Look how much I am sharing!

Yeah, no: another two weeks have passed with very little word from me - unless you follow me on Twitter/Tumblr, and even there, it's mostly other people's words re-hashed. The reasons for not writing are numerous, at least in my head - ranging from the usual ('not enough hours in the day to accomplish all the things I need/want to do' combined with both 'active illness & post-holiday flare-up' and 'so few spoons it isn't even funny') to the restrictive ('everything I want to say will hurt someone if I say it, so I don't know how to say it' and 'everything I write is so depressing and if it makes me depressed to write it, who the hell is going to want to read it?') to the absurd ('but seriously: do you know how many episodes of Dr. Who I still have to watch?') So it's been pretty difficult to carve out a thinking space, let alone a writing space.

But I have promised more sharing, and more sharing it shall be.

First off, let me recommend, if you do have a Tumblr, that you follow me over there for some mostly illness related, gif-filled ramblings. I'm a little bit upset that I am too old to be in school now, when I imagine I could find an appropriate gif for any single homework assignment (and that I could bs my teachers into accepting their validity as objective tools of measuring my learning). There is a gif for every occasion, I have come to learn, and it is a little bit disheartening to me when I am interacting with actual people in real life and can not just open up my gif folder and show them that I understand exactly what they mean. I have a feeling Google is probably working on that though. (Dear Google: work on that INSTEAD of Google+.  Nobody likes Google+, because you try to force us to like it and incorporate it into everysinglething we use. It is not ok with us. Just let it die already.

 See what I mean about the gifs?)

Secondly, in an effort to keep from writing yet another truly depressing post about the current state of my family let's just keep it under a paragraph and say that things here are pretty sucky. In a major way. For a lot of people. But because we're in kind of a holding pattern right now (for reasons that I do not understand, and therefore cannot explain to you), I can't figure out what to do to help myself or anybody else.  There's a whole lot of not-communicating happening, which is stupid (except for when it's me, of course), but also understandable.  I think my mother is afraid of what comes next, even though she knows it has to come, and is postponing it as much as she can by talking about the unreachable finances of the situation (which are valid issues) instead of the direct harm she is causing herself by not just bulldozing forward. I can't even say I blame her, because I could bulldoze forward about shit too, but really just don't have the energy to deal with the fallout. So: hellish holding pattern it is!

And lastly, for this morning anyways, some commitments.  After a few years of reading awesome reviews and interacting with some great people, I have signed up to participate in Cannonball Read 6, which is "a race to read and review 52 books in a year".  Now, if you've been here any length of time, you know I will read many more than 52 books this year, but as my sadly outdated Goodreads account reflects (Seriously: September? That's the last time I told you what I was currently reading? Ugh), I did not review nearly quite so many.  But I think it's definitely doable, and it fits in with my goal of sharing more parts of myself in different places, so I'm going to do it.  I'm also on the look out for a therapist who specializes in people with chronic pain (did you know there even were such mythical unicorns? I did not!), in the hopes that s/he will have some strategies that I haven't tried out that will help me moving forward. And I'm also trying to comment more, across the board. (??!?!)

This commenting thing is obviously not unique to me (one of my own commenters JUST left a comment saying she was trying to do the same), but it's something that should be so easy, and it's just so HARD.  Guys, I feel ridiculous!

Sometimes I feel like I have a good thing to say, but then I feel like a third wheel or something - especially if it's on Twitter, and two people I follow are talking about something, and I just... butt in - and I wind up erasing what I was going to say.

 Or I feel like, after reading all the other comments on a post, that all I could contribute is a "me too!" or "Agreed: what X said!", which feels like a comment not worth leaving. 

Other times I will spend long minutes - I do not mean like 5 or 6, but like maybe 20 minutes - crafting what I think is the exact right way to phrase what I want to say, and then chicken out before hitting the enter button.

It's so stupid!

I do not know why I am so intimidated by the commenting thing ~ all I know is that I often feel like I did back in high school, when I was at the edges of all the crowds, not unpopular, but never quite fitting in anywhere, and having to monitor my words and actions to an extreme rate, for fear of embarrassing myself.  I know this is all in my head - aside from spam, and one mean comment about 6 years ago, I never have had a comment that I wasn't Super! Excited! to get.  Not here, or on Twitter, Tumblr or Facebook (maybe Facebook - the people I know in real life are not always awesomesauce with the comments). 

But the general truth still exists that comments - even of the "me, too!" variety - make my day! And I should just get over myself already and hit that submit button.

So, that's how my January is going so far - how are all of you faring?  

Zoinks!

The current funniest thing about my work in progress is that I have no idea how 12 year old girls curse. And my main character, as well as her former best-friend/current nemesis, are both twelve year old girls who are provided with many opportunities to curse (even though we're only about 4 chapters into the story).

So, instead of swearing outright  - which, probably? is what 12 year-olds do? - I mean I realize my 13-year-old nephew probably has a truck driver's mouth around his friends,  but here I must give my standard "I don't really like cursing, and was a total goodie two shoes as a child, and probably didn't curse in my head, let alone out loud until I was graduating from high school" explanation*. 

Either way, for right now, in the NaNoWriMo flurry of words, I'm inserting different ridiculous made up curses, like "Shnikies" and "Zoinks."

So, basically, my two main characters sound like they are directly out of a Scooby Doo cartoon. Eventually, when the time for editing comes, this will become a problem.  Right now? It's making the re-reads pretty freaking hilarious.


*If you have any opinions on what curses are popular with the tween-set, please, feel free to share them in the comments. 

According to spell check, I have invented three new words in this post*

Do you know how rare it is for me not to have something playing in my head?  The radio, Pandora, YouTube; TV in the background Charlie-Brown-teacher style? Not to mention Twitter, Google Reader (now Feedly, thank you very much), whatever random selection of lists my curiosity has caused me to Google, and now Tumblr?  In addition to the books on my bookshelf, floor, nightstand, and in my purse? Which doesn't even include the tapes of 9th grade history class failures that my memory dredges up, the earwig my mom was humming in the kitchen, the constant nagging of whatever social anxiety issue is rearing its ugliest head at the moment?

It's pretty damn rare, is what I'm getting at. 

I don't like to sit in the quiet because then I can hear all the things I spend so much time trying to mute; feel all the pain I've devoted a large portion of my brain cells into masking.  It's both a conscious thing - depending on what hurts and how badly it hurts, I have to adjust the interference, turn up the volume on one thing (a funny movie, perhaps, or a comforting re-read) in order to try to combat the intensity of the other thing (a 10+ pain day; a migraine that lasts more than a week; another birthday rolling around without much improvement to show for it) - and an unconscious thing: kind of like how, if you really concentrate on it you can control your breathing or swallowing, but if you don't it'll go on without you. 

