Little update...

Thanks for the well wishes, guys: I really appreciate it.

It's been kind of crazy here this week, and I'm feeling more than a bit worn out today. So far the post-move flare has not been ferocious, amping things up only a notch or two as far as pain goes. Which, of course, is horrible. If your pain goes from an 8 to a 9, that's a big deal. But, I had so feared a 10+++++, that I think I'm dealing pretty well with what I've actually got.

I do have a comfy, cozy new bed to retreat to, which has been helpful. (I even wrote a post about it, and if I can get my crap together long enough today to take a picture, I'll post it.) I am slowly adjusting to the new smells and sounds, which has been difficult. As far as sound goes, it's mostly just a lot of "Holy crap - who slammed that door? Is that someone coming in the porch, or just the floor creaking? Why is the bathroom right next to my room?" and new street noises like fools who set off fire works after 10:00 at night. Not so big a deal, really.

But the smells, oh the smells. There's the "odorfree" paint, that STILL smells even though it's been three months. Yes, it is less than it would normally be, but don't try to tell me it's odorless... there's a smell. There's the ocean breeze that occassionally makes its way up the hill, my neighbor's insistance on using some sort of stain on his new steps, and then there's the mystery smell, that seems to come in only in my window. UGH. My current theory is that the previous owners buried a body in the side yard before they moved, and that is why there is a cup of vanilla extract sitting on my windowsill right this minute.

Smells, the front porch 'ramp' (that is steep enough to qualify for a mountain), and the bathroom (No sink? Toilet in front of the door? Haven't you people ever used a bathroom before??) have been my biggest challenges so far, but I am settling in, slowly and surely.

Mum and I have been working our way through this season of So You Think You Can Dance? - don't tell us who won - and adding grab bars & curtains in the bathroom. I've already figured out that the den gets the best breezes and the front porch gets the least amount of sun after 10 AM.

I know that some of our neighbors have children, some have dogs, and we all need a new sidewalk. I know that the library is only 1/2 accessible, and the half that is are the children's rooms. And that there's only one local pharmacy that's open 24 hours (and, of course, it's not mine).

I'm finding that the house is awfully quiet a lot of the time, and that, because it is so big, people can disappear. I am not used to being so far from everyone - in our old house, there were 7 rooms - all on one level, all close together. You could hear people talking in every other room, if you wanted to. Here, there are 7 rooms on my floor, and now there's this whole upstairs that I've only seen on video, a front porch and a back porch, with doors and steps I can't climb. There's a basement and a garage, and a yard I haven't checked out yet.

I'm both excited that there's so much left to explore and overwhelmed, because who knows when I'll get to it.

I'm trying to approach it as if I have all the time in the world - trying to change my attitude from this being 'the new house' into this being our 'forever' house. If we're here for the long haul - the foreseeable future, let's say - then I've got plenty of time and I can just be calm about it. Of course it's unsettling to be living out of a suitcase, or to be faced with piles of boxes that you have to sort through, but I'm really trying to enjoy the process here - and that does not come naturally to me. It's a real effort, because as much as I'd like to be DONE, I have to just take some deep breaths and try to let things unfold at a pace I can handle.

We'll all see how well I do.
As always, thanks for caring.

So, where have I been?

Well, on April 30th, we finally sold our house. The weeks leading up to that day were fraught with millions of tiny little details that had to get attended to, more than one overly emotional scene, and an impossible to measure amount of exhaustion. I'm sure that this is true for anyone who is selling and moving out of their family home, but I have to say that, for me, it was both surprisingly easy in some unexpected ways and intensely, intimately difficult in others. But by the time we finally got to the point of passing the papers (2 days and 1000 little-things-going-wrong-at-the-same-time later), I was ready to be done. I had said my goodbyes and packed up all my memories along with my belongings, and I was ready to move on.

Since the 28th of April, and the final big cleaning push of the old house, I've been staying - gladly and thankfully - at my grandmother's house. I've had a (mostly) fabulous time, getting to spend time with Grandmother and UJ, watching Lil Girl get to know them better - and watching them enjoy her as much as I do -, and just really enjoying my visit. But that's the thing - it's just a visit. I'm not home. I'm not in my own bed, with my own things, in a place where it's ok to just lie still all day without setting off all kinds of alarm bells for other people. (Mum knows that on bad days I don't so much as roll over: Grandmother thinks it's cause for emergency interventions, and should she call the doctor?)

