in person again, I will have to content myself with visiting her here, but that's a lot easier than you would think, because Purple Chai has a way of describing her life that makes it easy to pretend you're right there with her.

I think it's the Library Lady in her.


WATCHING L/O :: ENTRY #1676

Sunday

Thanks, cosmic, for the Classy Blog award! I feel like one of the big kids now!

So I did indeed go to Target and to visit the grandcat today, despite not sleeping so well, but I did sleep later and I guess that made it possible for me to function.

We're having a very strange day of weather. It was supposed to be bitter cold, very windy, and snowing/sleeting all day. Instead, we had a bit of slick snow this morning, then the sun came out and dried it off the roads, and since then we've been alternating sunny skies with snow squalls. R called from DC a couple of hours ago to ask about the weather here because she and her colleagues had heard that it was "snowing sideways" up here. I looked out the window and told her that it was, indeed, snowing sideways, but there was hardly any snow, just massive wind. Anyway, they were going to try to get an earlier train, which I doubt they did because I haven't heard from her yet and she'd be on the earlier train already, but not on the one they were scheduled for. Either way, it makes the difference between her getting here to B-Town at ten or at eleven, and really, it's not snowing anymore and nothing stuck and the radar is clear, so I guess she'll be okay at whichever time she gets in. She may choose to sleep here tonight, or not; we'll see what time she gets in.

So I'm watching season two of Barney Miller on DVD, and probably the younger ones among you have no memory of this excellent TV show, and maybe never even heard of it. It was brilliant. Most people, though, know who Abe Vigoda is, and he was famous as Detective Fish on this show, the old, tired, stoop-shouldered cop just minutes away from retirement. So I looked it up, and when the series started, Abe Vigoda was 54 years old! (Yes, that's a year younger than I am.) He looked 70 then. (Although I saw him in a nearby mall once, and he looked somewhat healthier than he did on screen. Not much younger, but healthier.)

Anyway, I'm waiting to hear what's up with R, and I need to go eat some dinner. I find that when I get hungry these days, I crave protein. As in, I have got to eat me some protein this minute. And sadly, cheese is not on the menu at this time. I've got some chicken in the fridge, but I had that for lunch, so I may just go mix up some tuna real quick. I can always eat some chicken when I wake up ravenous at midnight instead of making some eggs.

WATCHING BARNEY MILLER SEASON 2 DVE :: ENTRY #1675

Saturday

Sometimes, there's just nothing going on. Such as today. On the other hand, I have not mis-medicated myself within the last 24 hours, so this is a good thing. I have no complaints.

Yesterday, which was Friday, I woke up and I felt just like myself, as if this whole odd Crohn's thing was just some wacko dream. I moved through my morning routine with energy, and was awake and alert the whole school day. It was really neat. I guess I should eat gefilte fish for dinner every night.

Today not so much, but that's okay. It's certainly a process, and I'm certainly going forward. So, no complaints. All I did today was go to the cleaners and make a quick trip to ShopRite, and since then I've been watching TV or vegging or reading, or napping like I was drugged. Also okay.

R is in DC for the weekend for work, having fun, I hope. (And working, but this is a fun kind of work.) K has just spent the afternoon keeping R's little kitty company; she might as well study there as here, and this way little Trillian's not alone for as long. If I'm up to it, we may make a visit there tomorrow as well, make sure she's got water and dry food. R won't be in until late tomorrow night, so it wouldn't hurt to check.

And that's my story. I wouldn't mind a Target run tomorrow, either.

WATCHING FRIENDS :: ENTRY #1674

I Think I Need a Nanny

So let's see. Two weeks ago, it turned out that I wasn't taking the right amount of the Crohn's medication. Yesterday, I realized that I'd been mis-spelling Crohn's for weeks. Last night? I took my Crohn's medication, but forget to take all the other stuff that i take every single night of my life. I didn't sleep all night, but I didn't figure it out until this morning, when I got up, stumbled over to my desk to take my morning meds and realized that last night's pills were still there.

Honestly. I don't need a nanny, I need a keeper.