It's one of the reasons I'm so bad at meditating - sitting, in the quiet, with nothing but me and my brain? And the pain? Seems like a game of Russian roulette to me.  Too much quiet and who knows what could explode, who knows if I'll find all the pieces/have all the spoons I'd need to glue it back together?  Too risky.

But here's the rub - I can't write well without some semblance of quiet.  I was one of those kids who did their homework without the distractions of music or TV (it wasn't allowed in the teacher's household I grew up in), and, when I got older and went to college and could decide for myself, I found it too distracting to try to write a good essay and watch Friends at the same time.  Not that I didn't write M A N Y college essays in front of the TV - my friends and I liked to say (if somewhat unoriginally) that we weren't earning our BS-es for nothing - I could crank out what most of my professors wanted (their own words echoed back at them/a summary of the book to prove I had read it) without much effort at all, and many a course was completed during the commercial breaks of Mad About You . 

But if I wanted to write?

Really write?  And have it be good? 

That's when I needed - and still need, apparently - a little bit of quiet head space. 

So you can see where Goal A (constantly be distracted, so as not to focus on chronic pain and/or current unhappy life situation) might come into conflict with Goal B (try to write some things that are not completely shitty). 

And the last couple of months - OK, since last summer really, when things started spiralling out of control with my grandmother and I realized that it was going to be a Summer of Suck and that I was going to have to be a freaking Grown-up and deal with Real Actual Problems even though I totally didn't want to - I've been leaning (tipping/falling over into/swimming/basking) into Goal A territory.

Since she died (and my family situation went completely, nuclearly, FUBAR in ways that have left gaping wounds that still haven't even scabbed over, let alone healed), which I can't believe was 9 months ago now, I've been sort of frozen there: emotionally numb (ish - not always) and physically hanging on by the skin of my teeth.

"You've lost weight" my doctors would say, with apparent glee: "That's great!"  Mmhmm: except - I can't eat.  I don't know how to anymore - I am disconnected from food and hunger and fullness and I don't know how to food.  Sounds good, they said.   "Let's add to that," my super-fun/fucked-up body said: "You're definitely in the early stages of diabetes (even though you've lost weight, your numbers are stable, and you barely can force yourself to eat real meals at regular intervals): Let's mess with that even more, give you some new meds and worries/complications about food, and see how you do!" (Hint: I have not done well.)  "Also" said my completely-ridiculous-at-this-point-body "I think you need to be allergic to some more shit, and I know you're trying to eat healthier now, so how about some random allergic reactions to... fruit?  vegetables?  Fruits and vegetables?  The pesticides on certain fruits and/or vegetables that you just didn't wash off cleanly enough?  EVERY MOTHER FUCKING FOOD YOU ENJOY?  How's that sound?" (Hint: Super fun.)

I still don't know what's causing the reactions, although I've just had another round of allergy tests.  When I did them 8 years ago I was literally told not to drink the tap water, because "you are allergic to what's in it."  What the hell is in tap water that I am allergic to? I don't know anymore (who remembers at this point?) but I still drink bottled, so it can't be that flaring up. (She says, as her body laughs with glee.  As if I hadn't learned by now that this shit is not going to make any sense.)

Anyways, aside from the food, there's been other things - health things and family things, and personal things, and feeling sorry for myself things that I could literally rant on and on about for thousands of words - but why spoil all those other whiny posts?  (I will try not to write too many whiny posts.)

The crux of it is, I feel like maybe, I'm thawing out on Goal A a little bit, and am actively hoping that that will help me pursue Goal B. Because I wrote 52,376 words last November, but that story isn't going to finish writing itself.  Because I miss having a place where things are quiet.  Because no matter how many times and how many different ways I have to keep writing this post - the one where I apologize for not being around as much as I'd like and recommit to carving out the words that belong here - you guys always show up, and I couldn't appreciate it more.

I don't have a ton of readers. I would estimate that a more reasonable term for the number of people whose eyeballs will scan across this post would be "smidgen".  But that's ok with me.  Because you're my smidgen, and you're always here when I need you.

So thanks for showing up, Smidges.  I'll do my best (as always - which we know is sometimes better than others) to keep showing up too.

*But spell check is a liar because "unoriginally" and "nuclearly", while horrible adverbs, must be real words.  I will claim Smidges though. 

I have a pill stuck in my throat, in that awkward way that happens every once in a while.  I sip from my water and realize I'm holding back tears... it isn't just a pill that's stuck there, but all of my feelings. 

I've just come from yet another late night heart to heart with the woman my grandmother sometimes has become.  This woman is sad: not just sad, but heartbroken, morose, devastated.  She has lost her children, and doesn't know why.  She's alone in a house she doesn't recognize with people who used to be her family and now feel "worse than strangers, because they're SUPPOSED to love me."  Her long-deceased siblings visit her often, but instead of comfort, they taunt her with their silences at the atrocities she's faced: she is sure someone has stolen her two little boys.  Not just stolen them, but given them away, without her having a say so, without so much as an explanation... and it's those supposed loved ones who allowed it - perhaps enabled it - to happen, and she can't forgive them for that. 

As one hour slips into two, we're still at a stalemate: I tell her that those of us who love her are out here in the dark searching for her with flashlights, unable to reach her, but continuously shining the light of our love in her direction, hoping against hope that she feels it, however briefly, and knows that she is safe.  "They aren't searching for me anymore," she responds, "They've all found other people to love, and I guess it's only natural that there would have to be a loser, but I'm not glad it's me."

I would do anything for you, I tell her.  All of us would.  "There is an empty doorbell that says you are lying," she tells me.  "An old TV I can't see that sits in the living room mocking me, stairs that I can't climb yet have no lift like I've asked for repeatedly, and my boys are gone.  All of that shows me more than the words you say." 

I can't argue with the last - the boys are missing, and no matter how I try to word it, to make her understand, it is always our fault that they are gone, if not by active trickery, then at the very least through passively allowing it to occur.  I can't even defend the defensible position - that the television isn't broken, it's her eyes - because she already knows the facts of that, but it doesn't matter.  As to the others, I can't help but agree: there is no reason that my uncle's aversion to the 'mess'' of the stair lift should outweigh her sense of dignity and ability to shower regularly, but it does.  (I know that part of his reluctance is due to his thinking that this is not a permanent state of health for my grandmother, or that the life would be just as dangerous to her as the stairs, but I'm not sure I agree.)  And the silent doorbell (/telephone) is a two sided coin - there are some who are close enough, yet do (in my mind) too little, and some who are too far away to do much.  Then there are others who want to help, but know that too many people - and at times 1 extra person is too many people - amps up her anxiety and backfires instead of helping.  So, it's complicated, but she can't understand that right now.