It's just not my place, and the longer I stay - and I'm nowhere near the end of my stay, as illness and injury, as well as a few siblings who seem to have forgotten our new address, have contributed to the new house not even being a quarter of the way ready for me to move in - the harder it becomes for me to keep up the energy required for being in proper 'guest' mode. It's exhausting just to deal with my normal pain, and then you have to add in the fact that there are no showers here, so there's none of that temporary relief (though I did escape last week to a hotel room for a shower, and I'll do it again next week too), plus the fact that I'm sleeping on a pull out sofa bed, which isn't exactly the leading contender in comfort; plus all the additional work I have to do to get myself through the day - breakfast at the table, getting to the bathroom on my own, transferring from the chair to the couch to the chair to the bed a lot more times a day, the fact that any of the stuff I have to do is just a little bit more complicated because none of the things I need are set up to be right on hand, like they are at home: well, it's been a challenge, is all I can say.

And, yes, I know that I don't have to be in 'guest' mode all the time, but it's what I do. I'm surprised at how much I manage to 'hide,' about how much I feel I have to hide, so that nobody knows how bad it really is. This might be ok if I'm only seeing people for short periods of time, but long term? It's impossible. And I'm finding it scary, how vulnerable I feel, even though I know that Grandmother and UJ love me and they're my family. I don't know why it's so hard to show them how much pain I'm really in, but it is. It's like I'm letting them down, not being the person they expect me to be, or like I'm hurting them by showing them the truly overwhelming nature of my illnesses.

I've had to cut out things like my breathing doctor appointments, because trying to get in and out of the house once a week - which means climbing down 3 or 4 steps, into and out of the car here and there, then there and here, then climbing back up the 3 or 4 steps - was just too difficult and cancelled out any benefit I may have been getting from the appointment in the first place. I've learned that there are somethings I thought I couldn't do that I actually can - hello, idiot: If you have smaller containers of orange juice or soda, you can pour them for yourself, and not have to wait for somebody else to do it for you! - and somethings that I need help with that I just am too embarrassed to have anyone but Mum do (and that I totally need to get over that).

I'm pretty sure I need to find another PCA, too: to handle all these little things I need help with when Mum is too busy to do them. Of course, this is, in effect, demoting my mother, and I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to do that yet, so that's obviously easier said than done. But there are a lot of things that are falling through the cracks because she's busy with the remodeling, and they are things that would make it easier for me to function, so I should be at least attempting to find somebody to cover for her. Instead, I'm trying to struggle through on my own, and I'm not sure how much longer I can do that.

But, that is where I have been - struggling to get through the everyday a little bit more, which means that my google reader has read "1000+ new posts" everyday since I've been here, that my gmail has gone unanswered, and my blog has been neglected. I do think I'm doing better at hiding less, not trying so hard to make it seem like I can do things that I really don't have the energy to do (Basically because I hit a wall, which is not unusual for me - push too hard, hit an impenetrable wall of fatigue and pain. Repeat as necessary until you get it through your thick skull that you JUST CAN'T DO EVERYTHING YOU WANT TO BE ABLE TO DO, you dope. Oh, and also? You have no immune system, so stop pretending that you haven't caught that sinus infection - you have. It's living in your face. Call the doctor and get a Zpack already. KThnxBye!) This should translate into a schedule closer to what I'm used to - which means more puter time, because I don't have any energy to do anything else.

Although I'm not passing up on the hour long talks with Grandmother & UJ - one of my favorite low/no energy activities, and one which I'm happy to be able to indulge in to my heart's content right now.

Hey there, all!

Connections
Originally uploaded by bbackprple

Peeking out from my blogging break to post this photo for the I Heart Faces theme of Reflections. (It's so great that they have the themes posted ahead of time). I knew exactly which picture I should use for this.

Things here are crazy. Tonight's my last night in the house, and I'm all over the place, emotionally & physically. Happy, sad, confused, excited; sick, exhausted, & sore. (Mostly exhausted and sore.) I'll be staying at my grandmother's for the foreseeable future, while all the repair & painting type work gets done at the new house, so posting will continue to be catch as catch can for a while now.