In the past, I could cope with a sleepless night, one, anyway, but now, not so much. I could not function this morning at all. I called in sick and went back to bed, but only slept for another hour or two. I managed to do some things in the house during the day -- a few loads of laundry, and I actually vacuumed -- but I really didn't even get my first "wind" until about three. Which was good, because I did have a pedicure appointment at four, so I was able to go. The pedicures, you may recall, are something of a device that gets me a nice hour with my sister, sans husband, every few weeks, and today's was particularly therapeutic, so I'm glad I was able to go.

And it would be nice to be clear enough to understand what's going on Lost tonight, I think.

Anyway, I've taken a bit of risk with dinner tonight, so I shall see how that plays out. I had gefilte fish and a bit of noodle kugel, which is to say that K and I picked up our dinner at the Kosher deli. Let's hope that they both turn out to be on the list of things I'm allowed to eat, because a) they were good, and b) my stomach has been delightfully peaceful today.

So, Romney's out. Huckabee? Huckabee?

WATCHING COUNT DUCKULA :: ENTRY #1673

Once Again, Duh

I was poking around at the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America website (ccfa.org) today -- as one does -- and looked at the banner and realized that I've been mis-spelling Crohn's as Chron's. You can't imagine how this disturbed me. I'm a good speller, dammit! Anyway, what irritated me most was that 1) I probably mis-spelled it here in my diary a hundred times and 2) I probably mis-spelled it when I picked the URL and title on my Crohn's blog, which, frankly, I never write in anyway, and 3) I mis-spelled it when I picked a username/email address on Yahoo, which I needed because there are a couple of good message board/groups for this at Yahoo. So I had to open a new account -- it's oldecrohne, which I enjoy and couldn't believe was available, although I did stick some extra e's in it, like I do with oldewoman -- and re-sign up for the groups. And now I just went over my last month's worth of entries, and you know, I had it right more times than I had it wrong. But now it's okay.

So, was that Super Duper Tuesday anti-climactic, or what? Is anything really different now than it was the day before? And why, why, why is anybody voting for Mike Huckabee? I realize that he represents the actual values of many people, and I think that's swell. But even if you are one of those people, can you not see that this man is trying to make fundamental changes in our country, and turn it into one ruled by religion, and a specific religion? And people who do not happen to believe in that specific religion would not fare well in such a society? If that's okay with you, well then. (I'll stop now, before I get hostile.)

It's early, but I've eaten, and I think I'm going to take a little rest now. Been a long day.

WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1672

About the Tired. And All That.

As the empress suggests in her comments, The Tired is most likely due to the Crohn's, or to the medication for Crohn's, or a combination of the two. I don't think it's because of my night-time sleeping patterns, because let's face it, I've had insomnia since I was twelve, and I can't pin that on the Crohn's.

After school yesterday, I did a few errands. I picked up my glasses (which seem fine), went to Walgreen's (which was out of my size hearing aid batteries, and I beat it out of there when I saw someone I knew up one of the aisles and I didn't want to get bogged down in conversation), and to the supermarket. The walk through the supermarket is not exhausting in and of itself, because I'm hanging onto the cart for support, but it's always hot by the checkout -- I took my coat off -- and then walking out to the car with just my two bags, I thought "Oh. I'm a completely different person now."

Then I realized that this was not so much a huge revelation as it was a "here we go again." Despite what many of us think, that we are who we are and always have been, every so often we change into a whole other person, the way a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. (Which sounds so lovely, but trust me, my transformations are not as poetic.) I am not troubled by this transformation, I just hadn't gotten it in my head yet that here it was again. But even as I huffed and puffed my way to the car, I knew that this was different from "last time," which was, of course, after the brain surgery, but in my next thought I realized that I've undergone many other changes since then, since the brain surgery 16 years ago.

Of course we change naturally over time, puberty and all that crap, and no one will deny that being pregnant and giving birth changes your body. Even so, I think when my kids were little, I did not so much feel changed in who I was. I was still always in overdrive. I did everything I wanted or needed to do. I worked, I took care of the kids. I cooked what needed to be cooked, and cleaned what absolutely needed to be cleaned. I took care of everything. I was tired all the time, but never really tired enough to keep me from doing what I needed to do.