Right now, all she knows is that it's three o'clock in the morning, and she can't sleep.  Because she's never been "more alone in her life", even though I am sitting right there.  Even though I am always sitting right there. 

If I leave for the afternoon to take a shower, I leave 70-80% of my brain here, spinning about what might happen while I am gone, and who I will find when I come back.  If she's in a good way when I'm leaving, I hate to go because she might not be alert and focused when I return; if she's having a bad day, I hate to leave because sometimes I'm the only one who can get through to her.  When I come home I might find the lady I've always known, who asks me about the people I've seen while I was gone and seems glad to know that the shower helped my neck so much, or I could find the silent starer, who slides little digs in about how "I thought you'd forgotten I'd existed" because I've been AWOL for less than 10 hours. 

Back in college, I was going home every weekend out of sheer exhaustion - it was one of the concessions I might to my chronic illnesses, because the dorm would be too noisy, that I'd go home to sleep and shower every weekend, and come back on Sunday nights.   During my miserable freshman year, the year I was so depressed I nearly dropped out, when my roommate and I could not have been more poorly matched and my classes were overwhelming, and I couldn't figure out how you're supposed to make friends as an adult (still don't get this, btw), somewhere around Sunday afternoon, I would start to get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that would make me slightly nauseous.  It would build during the hours I spent getting ready to go back, and all of the stress I'd washed away in the shower would come crushing back down on me.  That anxiety, that sense of dread, was one of the worst feelings I've ever experienced - it was more than just 'back to work blues', it was utter despair some days - but I would face it and get on with my week, and my work, no matter that all I wanted to do was to give up, tell my mother to turn the car around and go home. 

I feel some of that same anxious dread so often now, and find myself wishing that I could just walk (RUN) away and let things happen as they will, without me.  Why do I have to be here, listening to her heartbreak, while she breaks my heart?  Why do I have to be the one she can spill out all her worries too, when I don't have any of the solutions she's looking for?  Why does no one else see that her feet need to be up, that her hearing aids aren't in, that she's mixed up and you're just confusing her more by giving her all those options?  How can I sit here and be both her "most trusted helper/the best nurse on this ward" and "obviously plotting against me, or at the very least not telling the whole truth"?  Why are all the people I need to support me actively making this harder? 

I just want to disappear, but ... I can't.  At the same time I want to be the person she can depend on, I feel completely undependable, as if I'm trying to be a pillar, but I'm standing on pillows.  I don't feel up to the task, definitely.  All the areas I am most confident in - I can organize these appointments and medications and nurses visits and bath times like crazy, y'all! - feel inadequate, because there's so much that I can't do.  On a good day, I can listen and empathize and search for non-existent prayer cards for three hours, and on a bad day, I find myself thinking that it's a good thing I'm not a parent yet, because this getting up at 3 in the morning to make the first of three breakfasts or balance the checkbook for the 24th time this week is bullshit.  On a good day, we sit on the porch, and even though she's not herself, the pure unedited joy I can read in her face as the cool breeze finally reaches us is more reward than I could ever ask for; on a bad day, I mutter sarcastic answers under my breath to every little dig and jibe she aims at me, even though I know that whispering and sarcasm just antagonize her.  (I do try to keep it under my breath, but really, sometimes you just want to be like: Yes, yes Grandmother, I do want to "end our relationship", which you can obviously see by the way I'm making you yet another cup of tea, because you completely ignored the first two I brewed for you and let them get cold.  That's why I've given up showering more than twice a week during the hottest days of the decade, because I "hate" you so much. Grumble grumble grumble.)

There are no answers to be found here, really: she's not going to magically wake up tomorrow and remember that we've always and only done our best for her because we love her, and I'm not magically going to be able to ignore her little poison darts when they're aimed at my heart.  It's not ok, but it is what is.  It is our reality right now, and I'm going to live through it.  (Now I just have to keep repeating that to myself until I believe it.)






--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On a more positive note, I can not thank you all enough for your kind words on my previous post (or any of the posts concerning our current situation, for that matter): I think it's obvious that I am having a hard time here, and I hate to be continuously on and on about it, but it's pretty much all I have time to think about right now. I am humbled by and so grateful for all of your supportive comments ~ knowing that so many of you have been through this/similar issues is both tragic and heartening: I am sorry for you and your loved ones, but so glad that I'm not on my own here. Whenever I think about closing down this blog, because, let's face it, I don't utilize it as much as I could/should, and sometimes it's a pain in the ass to even think about posting, I always come back to this: so many of you are here when I need you, when (almost) no one else is. Whenever I think that I am most alone, when I am sure that no one at all will understand a word I am saying, you somehow manage to make me feel as if the things I say matter to you, as if I am part of the 'real world' again. As if all the crazy I am feeling might somehow be a little bit normal. So, thanks for that. (And all of your suggestions: you can be sure I am taking them all to heart.)  A thousand thanks, NTE
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 years in, and Blogger's spell check still doesn't recognize 'blogger' as a word...

This week marks my fourth anniversary here at Never That Easy, and it has me doing a bit of reflecting.

A lot has happened in these four years, in my life & in the world, and I have been immensely fortunate to have this space to come and talk about it all. I may not be the most popular blogger, but I do have commenters who care and who take the time to read my often long and rambling thoughts and then let me know what they think about what I've said. You guys have been amazing: so much more than I expected when I first signed up for this blogger account and racked my brain trying to come up with an anonymous name for my space.

Over the course of the 4 years here, I've tried some things that didn't work for me, I've gone weeks without posting - and posted every day for months. I've learned the basics of html, figured out how to make a generic template my own, and considered adding ads (and realized that they wouldn't make me a profit). I've written things I felt guilty about posting, and not written things I felt guilty about not posting. On one memorable occasion, I was made to feel like much less than I actually am, and on occasions too numerous to count, I am made to feel like I am so much more than I am.

Because I am a blogger, I am a part of a diverse, often inspiring, and sometimes overwhelming community - it's a community with flaws, just like any other, but the support I've found here, the welcoming and understanding, far outweigh any flaws I've encountered. It's something that is hard to explain to people who don't read blogs - it's sometimes hard to explain to myself.

All I know is I have found connections here, and that those connections came at a critical time for me.