In the meantime, enjoy this picture of Lil Girl reflected in her dad's picture: it's certainly captured the whole "looking forward, looking backward" vibe I've got going in my life right now.

Hope you all are well, and, if you get a chance, head on over to check out the rest of the I heart Faces pictures!

Everybody says

"Just call when you need help: I'll be there."

But it's not true. They won't, all. Or they'll come and not help, or they'll come and make things worse. Or they show up the first day, but they don't show up the next time. Or they just get sick of helping.

And that's one of the things that sucks most about having chronic, disabling illnesses: There are just some things that you can't do on your own.

So you ask for help, and you're supposed to be - you are, even - grateful for what you get. But it's not always what you need, you know. It certainly isn't always what you'd like.

Sometimes, it'd be nice not to have to ask. Sometimes, it'd be nice if people just put 2 and 2 together and realized it equaled 4 without you having to call and tell them so.

Sometimes it'd be nice if people just showed up, ready to work. And didn't fight with you about the work you needed them to do, or amongst themselves over who was doing the most work. If they didn't fall asleep in the middle of the job, or stop often to text their friends. If they were genuinely pleased to be able to help you out, instead of making you feel like the least capable adult of their acquaintance. If they showed up when they said they were going to, and stayed till the work was finished.

If they realized that asking for help is sometimes just as hard as giving it.

And while I do have a few people who've come and helped and don't make me regret asking, and a few people I probably could've asked that would've helped better, overall, this whole 'getting people to help you move' thing has been horrid.

Considering that my siblings often make promises they then fail to keep, I shouldn't be surprised, but I am.

This moving thing - it's a big deal. And yet, it's also not. It's not even the scariest thing that'll be happening in our family that day, so let's all just take some deep breaths and motor on through, shall we?

I stopped talking about the whole moving process here for a while because it was overwhelming me, really... I couldn't think about it one second more, so I used this place as an escape hatch, but it's been running our lives for months now. A year with the house on the market, 4 feverish months of searching every open house, and, now that we're down to our last week (!) here, it's all coming to a head: number of storage units (so far), 2; number of rooms empty, 0; days left till all rooms must be empty, 9.

We're not even halfway through this process - we've got to get the rest out, the new house --- we finally found one, thank the goddess --- cleaned and repaired and painted, and then move all of the stuff into the new house. And yet, 90% of our 'helpers' are petering out, everybody is cranky and tired and some are acting worse than the soon-to-be-3 year-old.

It's crazy and sad, and we all just want to be done with it, but we're not. And it's pissing me off that my some of my siblings, who have accumulated upwards of 13 moves in the past 16 years - all of which my mother helped with - don't see this as their responsibility too. Even the one that lives here seems to think it's optional. I know they each have their own lives, I know it's grueling work that nobody really wants to do, but I can promise you that once we're all moved in, there isn't a one of them who won't want to have dinner there on a summer Sunday.

And it'd be nice if they'd remember that this Sunday, and pitch in a little bit more, without making me feel like I've asked for the impossible.

:sigh:

Speaking of fools...

**** Hey Sister of Mine - This is probably not a post you want to read, unless you feel like crying or being pumped full of rage. It's about the PUS. Feel free to skip. (This goes for anybody, of course, but my sister especially). I'd rather not write it, to be honest, but it's probably a wiser option than waiting till one of them comes by and kicking them in the face. Which is what I feel like doing. So; writing it is. ****


The PUS are just about all moved out now, with just their part of the cellar and what the realtor calls 'a few odds and ends' left upstairs to take with them. I can not fully explain how amazing it feels to be in this house and not be afraid of having to leave because of something they've done that will make me more ill. Or how it brings me peace to be able to take Lil Girl outside to draw with sidewalk chalk and not have to worry about someone pulling into the driveway and shooting us dirty looks, or worse, attempting to talk to me. It is bittersweet, to the extreme, to have this house be almost the way it always should have been - ours.


Only Nana is missing.

And she has been on heavy on my mind lately as we move into this final month of our residence here, how could she not be?

Her best friend came over to visit us yesterday. Because she's afraid that we'll move too far for her to come again, the visit was full of unnecessary goodbyes, (as we aren't moving anymore than 30 minutes away no matter what) but she also spent a good deal of time rehashing old hurts: cursing the PUS for all they did to Nana, cursing Nana for putting up with it, wishing she'd been able to convince her to do something about it. It was like listening to my own soul talking, especially when she said

"If we could've found a way, she'd probably still be alive today."