Brain surgery shifted my paradigm, so to speak. I was forced to be someone other than that get-everything-done person, at least for a period of time. People took care of me on a grand scale, and I had never really experienced that before. I liked to say that I learned that it was okay to let other people do that, and to let other people take care of things I had always done, but in truth, that was a short-lived lesson. As soon as I was able to, I went back to being who I was, but with modifications. I did regain some strength and stamina. I went back to managing multiple Girl Scout troops, to working long hours at school on extra-curricular activities, and on full-time with my kids. The real change in me after the brain surgery was that I became much more thoughtful about raising my children, and listening to what I said and didn't say to them, and learning not to sweat the small stuff with them. To pick my battles. Having brain surgery made me a much, much better mother, because I had been given a glimpse into an alternate world where I might not have continued to be their mother. Although on the whole, I would prefer not to have a hearing loss, I always think of the brain surgery as generally a positive thing that happened to me, not a negative. And now you know why.

Since then, I have been experiencing the Wonderful World of Menopause, which brings its own changes, most of them really annoying. Combined with the WWM are the natural changes that come with aging. When my menopause adventure began, I was 42, and had just taken a car trip to DisneyWorld with my kids and my sister and hers, and I had done all the driving, all the planning, all the managing. I was a freaking dynamo, and then all this other stuff started, and it was hard adjusting for a while, especially to the mood swings. But then things changed when my mother became ill, and Shirl Is Dying took over everything. Certainly the hardest period in my life. I did not adjust to well to all that, had constant stomach pain, and ultimately went to therapy, which helped a great deal. During this time, I developed high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and god knows what else, and I was in a continual state of overdrive. And it only really ended when Shirl died, which kicked off another whole cycle of change and adjustment and new-me-ness, which had barely gotten started before Jack died nine months later. I was an orphan. I learned to live my life as an orphan -- I know that sounds goofy and overdramatic -- but it was a change and had to be dealt with. When your parents are dead, you are the adult, and there is no escaping from that.

And there was a kind of free falling feeling. Overdrive was no longer my required mode of being. I no longer had to spend every day after work running to help my parents, or doing something for my kids. My parents were dead and both of my kids were away at college. Life took on a much easier, more pleasant pace. This was a very peaceful period in my life. I finished going to therapy. This period lasted two years, the two years that both kids were away. Then they came home, one and then the other, but still, things were okay because having adult daughters who are your friends is so cool. Yes, there are moments, and dishes in the sink, but time will take care of all that. I didn't need to be in overdrive, just drive, during this time. My time was my own and I could do what I wanted, sometimes with a buddy along.

And now. Overdrive is out of the question, of course. Drive would be nice, and if it's not there most of the time, well, hey.

At some point recently, maybe even before I got sick, I had an interesting series of thoughts. I have been married 30 years, we have lived in our house 20 years. I am 55. I will live another 20 years, or maybe 30. I'm likely to get to 75, unlikely to go past 85. It was the first time I thought of my lifespan as having a finite end. It was a little bit of a disturbing thought. The last 20 years -- or 30 -- went by so fast. What if all the years I have left go by the same way? I was starting to think of my life and what's left of it as being very short. And then I got so sick, and then I got my diagnosis.

The time ahead of me suddenly does not seem short. It seems okay. I don't know why knowing I have a chronic disease for the rest of my life changed that, but it did. (Although I still have to wonder about certain things fitting into that timespan ahead of me, like grandchildren and watching them grow up. Where the hell are my grandchildren already? My parents and grandparents both had grandchildren by the time they were 55!) When I am Tired, I just am; I can't do anything about it, so why should I despair that I can no longer function in overdrive as I once did? I'm not even supposed to be in overdrive anymore; I spent so much time taking care of every detail for the last 35 years that they're just all taken care of. I'm not quite as sharp as I've been, but I think that's also either the Crohn's or the meds, and that will come back when I've got things more under control medically. And I am not sweating small stuff. At. All. Why bother? Why care? Don't worry, be happy. You know?

So even when I'm Tired, I'm okay. Today after school I'm going to get my nails done, and then go home and get K and we will vote and then pick some stuff up for dinner. Sounds like just the right plan for me.

WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1672

And Now It's Tuesday

I wrote some parts of an entry yesterday, but at about 8:00 last night, I absolutely crashed, so it never got posted. I was sitting at my desk and suddenly felt as though I might faint, which is odd, and it was all I could do get my shoes off and move the few feet over to the couch. Then I felt okay ... safe, anyway ... and before long, I was asleep.

I am pleased to report that last night I slept something like a normal person. I woke up at 10.30, took my pills, and fell back to sleep on the couch. I woke up at 2.00 and moved into the bedroom, where I slept until 5.00. Go me! No middle of the night potty excursions! Dr. Resnick will be so proud of me.

Anyway, there is really no need for me to get up at 5, but that seems to be what's happening. K has been subbing pretty steadily, and it all works into our morning bathroom dance. She's not all that eager to go today, since she was in yesterday for a teacher who's taken on an extra class (all of them freshmen), and her one free period yesterday, she covered for another teacher whose class was miserable, and today she's going in for that one all day. Nice girl, this teacher, but not known for classroom control. So the poor kid's in for a rough day.

Usually I vote on the way to school, but today I'll wait until this afternoon and K and I will go together on our way out to pick up something for dinner. Should be some interesting TV tonight.

And now, yesterday's entry:

And Now It's Monday

I did indeed watch almost the whole football game last night; I took a bit of time off to lie down in the bedroom, which actually meant I missed the entire boring third quarter, but I watched the rest of the game. K watched the whole thing with the Hubs. I guess even if you don't know shit about football, it wasn't hard to figure out that this was a really good game. Afterwards, one of the commentators said it was the best Super Bowl ever. So I guess I picked a good place to start. (And even though Giants Stadium is only a few miles from here -- it's in New Jersey, not in New York, ya know -- I had no personal stake in either team since I don't follow football generally, so I didn't have to feel good or bad about who won or lost.)

Still tired, I think I will be tired every day of my life for as long as I live. If I woke up and had boundless energy, I'd probably think that I'd died and was in some kind of heaven. But I'm okay, I'm functioning. My after-school mission for today is to pick up my new glasses, hit Walgreen's for a couple of items in their circular (hearing aid batteries, buy one pack, get one free), and get a few grocery items. K has class tonight, so I have to decide what I want for dinner. I think what I want is for someone to come to my house and make me some wonderful fresh food, with nice veggies on the side and of course, pie. There should always be pie.

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After lunch. Still tired. I think I'll take a little stroll around the building in a few minutes, which is something I haven't done in a very long time, so I guess that means I feel strong enough to do that. A good sign. It's been very busy today with I.D. cards, so I didn't take an actual break; I'll drop in on the Colleague in the office she's in now when I know she's back from lunch. Tomorrow, for one reason or another, I'm not taking a lunch period, so I'll have to find another time to get the period I'm owed for that.


WATCHING MORNING NEWS :: ENTRY #1671

It Has Finally Happened

I'm watching the Super Bowl. I don't think I have ever watched a Super Bowl before.

But I offered the Hubs the opportunity to watch it in the family room, as I do every year, because that's where the biggest TV is, and this year he took me up on it. Possibly because it's supposed to be such a good game, but also because he has an unusual viewing companion this year: K.

It seems that when she visited friends in Boston two weeks ago, most of the group there being guys, they watched both of the playoff games. It was the first football she had ever watched in her life, but then she felt somewhat invested, time-wise, and declared that she would watch the Super Bowl this year to see how it all came out. So the three of us are in the family room watching the game, and the Hubs is being wonderfully patient with our stupid girly questions, like K asking twice already -- she's having trouble with the concept -- of why you get four downs to make a first down, and then you get four more. It's cute, actually.

I didn't sleep well last night, and didn't take my usual weekend morning two hour nap right after breakfast, so I've been a little zombied all day, but that's okay, too. I did get all that work done in the kitchen that I wanted to do, so now everything looks nice and neat and accessible. I got rid of maybe two full bags of canned and boxed food with expired dates. I really don't know how this happens; it's not like I never look at that stuff.