Living with chronic illnesses can be a very selfish thing, by necessity - and not even always in a negative way. Self care is vitally important, especially for those of us living with chronic challenges. But if you spend all your time monitoring how you are feeling and what is impacting that and which pills are helping or which doctor you have to call again for the 1000th time, it's so easy to spiral into a place where the energy required to make it through your daily life means you wind up focusing, almost exclusively on your life. (At least for me, it does.) And that's not the way I want to live.


Blogging has also made me much more aware of how much other people are going through: it's not as if I didn't know that life is hard for everyone before I started reading blogs, it's that I didn't always feel it. It's a lot harder to stay self-centered when you're reading about other people's lives, when you feel compelled to comment on particularly poignant posts, when you've just spent 10 minutes crying over someone else's loss.

I've always connected to writing - books have been my salvation more often than I can count - but connecting through the fabulous writing of bloggers means connecting
to the lives of real people. And having them connect with you.

I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't found people who understood - or who at least made the effort to understand. I didn't know there were so many people out there who had similar issues, who could get it, or people who have no idea what it's like to live my life, but who would listen to what I was saying and actually care. It still seems impossible to me that you all show up here whenever your Google Reader kindly informs you that I have said something else.

A lot of what I say is nonsense - memes and quizzes, random flotsam and jetsam from the wreckage of my brain - but a lot of it is also meaningful.

It's stuff that's hard to think, let alone write.

It's stuff that's personal and private and I that I never figured on sharing with anyone (let alone a bunch of people I've never met.)

It's stuff I'll always want to remember, and stuff I'd rather forget.

I don't have any promises for you about what comes next - I know there are some things I'd like to try this year, some stuff I'd like to feature in this space - but all I really know for sure is that I'll be back. Even when it seems like I just am not ever going to get around to writing half the posts that are littering up my head, I know I have to say something. So, thanks for being here when I do!

Anonymous? Not quite

Writing this blog, I try to get my feelings down, my thoughts out; Try to write my perspective on things that happen in my life, in our lives, in the world. And as I do so, I try to always remember that I'm writing about real people, and that they all have real feelings too. I try to take that into account with whatever I am writing, but sometimes, I know, I am pissed off, or hurt, or flabbergasted at the stupidity that seems to be running through my bloodline. It happens. I wouldn't want the people I write about in those kind of posts to wander onto my blog, because they'd be hurt, maybe, by some of my perceptions of them, and that's not the goal here. If I'm letting off steam, I figure, it's a good thing, because then I don't get into trouble by telling my brother he's being an ass, or wishing one of my sisters would just wise the hell up.

Well, one of my sisters has wised the hell up, and found my blog.


She actually found it quite a while back, and the first time she left me a comment I nearly threw up. I mean, I was trying to remember anything I'd ever written about her here, hoping I hadn't been to harsh in any of my posts about her, or our family, or spilled any secrets that I didn't want broadcasted. (To people who I might have to face over the dinner table, basically.) But I'm pretty good about that anyways, and the sister who found me out is - luckily - a sister who's capable of keeping a secret, a sister who I don't fear would use what she reads here against me....

Not that I'm all giving away ammunition and stuff, but still: some people in my family, if - god forbid - they should ever track me down here, I would never feel safe saying anything, I would always have to watch my words. And that's not what this place is for, so screw that. The only censoring I want to be doing is common sense censoring - you know, in case I get the urge to publish my social security number or something.

But she did tell me that anytime I wanted her to skip a post, I should just let her know: Personally, I think if someone told me "Don't read this!!" I would then feel compelled to READ IT IMMEDIATELY, but we shall see. We need some sort of bat signal or something that I can give you a visual clue that this post is not for you. Maybe I'll make a badge or something...

ANYways...

You know who you are, so this is just your fair warning that the next post contains information/discussion you might not want to read - You can if you want to, I just don't want you to be upset again. (I'm sure you can guess what it is about) That's all. But I've been writing the post all night in my head, and if I don't put it in, well, we all know how well that works.

So: Insert warning badge I haven't made yet, along with new banner that I also haven't made yet that basically says read next post at own risk.

Oh, and also: you can introduce yourself, if you'd like... If not, no biggie.

Hey everybody, say hey to one of my sisters, will ya?
;)

So I know I've been lax in the coming back blogging, but I find that I am still running really, really slowly. Like my energy tank (which is always at about a quarter full anyways) totally forgot how to distribute that quarter tank to the places it needs to go. I'm doing a lot of wheezing, a lot of sitting up too fast and having my head spin and almost blacking out, a lot of stuff I thought I was pretty much adapted to, but am apparently not. (Actually, it's kind of pissing me off this whole "Just when I think I get used to how things are and have stuff at a vaguely controlled level, my body decides to screw with me some more and start all over again" crap is beyond irritating, but I am still feeling so SO much better than I was two weeks ago, so it feels sort of petty to complain now. We'll see, as time goes on if that attitude sticks or not.)

I do keep thinking of things to blog, even look over at the computer and will my thoughts to go from my brain directly onto the screen without any additional effort on my part, but I have yet to master this skill (any tips?), and so posts remain unwritten.

In the meantime, I have been (very, very slowly) combing through the 1000+ items in my Google Reader, and here are a few of the posts I read today that I thought "Hey I could've written that!" (Except it never would've come out this good, so you're lucky I'm pointing you to them...) and in an effort to both highlight exceptional posts and clean out my brain a little bit, I give you some links:


Amalah asks: "Can't anyone just be SAD anymore?" and one of her commenters leaves the brilliant reply that there is a difference between "rational sadness and irrational sadness". That comment really lit up parts of my brain that have been taking me to task for not accomplishing all I should (/want/need to) be accomplishing right now...sometimes there are reasons for taking it slow, and that's ok. Sometimes there are reasons for being sad, and that's alright. It's the times when there is no rationale, no reasoning: those are the times you have to worry about. (In other words: cut yourself some slack, dummy.)

Melissa over at Suburban Bliss writes a familiar-feeling post about moving that hits really close to home:

"The problem with moving when you're practicing Extreme Denial is you don't actually pack anything when you're preparing for a pretend move. You tend to think you'll "pretend pack" when the "pretend move" is closer."

We signed our package and sale yesterday. We have till March 30th to vacate the premises. We still have nowhere to vacate to, are living in a mess of boxes and stuff (but not stuff in boxes) and I am stuck somewhere between extreme panic and extreme denial... but mostly I'm just stuck.