To outsiders, this statement makes no sense, I'm sure. An overreaction, perhaps, or wishful thinking to the extreme. But to me, it is a mere fact --> my grandmother, no spring chicken when she died at 84, would most likely have had a longer (and most definitely a happier) life if she hadn't had to battle everyday for just the air she breathed.

Stress, we all know, is aging. It's detrimental to your body on a cellular level. It hurts physically and emotionally. And my Nana lived in a soul crushingly stressful environment. It wasn't even just stress, it wasn't ordinary familial tension - she lived in a place where she was abused, everyday.

It takes a lot for me to write that. To know that it is true and to know that there were choices we all made - choices that I made - that enabled that abuse to continue.


I hope that in all my life, I will never do anything that I could regret more than not doing what I know was right. I hope that I would be strong enough, now, to know that having her mad at me for calling the cops - over and over again, if necessary - would be preferable to not having her at all.

"She wasn't beaten to death," you might say, "She died of cancer." And you would be right. She did. She did die of cancer, but she also died because her environment was toxic; because her son and his 'family' poisoned her everyday.

By ignoring her. By making her feel worthless and stupid and vile. By treating her as if she were little more than a bank - a bank where loans never had to be repaid and interest was never charged and you could insult the clerks at will. By hurting her heart and allowing their children to say that she wasn't their grandmother, or that they'd never really loved her. By screaming at her and calling her hideous names. By not caring for her when she was so obviously sick, and not caring enough to let anyone else have the chance to care for her either. By bullying her into believing all the wretched things they said about her (or us), and threatening her if she dared to stand up for herself (or us). By treating her as though she was invisible - by showing her that her opinion meant so little it didn't deserve to be heard, that her presence meant so little it wasn't even worth noting. By making it so that no one else could stand to come to her house, since it meant being in their presence, since it meant having to sit by seething while she was belittled or being belittled themselves.

(I would say here, in order to keep myself from becoming completely enraged, all over again, and because I am listening to the Harry Potter books on cassette tape, that she was Dobby, and they never gave her so much as a sock. If that makes sense to you, I think we should be friends:) )

They poisoned her, as sure as if they'd been feeding her arsenic, and 22 years worth is a lot of arsenic to swallow. It's a long time, and a lot of damage, and if every day you're living on a battlefield, using all your strength and energy to fight off poisons, you don't have any extra resources when you need them.

And that's really what happened to her - she just didn't have the resources she needed for that next battle, and it happened to be against a foe she couldn't best.

I'm not saying she wouldn't have had cancer. I'm not even saying she would have survived the cancer, really. I'm just saying that she would've had a better shot at doing so if she didn't have to also survive her 'son' and the rest of the PUS.

You may disagree, and I haven't written it before because, well... it sounds so stupid written down like that, even to me. But they wore her down, they wore down her spirit and her energy and her self, and when she got sick, she needed all those things and didn't have them. So yeah: I think that the damage they've done is immeasurable. And I am damn glad to see them go.

But today, alone in the house, as I heard the footsteps of Hippobeast PUS (the daughter - who's 22 now & who was one of Nana's frequent tormentors) thump on the back steps, I had a moment of "What's to stop me?"

My anger was so clear and sharp and focused that if I were capable of climbing the stairs, I thinkknow, in that moment, I absolutely would have. I wanted to yell at her. To tell her how evil I think she really is; to tell her the truth.

We haven't talked in over 12 years, and I assume that she thinks I am as horrific as I think she is, but in that moment I just wanted to be able to look her in the face and say: "Listen, you need to hear this from somebody, and it sure as shit ain't going to be your fucked up parents that tell you because they're even more delusional than you are. So hear this clearly, and know that it is true - YOU are wrong.

All those things you did, at first because your parents did them, and then later just because you could? The hateful things you said and the punishing ways you acted? Were wrong. Were evil and hurtful and poisonous and led directly to the dissolution of our 'family' and to Nana's death. And you can never make that better.

I can't go back and do the right thing - I can't go back and call the cops when I should've or actually send that letter to the lawyer the way I wanted to, and that will always haunt me. But you can't go back either, you can't undue the harm you did, the hurt you've caused, and I can't let you leave this house without letting you know that I hope it haunts you. Because it should."