Anyway, I went to take out the third bag -- okay, there were three bags -- and the trash cans were full, so I asked the Hubs where the extra one was. Unfortunately, this put him into Mr. Recycling mode, and he was disturbed to see that I had not emptied every expired can of its food so as to recycle the cans. Oy freaking vey. In a perfect world, yes, I would do this, but today, not so much. He said he was going to do it, and you know, I love having someone review my garbage choices; he asked if I minded and and I said "It's your choice." But then he didn't; it was just another one of those little opportunities to drive me crazy for a moment, like when he comes home after a bad day and tells me he quit his job. (He didn't. Doesn't. Says it, but never quits.) He just made all the garbage fit in the two cans already in use. Sheesh.

My house phone is still dead, but I got through to the phone company repair spooky voice-prompt lady via the cell phone, and she (what else would you call it) agreed that it was all on the outside lines and someone would come and fix it by Tuesday night and wouldn't need access to the house. Well, yeah, it's the same each time, every few years, and they have to fix it the same way. But the voice-prompt lady is very creepy, the way they have all the machine prompts sounding like a real person, with expression in the voice, and, of all things, compassion. At one point, I answered some question in the negative, and the machine voice said, "Oh, I'm sorry," and then went on. That just creeps me out.

Okay, back to the game.

WATCHING FOOTBALL :: ENTRY #1670

Incommunicado

We had a torrential downpour last night, and, as always happens, the telephone went out. Or more precisely, when it rains, the line develops a loud buzz, but this time it's so loud that the phone is unusable. People call and it doesn't ring, and we can't make calls out. It's usually better by the next day, but so far, no luck. I've actually had this fixed a few times over the twenty years we've lived here -- they have to replace wires or connections at the pole and at the house -- but it's very hard to make clear to the repair people what's wrong, because they always send someone days after the rain, and then, of course, everything is fine. So this should be fun.

In the meantime, I was feeling very cut off. Here it was, pouring, and I was waiting for a call from R to let me know she was home, and it was over an hour after I expected to hear from her. I was trying to be patient and good, because her train runs late in bad weather, and hey, she could have gone out for a drink with work people. But when I finally picked up the phone to leave her a message and found out we had no phone, I was not happy. Remember, my cell phone -- TMobile, btw -- does not get reception in my own house. It's a great phone and works great everywhere else, however.

I borrowed the Hubs' cell -- Verizon -- and called R, who said she had been trying to get us, had left messages, etc., on the house phone, which never rang. And then I tried my sister.

Well. My sister does not answer her phone, as a rule. If she happens to be near it, and she sees my name or one of her kids' names on the caller I.D., she answers. Maybe there's one or two other people she answers for. Otherwise, she lets it ring. And she never ever ever checks her messages. This makes it extremely difficult to reach her, as you might imagine, especially from an odd phone number. So of course she didn't answer, and although I left a detailed message explaining what was going on, I knew she wouldn't hear it.

So this morning I decided the phone situation was insane, and I went to Verizon and got a new phone that works in my house. I only have two months left on the old phone contract, and I have the cheapest plan on it, so I'll pay it out and then it'll be done. I couldn't keep my phone number because that would have been early termination and would have cost me like $300, instead of the $50 or so the next two months will cost. It's a fine little phone -- purple -- and it turns out that there's a discount o the monthly cost for teachers, so that's all good. Unfortunately, now I have to program my whole phonebook into it, ugh, but it's nice talking on the phone in my house.

On my way home from the phone store, I stopped in a parking lot and called my sister again (on my old cellphone), hoping she would recognize the number and pick up. No luck. When I get home, I emailed her -- she checks that once a week, maybe -- and explained the whole thing and gave her my new number so she would pick up the phone when I call her. Not that I expected anything to come of that, either.

I started working on the phone, but I got very, very tired, and crashed for a nap from about 2 to 4.40. Imagine my surprise when I got up and saw that I had voicemail on the new phone! First I had to set up the voicemail, but then to my delight, there was a message from my sister, and so then I got to call her back -- she answered -- and we caught up. At one point, I thought to ask if she had listened to her messages or checked her email. Oh, she said, her husband had checked her email, and he gave her the message.

Oh, good, thanks .... WHAT? YOUR HUSBAND CHECKS YOUR EMAIL? DO YOU THINK MAYBE YOU COULD TELL PEOPLE THAT?