Y'all know how close I am to my mom, and how hard it has been this past year when she hasn't been all... here. She's been dealing with losing her mother, her house, & almost her sister; she has her own health issues, all of the stuff I have been ranting about here - the wedding stress, my brother and his 'wife', dad, the kiddos, me, and on and on and on - a million plus things to deal with, so I'm not saying she doesn't have a perfect right to be as checked out as she needs to be, but I think this is a safe enough place to say that it hurts. It hurts me to not be able to say the words that she needs to hear, to not be able to ask her to say the words I need to hear - the wanting to make things easier for her, winds up, inevitably, making things harder for me.
(Not just emotionally, but physically too: there are a lot of things I could use help on that I hesitate to ask for help because it's just not good timing. Having her as my PCA and not being able to ask for what I need has been a whole hateful level of awkward and awful to our relationship.) Chicken and Cheese talks about her own relationship with her mother, and how the stresses of her life keep piling up, and how frustrating it is to know that you've had this plan, and how "it turns out that plan was built out of Popsicle sticks." I'm feeling very "Popsicle stick" built myself, lately, and that post made me cry a little.

On Sunday, I went to another wake. My best friend/college roommate's husband's grandmother, a lady I met only briefly and barely knew died last week, after a frighteningly quick battle with pancreatic cancer. My roommate's favorite in-law, and a sweet woman, with a wonderful best friend who I sat with at the wake and listened to for an hour. Last month, I was too sick to go to the wake of my Nana's cousin in-law, the kleptomaniac who eventually went almost completely blind but still insisted on writing her own Christmas cards ("Merry Christmas, Love Irene - Sorry this is messy but I am blind you know.") Basically, I am sick of going to wakes, to funerals, to places of grief. I am sick of grieving. And yet, it's not going anywhere, it's a part of our lives. But I'm with Meredith: It just doesn't seem right.

cancer is not something you expect to hear on a friday morning. not ever. not on a sunny day when life is already out of balance. cancer is not something that creeps into a man so alive, so tan, so good at doing hand stands for his kids at the community pool all those years ago.

my dad can’t have cancer.
not today.
not tomorrow.
not ever.

The Servant over at Serving the Queens lost someone that matters to her, recently, and she talks beautifully, heartbreakingly, about loss and love:

For the time being, these things do not change what is the truth to me right now, and that truth is achingly painful, and I am indescribably sad.
He is gone.
And so I weep.

I'll keep them, and their families, in my prayers, and keep hoping for them as I hope for all of us.

Looking back, it seems like my brain is full of sadder things, but that I'm in good company. I do hope that we'll all be feeling better, soon. That life will start giving us some breaks, give us a chance to catch our collective breath.

Hope you are breathing well, and I be back!

Just a random idea...

Dad Gone Mad has commenced Operation Comment your Balls/Boobs off (depending on your gender), and I think it's a fabulous idea.

So if you have time, don't forget to spread some comment love.

Because TV always knows what to say, even when I don't

Jason Morgan: The first time I ever saw grief was when Sonny's wife Lily died. It made me understand that bad things happen fast but you live through them slow.


It's from an episode of General Hospital, which, I know: not exactly the bastion of knowledge that you expected. But I still remember hearing the character say this... still know how true it is. I'm sure it's been said a million times, a million different ways, but when I make it through the weeks like this past one, it's the line that goes through my head... you live through them slow.

Thank you for your kind thoughts and prayers for my family. They are much appreciated.

You wanna know the truth?

I just haven't felt like it.

That's why I've been so quiet here lately... I just haven't felt like it. I'm a little bit in my shell these past few weeks: a bit of bad news here, an added responsibility there; a lame attempt to clean up some of the clutter in my room (and life); projects to finish and discoveries to make; a book that's scaring the shit out of me (and making me consider what I'm putting into my body and what I'm expecting out of it); doctors' offices to fight with (or ignore); mosquitoes to swat away, plagues to prevent; a little bit of time for reflection on the crappy year that's been, and the time that's yet to come; just stuff. Life and stuff.

And so, my brain says things like "You should blog this. Or at least write it down so you'll have something to blog when you get around to it," and another part of my brain goes "Nah." It's pretty obvious which part has been winning.

Also? It kind of got to the point where I just felt like I was complaining about the same things over and over again, sharing the same pictures over and over again, telling you ... nothing, really. And I don't want to blog like that.

So, I'm going to try to work it out. Whether that means I post more, or less, or whatever... I'm not sure yet. But we'll figure it out. I hope you stick around.

I'd miss you if you left.

TWO weeks???

Well I took the laptop to the Geek Squad today, and they kept it. I was very sad to let it go (AGAIN!!), but hopefully, it will be a quick repair and then they'll send it back to me all working and spiffy. Since the fan had stopped running at all, I decided all my software improvements (updating the BIOS, for example) were for naught, and brought it to some people who might actually know what they are doing. BUT they said it'd cost money (duh~ of course my warranty expired again in January!) and that it may take 2 weeks to a month (to unscrew the little screws, take out the fan and put in a new fan? Who knows...) So I am stuck trying to finagle some time on the home computer, which means sitting up and all, which I am not particularly good at (something about this posture makes my neck and back start hurting even more quickly), so posting may be scarce. Like it already has been for the past two weeks, when I was hoping for some sort of fan-revival miracle. BUT I do appreciate you all checking in, and I will check in as I can... I may even resort to physically writing out posts and then typing them up, because when I am computer less, I think of a million things to talk about. So, we'll see how it goes.

In other news, yes: the shower was demanding and exhausting, but it was also fun. The wedding is 33 days from today, so all of the last minute type stuff is rushing at us. Like: Finding a bra. Hello? Large chested person? Get a bra that actually fits, will you??? That's Wednesday's mission... I'd rather refuse to accept that particular mission, but we do what we must.

I have my first appt with Zach since Nana died next week (it got rescheduled twice: once by me, once by him), and I'm feeling a little awkward. I'm mostly doing ok with the whole thing, but wonder if seeing him might be a little teary... for me or for mom. Nothing for it though, because I definitely need some better pain management going here... all these extra tasks I'm trying to fit in, and my body is complaining loudly. I had two 10 days last week... it is not something I need to be repeating, that's for sure. Although it did make me realize it's been a while since I've had a five or a six day. Mostly I'm living at 7-9, and that's not a great place to be, I assure you. (Sorry, re-reading that that may make no sense to you: on a 1-10 scale, ten being the highest, rate your pain. That's how the docs always do their evaluations.)

So... recap: laptop-less, but not totally computer-less. Wedding stuff is progressing, and there's a bunch of details to follow through on. Love you guys, and will try to write as often as possible. Pain sucks. The end.

Messin with your math since 2005!

Sometimes I wonder what people think I must when they check their feedreaders, and I've been on their site.

Because, if I find something I want to comment on, but can't immediately think of what I want to say (like on this post), then I shrink it down, and let it simmer for a while in my brain.