It's probably good that I can't climb the stairs, because even as I was thinking about how great it would be to deliver this truth to her in person, I didn't, for a second, imagine that she would just sit there and let me say all of that to her. And that would've pissed me off even more, and things would most likely have escalated. (Although, seriously? Giving her the chance to punch me might have been worth any increase in pain because you know I would've called the cops then, friends.)

And by the time she plodded her way back down the stairs, I had calmed down enough to return to my Harry Potter and plot about how to 'accidentally' aim a Cruciatus Curse at them all instead, but the wanting is still there. Because I know that they still think they didn't do anything wrong.

That they will never think they did anything wrong - that they were the victims of a family that turned their backs on them, as opposed to the perpetrators that caused a family to be shattered.

And that's not okay with me. But I'm just going to have to let it go.

So, even though we still don't know where we'll be, I am definitely looking forward to thirty days from today, when I won't have to see them again. Or hear their false voices again, or suffer under their hands ever again.

And then? I shall have to settle for the Obliteration Charm instead, wiping them from my life once and for all.

Are you kidding me?

I am still recuperating from my Dr. appointment, and a weekend spend packing/wrangling the family as they move things into the storage unit, so I'm just going to give you a few high/lowlights from my draft folder:


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

How ridiculous is this? A mother in England is given a ticket because she parked illegally to revive her child after he turned blue. That's absurd.

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

In their defense, these books taught the girls the cardinal rule of womanhood– when choosing between a handsome, wealthy, and open-minded duke who will still respect you in the morning and a pimply faced teenage boy whose hands have been god-knows-where, always choose the duke. Even if he only exists in the pages of a book.

If You Like Julia Quinn over at dearauthor.

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from Forgrace.org



Determination & Perseverance
We, with steadfastness and a “never-give-up”
attitude, work diligently to meet the promise of this
organization. “No” does not stand in our way, nor make us timid. Climbing the highest peak is a challenge we take on with great vitality and vigor. (from their philosophy)

As nice as it is

to have the extra month in the house (since we still, you know, have NOWHERE TO LIVE), I could do without the additional PUS time.

Although watching as they drop a big screen tv was certainly a plus.

Weather

If you read any other New England area blogs, you know that Mother Nature taunted us with spring this weekend only to turn around and dump snow on us again today. It doesn't bother me so much - air pressure...and its relation to the sinus pressure I feel in my face is much more important to me - but every time it snows now, I keep thinking "This is our last snowfall here"

As if we were moving to, you know Aruba, rather than - oh wait: WE STILL DON'T KNOW - but it will be in Massachusetts and likely not more than 20 minutes in any direction, you big baby.

But there's this tree outside my mother's room that gets beautifully heavy with snow, and I think about the three blizzards - and at least 3000 snowfalls - I've watched burden that tree's limbs. I think about how excited my little sisters were the first time it snowed enough to reach the bottom of the swings in the backyard swing set, and how I pretended to be totally nonchalant about it when they begged me to take them out - I was probably 12, and totally too cool for school - but then I dug in with both feet when we got out there. (Which, btw - when snow reaches the bottom of a swing, do you know what that makes it? A chair, basically. Not as much fun as you'd think.) I think about how the year I finally got my own room - which later wound up being the year I got sick and had to stay in bed for 37,000 hours - was the year that tinsel like icicles formed outside the window by my bed and how I used to stare at them for hours while the reflection of car lights made them glitter, hoping that things would just Get Better.

Of course, then I also have to think about the year we painted the radiators (in the summer!) and when the heat came up that winter, the hideous, ever present smell. And the fact that the holey kitchen ceiling continues to drip in new and inconvenient places when the snow is heavy on the roof. Or how, in the spring, the tree in the schoolyard next door drips these Very Aggravating yellow buds onto every available surface. And the smell of the hydrangeas that grow in the front yard - and the humongous bees that live in them. Or about 14 million other ways that this house? Just doesn't work for us.

It'll be nice to have something that does. (Now we just need to find one.)

Looking on the 'pro' side of moving, again.

Way back when, I wrote a post about how much I hate the PUS (Yes, I know, there's certainly more than one post about that here, but this is a specific one) that talked about a playlist of songs about hate. That I then created on my computer. And have since updated every time a song came out that really reminded me of just how much I hate them. And so, I now have quite the extensive playlist.