Am I wrong here? If I send email to someone, shouldn't I have the expectation that that is the person who's going to read it, unless I'm told otherwise? Not that I'm planning to email her and say "You know, your husband's a dick" -- which he's not, just an example -- but I certainly could say a variety of personal things about her or about myself that aren't for anyone else's eyes. Jeez. Now I'm really glad that we don't email that much. I just found that very, very weird.

But I'm back in the world, sort of. House phone still not working; I'll see if I can call the repair people tomorrow on the new cell. The Hubs' parents know that our phone is down and they have his cell number, and my kids and the Sibs know. That should cover us for a couple of days, I think.

WATCHING FRIENDS :: ENTRY #1669

Call Me Crazy

But I think I should be wearing my winter clothes in the winter. No?

Here I have a lovely assortment of sweaters and sweatshirts and heavy-weight tops, and they are all just taking up space in my closet. Instead, when I go to work, I wear a tank-top or t-shirt with an open button-down shirt over it. Because on any given day, it is between 75 and 80 degrees at my desk in the library. The temperature varies all over the school, and actually, all over the library, but where I am, and anywhere else I could go, it's as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, and out of the lungs of anyone who comes near. Fun.

The Hubs, I have not mentioned -- to anyone, lest they good-naturedly ask him about it -- has stopped smoking. He stopped exactly one month ago, and used no drugs or aids of any kind (of course.) And he is suffering. I have seen plenty of people quit smoking, and heavy smokers, too, but I've never seen anyone go through what he's going through. His cough is almost constant, way worse than when he was smoking, and he feels sick all the time. Now of course, there's always the possibility that he actually is sick, as well as not smoking, but we'll never know that unless he loses consciousness. He is almost never sick, so the odds of him picking up, say, pneumonia at the same time he stopped smoking are pretty slim. Even so, he looks terrible and feels terrible and is, needless to say, pretty grouchy, which I figure he's allowed to be. He says (of course) that he's not sick; I'm sick and anything he's feeling is just foolish compared to what I'm going through. I say bullshit to that, because he's never sick and he feels like crap and that counts. There's always someone worse off than you are, but that doesn't negate the fact that for you, you're sick.

Anyway, he's been sleeping later in the mornings, a little bit, as have I, so our whole morning routine for the last 30 years is different -- I think I mentioned that the other day -- and now K is finally substituting again, so she's added to our morning mix, but so far, we're pulling it off like seamless choreography. Anyway, I made sure not to get into the shower this morning before I saw the Hubs off, because I wanted to see how sick he looked (not bad today), but he came to the doorway of the family room to say goodbye and had this very tense, tight-lipped look on his face. I said "Oh, you look so tense! And so early in the day!" He said nothing, but continued to look like that, and after a moment, passed his thumb over his upper lip. "OH! No mustache!" I said, and then he smiled and laughed. So he is without facial hair for the first time in maybe 22 years. I said "I remember that face!" and he laughed again (so I hope that was the harbinger of a better day for him today), but he said with all the coughing and everything, he just couldn't stand to keep the mustache anymore. And this after losing the full beard last spring. So now he looks something like a little kid, but with white hair.

Also, I would have to say that my condition is improving. I still think it will be a while here, which is okay, but I have longer periods in the day of feeling all right, and when it's bad, it's not as bad as it was. I still get up in the night, but hey, really, when didn't I?

No real plans for the weekend here, other than certainly not watching football because I could care less, but the weather is supposed to be beautiful -- near 50 degrees, I hear -- so maybe I'll get to go out in the world. I would love to just take the half hour ride and spend a little time at R's. I think I may also have to stop by the gym and try to cancel my membership in person. I called on Monday and they said they would send me the form, but I haven't gotten it yet. I do love that gym, but it's just not for me, especially now, and there's just no point in a membership that I can't use. We'll see how that goes.

So that's it, made it through another week at work. I can't believe that there's only two more weeks until winter break, but of course, I kind of zombied through the last break (at Christmas) so it feels to me like we've only been back at school for three weeks. Even though it's really just that I've been back at school for three weeks; everyone else has been there since New Year's. Anyway, today I re-scheduled a whole variety of medical appointments for other things that I had to cancel because I was so sick. More on that another time, perhaps. But I'll be plenty busy that week off.


WATCHING FRIENDS :: ENTRY #1669