And, by a while, I mean... sometimes three days. I think that's the record, anyways.

There are lots of reasons I do this: If a post is out of control funny, or too emotional to read in one sitting. Or if it's so powerful that I want to sip it rather than gulp, I just keep maximizing and minimizing it until I'm ready to move on.

It happens a lot: The talent out there in the world o' blogs is immense, people. I'm very often humbled by the words I see on my screen.

But still... I must really screw up people's statistics. So I thought I'd just offer this explanation: I'm not exactly a stalker. Really. I just... need to process a bit.

Sorry about your graphs, but I think you'll understand.

Some laughing links to share:

If I have to explain to you why this is one of the funniest things ever, then I'm not really sure how you got here: God, how I hate that stupid Castle Toad! It's not just about the toad, though: Heather! Anne! nails all 5 as she reminds us all that sometimes being alone on a deserted island is preferable.

Also, you should head on over to Jennie's! place, and see how many times you can say "That's what she said" while you're reading.

Cuz anything that makes me laugh today, is worth it's weight in gold. Or finger sandwiches. Or meat. Either way.

Also, if you're into that kind of thing (which I usually am not), may I suggest you head on over to YouTube and see what Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman, Matt Damon & Ben Affleck are up to? Crude, senseless, totally shouldn't be funny. But I laughed. A lot. Out loud at one point. If you want, go see if it makes you chuckle too.

Things I don't get that other girls do...

(Part 1... of probably 1 billion.)

Valentine's Day.

I just ... don't get it.

I mean, I am a Card Person. Capital C, Capital P.

I know the location of 3 local Hallmark Stores. I know two of the salespeople at one store as more than nodding acquaintances (I may or may not know the names of their children).

I can, very easily, spend upwards of $50 (and 50 minutes) on choosing cards alone. I usually have a multistep approach to buying cards...
- Step 1: Pick up cards that I like, have a need for, may someday have a need for, or just plain want.
- Step 2: Try to keep a running tally in my mind of an approximate cost for the cards I am gathering.
- Step 3: About 45 minutes later, after having gone through each aisle of the store at least once, realize I now have enough cards to wallpaper my room with, and no freaking idea of how much they cost.
- Step 4: Realize that I cannot rob a bank in the next 15 minutes, which requires cutting the pile of cards in my lap down by about 75%.
- Step 5: Still spend about double what I had set out to spend, but walk away happy just the same.

If those steps get screwed with -- if I have an urgent need for just 1 card, for example, I feel disappointed that I did not get to loiter in the store for hours on end.

So I love cards. Hallmark commercials make me cry, I am sappy and sentimental and have a gooey chocolatey center. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and Grandparents' Day, and even sent a Friendship Day card one year (albeit totally by accident.

In short, I am the sort of person that seems tailor made for Valentine's Day Fever.

And yet, I have none.

I know what some of you may be thinking, but I am also not a Valentine's hater: a cynic, heartbroken at having spent her entire 28 years on earth Valentine free, set lose to terrorize the 'lucky few' out of their moonlit dinners and conversation hearts. (Well, I doubt that any of you are thinking that, but let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I ever heard that theory...)

No, I'm all for you having a great time if it means something to you... I just don't get it.

I like Valentine's Day parties in classrooms ... as you are reading this, children everywhere are sneaking business card-sized envelopes into the specially decorated desks of their classmates, eating cupcakes bedecked in pink sprinkles, or wondering at who could have possibly signed their card with a question mark. (And their teachers are shaking their heads at their naive belief that they might have actually accomplished any work today.) And, when you're teaching, any excuse for a party is welcomed ... but I don't get it: It isn't as if there are extensive curriculums set up that delve into the philosophy of love and it's many representations, or that there's a historical imperative to learn more about this wonderful patron saint of fainting, the plague, bee keepers and lovers (wow, I love being a Catholic!)... It's just, "Hello, it is February, and this is what we do in February."

I don't get buying roses when they're 3 times as expensive as they might be on any other random Thursday. Or heartshaped boxes of chocolates that are irresponsibly unlabeled (I hate those orange creme ones: why are they even in there??)

I don't get why single people have to feel lonelier on the 14th of this month than they would on any other mid-month (especially since, any other 14th day would not find them feeling particularly lonely at all). Or why couples should have to feel the pressure of adding a perfect night to their weekly routines. I don't get imposed happiness any more than I get imposed unhappiness.

I don't get how guys forget Valentine's Day, when it starts being everywhere right after Christmas, but I also don't get why it's so important that they should have to remember it.

It's just one of those things that I missed out on, like the need to buy shoes that cost more than a good camera.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm going to try to get back into posting: I've been missing it, and all of you.
My days are still very difficult: knowing the right thing to do for other people who are grieving, particularly my mum, is a hard, hard thing. Knowing what to do for myself is proving pretty difficult as well.

But I think we're all doing ok, and I'm going to keep thanking you all for all your help, just so you know how much I appreciate it. For now, I need to write again ... it helps me remember that there are other things going on -- in my life, and in the world -- and helps me feel more like myself. And I can use all of that that I can get.

Hola chicas!

(I can't think of any male readers I've got, off the top of my head, but just in case: Hola chicos!)

Things are creeping along, hopefully in a positive manner, with my Nana: her feeding tube is working well, and she's being moved out of the ICU into a regular room. They've got four major concerns: 1) When will she be able to restart the radiation, because that tumor is ridiculously large and prohibitive to, you know, breathing normally, eating, & sometimes talking (plus, you know, it's fatal if left to its own devices, which is a very big deal). 2)Is it the tumor that is causing her 'episodes' (they think it is), and how do we prevent them during her treatment?
3)She's got a tiny bit of fluid in her lung right now, and they're not sure why, but they're pretty confident that sitting up, inhalers and nebulizers will help to clear that up & 4)Her liver levels are "off" which may be from not eating for over a week, so they're keeping their eyes on it to see what's happening with it.

Overall, I will take any positive thing: any little step forward is NOT a step back, so I'll take it. Thank you all for your kind words, wishes, and support.

In other news, I've been distracting myself from the hell that has been our house these past few days (oh, the PUS and their sanctimonious "She wouldn't want any tubes!" "I'm here to take care of you!" "Let me remind you of when your father died, or when your sister died, and make vague accusations that you don't care about your mother!" "Let me weep and cry at the idea of this woman's death, in public, even though I have been abusing/neglecting/hating her for at least 20 years!"), I've been following/catching up on the Cassie Edwards controversy.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest you pretend you never saw what I just wrote, and instead just stop reading right her. Because, trust me, you will get sucked in! If you're still sticking around, I'll give you my very abbreviated summary of what the hell is going on:

Cassie Edwards plagiarized. A lot. As in, I can't actually see that more than 25% of any given book of hers was actually written by her. She plagiarized from research materials, from Pulitzer Prize winning novels, from the classics. (This will open a PDF of the evidence against her, if you're interested. It is long, and detailed, and painful.)