Over the past few weeks, the PUS have been moving their things out, and oh, is it a bittersweet sound to hear - the sound I should have been hearing all those years ago, the sound that should have happened when my Nana was still here, when it should've just been them leaving, and us staying. It is hard to hear that sound, knowing that we'll be the ones creating it in just a few weeks.

But I found out the other day that they are planning on moving into their new place this weekend, which means that we will have at least 3 PUS free weeks in the house! It's very exciting. And also my last chance to blast the "I hate you PUS" songs, which I have been playing all morning.

Here are a few of the lyrics that caught my ear -

"I know it's just no use, when all your lies become your truth."
from Are You Happy Now?, Michelle Branch.

"... and so my heart is paying now, for things it didn't do..." Cold, Cold Heart , Norah Jones

"Get out. Right now. It's the end of you and me." Leave , JoJo

"It's been a long time coming, but I know... a change is gonna come"A Change is gonna come, Patti La Belle.

"You can crawl back home, say you were wrong, stand out in the yard and cry all night long. Go ahead and water the lawn, my give a damn's busted." My Give a Damn is Busted, Jo Dee Messina

"We'll look any many straight in his eyes and say Kiss my Irish Ass" Kiss My Irish Ass, Flogging Molly.

"Move it move it, outta my life." Move, Jennifer Hudson, Dreamgirls


"I won't lie I sometimes cry when I think of how it used to be.... but wait one minute, I failed to mention, those tears I cry are tears of joy."How Am I Doing?, Dierks Bentley

"Prepare for the chance of a lifetime, be prepared for sensational news...A shining new era, is tiptoing nearer." Be Prepared, Jeremy Irons/Scar, from The Lion King.

Points of interest (ish)

For Lent, I am giving up not posting every day: It's my own personal NaBloPoMo! Basically, bad things happen in my brain when I don't have a place to blurt it all out, and since you all are kind enough to come back and listen, I should do my best to post as regularly as possible. And we all know that I do better if I feel I have to post, so I'm signing up for posting everyday till Easter Sunday, and committing to it right here on this nice bloggy thing. If When I make it, I will let myself get a little treat. Must think of good treat. Feel free to offer your suggestions below.

For my first post, I'm going to attempt the dazzling and death-defying bullet point post (oh! ah!):

• My parents may have found a house that they like enough to buy. They're going to the bank today to talk about putting down an offer so that they can get an inspection done. The only opinion I have about it is that it has a lot of stairs outside so that I cannot get in, and this does not please me. This whole house buying situation is showing me just how deep my control freak nature is - I am very uncomfortable buying a house I haven't been in, knowing I will have to live there for the foreseeable future. It's scary.
  
• Come to think of it, the house buying/having to move is bringing up a lot of issues that I'm not entirely comfortable with - the fact that I can't just go buy myself an apartment and have to keep living with my parents; the fact that my parents are not good with money and I just want to take it away from them (perhaps an allowance?); the idea that we've sold our 'family home' - it's been in our family for over 100 years, although it was originally a family run business. My great-grandparents moved here when Nana was just an infant, so from 1923 - 2009 my family has lived here. That's a lot of history to just be giving up on. And sometimes it does feel like we're giving it up. (I know we're not, it's just the closer it gets, the more I realize that this is forever.); the fear that my brother is trying to figure out a way to move with us into this new house (he didn't come out and say it, but he sure was asking a lot of questions about the house's finished basement, and the fact that it has it's own bathroom seemed important to him) because things are not going well with Soon-to-be (?) Sister-In-Law. A lot of things.
  
• We took my grandmother to lunch last week and she met three people she knew in the restaurant. I met 0. I was so happy for her, because she never goes out, really, and was so excited, but there was still a little piece of me that was jealous. Of my 92 year old Grandmother. Nice.
  
• I still haven't packed much of anything: A couple of boxes, but there's nowhere to put anything else, so why bother?


• Lil Girl is potty training and doing really well - no accidents at all yesterday. She came wearing big girl 'underwheres' (she says it like it's got that little h in it), and seeing them made me kinda sad, cuz she's the baby.
  