The plagiarism was uncovered by, and then outed by, writers and readers over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, which is one of my most favorite websites. The Smart Bitches are wonderful writers, have strong opinions stated in entertaining (and often hilarious) ways, and run a site with some of the smartest commenters I've come across. Because of this situation, they've been condemned by many as "meanies" ... and much worse. The idea that bringing this situation to light could be construed as vindictive, unfair or any of the other things I've seen battered around in the past couple of days is, in my point of view, ludicrous. They did us all a favor, and have taken a lot of heat because of it. I'm grateful to them, to the readers who continue to Google search (what I consider) poorly written books, & to everybody who's seen this and gone "WTH??? This is so wrong!"

Including, my favoritest romance author, Nora Roberts, who's had some experience on the wrong side of this issue (her work was plagiarized by 'author' Janet Dailey back in the late 1990's), and who, rightly, made a statement denouncing Edwards' plagiarism. Note: she didn't denounce Edwards - she merely stated that this is plagiarism, and that it's wrong & should be dealt with.

This has been, of course, seen as an attack on an elderly woman (Edwards is 71) by some people...who have been labeled the excessive "fann gurls", but as an excessive Nora fan gurl myself, I might take offense at the idea that I would support my favorite author should she blatantly steal her words from other people. As much as I love La Nora, should I find that her books are largely made up of someone else's words? I would be horrified. Then I'd be pissed. And you better believe I'd tell her (and probably anybody else who'd listen) how outrageous that is. And I'd want my money back, which I would then distribute to all the other people who actually did that work I enjoyed so much.

Anyways, there's this whole brouhaha (as there seems to be anytime anything happens on the Internet), but it really boils down to this:

You can't call yourself a writer if your book is made up of another writer's words. All you are? Is a pretty good copier. Who sometimes adds characters, commas, or stunted dialogue to whatever you are copying from. This does not make you a writer, and the fact that you've been able to last this long in this business is a disgrace.

The End.

(But thanks for the distraction, Smart Bitches! You can click on any of the Cassie Edwards posts over at SB by clicking on their link on my sidebar, and if you want to read a hilarious take on this whole thing, may I recommend Gennita Low's post over at A Low Profile?)

Ta Da!

So, there's still a bit of tweaking to be done, but I've got a new look here! And I did it myself! And it took for-freakin-ever! But it's up!

AND

It's a good illustration of the word I've chosen as my keyword for this year: Closer.

As in, "It's not perfect, but it's closer to what I wanted."

I thought long and hard about what I wanted out of this year, and once I threw out all of the 'miracle cure' and 'totally happy and healthy' pie in the sky things that I have no chance of making happen (although, should they perchance occur, I would have no qualms about accepting them into my life gratefully and graciously), I finally decided that all I want is to be closer to some of my goals by the time 2009 rolls around.

I don't have to be in perfect health, but are there things I can do to help me get closer to healthy? Sure. So why not do them? What am I waiting for?

Same goes for my weight: I am not going to lose 60lbs. while I'm on the meds I am on: it ain't never going to happen. But can I get closer to where I'd like to be? Absolutely I can, and there's no reason not to take those steps.

The key to this year for me, is going to be -

1) Doing what I can, in whatever the situation is

and - JUST AS IMPORTANTLY -

2) Being ok with what I can do. Accepting that I am doing what I can, that I have limits.

Like with this website: Rather than continue with the old design while I obsess about every little aspect of this one, why not put it up? Is somebody else going to think "Oh, well, I think that this color here is about 3 shades off, why'd she do that?" I doubt it. (Although, if there's anything really screwed up, or not showing up that was here before, I would appreciate it if you'd drop me a note. Also: Are there any AdSense users out there who'd like to share their experiences? Thanks!) So instead of driving myself crazy over what isn't done, I'm giving myself credit for what I did do: Designed a simple header! And a footer! (And, hello, was surprised at how easy it is - Photoshop! -, and will now be working on ones I like even better.) And figured out where to find all the numbers for these colors! And so on. Did I know how to do any of those things this time last year? No, I did not.

Showing myself how much closer I am getting to getting the hang of this blog thing - and to giving myself credit for things. Yay!

So, here are a few of the things I would like to make progress towards over the course of this year:

Closer to healthy

Closer to independent

Closer to employable

Closer to being a good photographer; to understanding what the heck an F-Stop is (even though I thought I got it, I don't); to being able to fix some of the things on the camera while I'm taking the shot, so I don't have to fix them in Photoshop; to someday getting a good SLR camera

Closer to happy

Closer to being a more knowledgable blogger, a more reliable poster; a better blog-friend & commenter

Closer to knowing what I'm really capable of

Closer to certain members of my family (and not closer to others)

Closer to understanding - and being able to do something about the way I react to - the behaviors of the people around me (a certain almost 2 year old and a certain 84 year old are at the top of this list, today)

Closer to knowing what's wrong healthwise, and how to fix it; to eating better and reaching a healthier weight; to capable of withstanding every.single.germ that travels within 500 yards of me.

Closer to kind; to gracious; to giving without expecting a return

Closer to free


Some of these are very broad; others much more specific. Even for the broader ones, I have an idea of where I want to go, and the next step or two on my way to get there. And I really don't think that's too much to expect from myself: to amble along the roads I want to amble down, no matter how slowly I have to go.

Happy 2008, friends: May we all be happier, healthier, and have the strength we need this year.

Love, NTE

Hey everybody!

I'm totally out of it, or at least I'm predicting that I'll be totally out of it, based on previous experience, so I'm writing this now to post later.

I've signed up to "Whore My Loot!" , but if I'm posting this as an alternative, it's just cuz I'm not feeling up to taking pictures (or typing... or probably doing anything except staring into space and remembering to press the "post" button). I'll get around to my own, received loot later, but how'd you like to see what I gave out this year instead?

I'm kinda proud of a lot of my gifts this year: having used my good sense & not spent big time $$$; having gotten very specific and individualized presents, and having discovered the joys of Esty, I really felt like this year I did particularly well.

So here's some of what I'm planning to give tomorrow (or... rather, have given and been exclaimed over!)

I spent the year picking up bargains on DVDs for Older/Only Brother, of movies that we'd enjoyed growing up. Here's a few:




For SisterJ, I got a print of an angel statue, sleeping:



And a print called "If Humpty Dumpty was a girl" from Esty artist, the Dreamy Giraffe, whose artwork I lurve...

So much so that I also ordered:
For Youngest/Only Niece:


For Her mama, STB Sister-in-law:


(Ahem... I may have also kept one for myself... ya never know.)
I wanted to keep SisterK's present for myself, but I bravely wrapped it up instead:

Isn't it gorgeous? It's also from Esty, from Little Dear, totally droolworthy prints, I promise.


Lil Girl/Only Niece also got the latest adventure of her favorite animal:



College Roommate/Best Friend got a framed photo of her daughter & Lil Girl, having a blast over the summer:


And SisterCh got yet another Esty find, a Monopoly necklace. Monopoly is her favorite game... it's kind of an obsession. So, hopefully she'll love this too:


There's more, but it's Christmas Eve and I'm still wrapping, so I'll type more later. Since I'm meant to post this on the 27th, I hope you all have had a fabulous, peaceful holiday.

I should be checking in soon.

Love!

No more NaBloPoMo

Today is the last day of National Blog Posting Month, and I made it, again. I almost stopped caring, quite a few times, when things started to get heavier and heavier, but it gave me something else to think about besides what's going on here, and that wound up being a good thing.

Last year, after I finished my first NaBloPoMo, I was all "I can do this, this posting everyday thing: I'll keep it going all year." Yeah, this year, I know better - t'ain't gonna happen.

But, I also know I'm still committed to this, this sharing with people thing. I hate how my best ideas for blogs happen as soon as I click the little "Shut down computer" button. Or in the shower. Or while I'm too sick to roll over and type. But I love that I have this almost constant voice in my head that's urging me to write.

Because I am a writer - I've always written, assume I always will.

I may not be the best writer, but trying to figure out the right words to say to make people feel what I am saying is important to me. (Sometimes, too important, hence the multitude of unpublished drafts in my post listings... if I can't find the right way to say it, I probably won't say it at all.)


I also know how important all of you are to me: my readers and the writers of the blogs I read. I'm addicted to, and committed to, this community. All of the smart, funny, brilliant, quirky, understanding, thoughtful, determined, and generous (mostly) women I've met since I fell into the blogosphere.

Every single person who I 'know' because they've sat at their computer, turned on their brains, moved their fingers and opened their hearts to the world.

To me.

It's funny how often I start a conversation with "Well, I was reading this blog and," or "You know my friend Janice said," ...or Miss Zoot, or the Goldfish - you know, all of these people I've never actually met but who feel closer to me than my in-person friends?
Or how so many of the quotes going into my collected wisdom folders are from blogs.
Or how a trick/technique I've read about here becomes a part of my daily routine.
Or how often I will be doing something (watching TV, eating, sitting in a doctor's waiting room again) and something I've read in the blogosphere will pop into my head.
Or how frequently I find myself sending good vibes to places I've never been, except in my heart.

So, with all that's going on in my life right now - and all I can see that is going on in all of yours - I'm grateful that we've got these places, these little refuges.

I started this blog more than 2 years ago, looking for an outlet, a very necessary place to call my own, even if it wasn't a physical place. I never dreamed that it would also be a place where I would feel so connected - to myself, to women, to mothers, to the world.

In real life, I'm so often the misfit, the one who doesn't/can't just blend in: I'm too sick, too lonely, too straight laced, too weird, too anxious, too abby-normal.

And yet here, I belong.

I'm just another voice, just another open heart.

MBSM - Illicit

Today's Best Shot Monday picture combines a few of my favorite things: the energy of Youngest Nephew (7), time alone with just Youngest Nephew, and the two of us acting like children - which, although he can do it all the time, is such a treat for me!

Here's an action shot from our sleepover this weekend, when I caught him catapulting from the couch to the ottoman, something the grown-up me would've had to get mad at (if only because it's not technically my furniture, and I know his Papa would've), but the fun & games me just laughed and showed him the picture.


I don't ever remember having this kind of careless, frenetic energy -



but it's still really fun to watch.

Happy Monday, all: If you're one of Best Shot Monday-players who usually only stop by on Monday's then ---> I hope your week is filled with things to be grateful for, and that you spend your Thanksgiving exactly as you wish.

How to cheer me up...

I feel like everybody else is as behind in reading blogs as I am, and so I'm not going to feel guilty about it. If you're getting a comment from me on a weeks-old post, I'm sure you won't mind.

As for other things, can I just say that having your 7-yr-old nephew sleep over is a cure-all for many things? It really gave me no time at all to sit and obsess about some of the things that have been happening, and I'm kind of grateful for that.
My aunt is staying in the hospital till at least Tuesday - they still don't know what caused her to pass out, or why she's so anemic (I still vote for the whole, you have to eat food to get nutrients thing, but I'm not doctor). My dad is still on vacation, and I have only wanted to kill him 3 or 4 times. I'm still trying to do battle with this last flare, hopefully in time to get ready for the next, post-Thanksgiving flare. (I have, in fact, missed out on Thanksgiving before - twice - and so, won't do so again unless absolutely necessary. Let me explain to you how much I love gravy...)

But back to the sleepover.

Except for the fact that baby talk and whining are apparently Youngest Nephew's newest favored forms of communication (and the fact that Auntie NTE does not hear either of those things, which confused him a lot), we had a fabulous time.

We played computer games; he showed me his Webkinz' house & let me feed them (woo hoo); We played Clue Jr about 7 times.

He ate cold pizza for lunch and had dinner at 8:30 (I told you Dad was home - he was obviously in charge of dinner as well).

He got up at 7:30 this morning, came into my (freezing - where was the HEAT??) room, snuggled under the covers and we played Would you rather... He'd rather learn to scuba dive than learn to climb a mountain, btw, and I'd rather have him build me a house than try to build a house out of Legos.

He made scrapbook pages for his Mum & Dad, while I tried to do some but kept getting distracted by the glitter. And the scraps of paper that were flying in the air. And the mess.

We listened to the Animaniacs and Schoolhouse Rock.

He watched his first Looney Tunes cartoon with my dad - and laughed.

He told me he loved me about a million times and left a message on my dry erase board that reads:

To A. NTE:

Hihooowaaaaaaaaaahya? This is from a book we both love, The Wicked Big Toddlah.

I slout you. He is not, contrary to Mum's opinion, calling me a slut. He salutes me... aw..
And I love you.

Love, ? Secret messages are verrry popular in our family.

(Relly, it's from Youngest Nephew) That says "really," andd he signed it in cursive! He's getting so big.

You just can't beat that, if you ask me.