• This does not mean that we want another baby to take care of, so the universe should not see it as me putting out a call to any of my siblings. We are - none of us - in a position to have any (more) kids right now. I'd like to be, but that's a whole nother post.


• A little update from Friday's post about my TBR challenge - I suck at reading things I'm 'supposed' to be reading. If a new PBS book comes in the mail, I put it at the top of the pile - although I have cut down a lot on PBS incoming books, because I am trying to get rid of books, I still will say yes to a wish list book if it becomes available. And then when it gets here, because I know it's been on my list for so long, I read it first. I am totally counting this because it's been in my virtual TBR for longer than some of these books have been in my physical TBR. Counting it.
  
• I learned two new things while typing this post - how to do bullet points and strikethroughs on HTML. This makes me ridiculously happy.


That's all I've got for you right now... Check back in soon, because it's going to be a long Lent. :)

Oh, boy, I don't know

I'm trying to figure out the right thing to do in a couple of different circumstances, and have come down with a bad case of the "well... maybes".

I do not like the "well ... maybes": being indecisive sucks. I hate it when other people can't make up their minds and commit to a freaking plan already, and I hate it even more when I'm the one holding up the works. Usually, like in these situations now, the hold up is a health issue... I just don't know whether or not I will be able to - or should - participate.

Scenario #1 is relatively nothing - tomorrow a bunch of my family members are going to check out the possible house, to make sure that there's nothing readily and obviously wrong with it that will take big bucks (bucks we don't have) to fix it. I'm supposed to go, but I'm on the fence: Do I put my energy here, when it's all still so hypothetical? My parents visited last weekend, and now they're calling for submissions, basically: "Help us make sure this place is OK." Which, ordinarily - fine: bring whomever you want, sounds great.... the more eyes the better. And I'd like my eyes to be involved... it's just that there are two steps up to get in (which, obviously, we'd address if we bought it), and then there's all the questions - odors, pets, etc. And to I absolutely need to go? And maybe I'm just being overly sensitive because of Scenario #2 ...

Scenario #2 is much more important. My cousin Kate is having a baby shower, at her parents house, in March. We got our invitations this week, and I asked her big brother about the accessibility of the house (since I've never been): he says there's steps, but that he talked to his dad and he's going to see about a ramp for the few steps in the front of the house. OK, that's not making me wicked comfortable, but it all may be moot because there's also a cat. A cat. Ordinarily? A cat automatically equals, 'I'm sorry, but I can't come," but the cat is a basement cat, and lives not where the people live, mostly. So now I'm stuck wondering - risk it or not?

I love my cousin, I'm wicked excited about her baby, and I hate to miss a family party, so those are all on the "Give it a try" side, but on the other hand, we've got the possibility of an unstable ramp (or having to be lifted, which NO Thank You), the fact that there's an animal in the vicinity, and the fact that the house is a good 50 minutes away, so there's no escape plan, really: If we get there and I can't stay in the house, I've got to either stay in the car while the party is happening (which, if you can believe it, would totally not be the first time that happened), or make somebody leave to take me home (if it gets really bad).

Pros, cons, and WTFs leave NTE pretty deep in the "well ... maybes".

The more I think about it, the more I both want to go and pretty much know that I shouldn't - between odors and my breathing (which has been pretty sucky since Christmas, as my tonsils are still as big as a baby's fist), and the pain of sitting in the car, sitting at the party, then sitting in the car again... It would all be a lot, just under normal circumstances. If I'm adding in potential pet hair and crickety stairs, then the scale tips pretty far over to the no-go side.

But then I think about being able to pat my cousin's (apparently large) tummy, the fact that her mother is kind of a source of scandal in the family (haven't seen her in... at least 10 years, and now she's HOSTING? C'mon, man.), and the fact that most of the people I love will be there (some coming from pretty far away), and it tilts the scale back a bit again.

Need versus should, I guess. Optimism vs realism, vs. pessimism. I hate to let people down, and I hate to be left out, but I can't really see a way to make Scenario #2 work in my favor.

Grr... I had kinda hoped that writing it all out like this would make other pros pop into my head, but I'm running out. Crap.

And then, of course, if I can't go, I've got to explain that I can't go, after my cousin has already talked to his dad about the ramp and all that, and that makes me feel bad too.

Blah.

Must switch brain to new topic or risk explosion.

.... I put a new widget on the sidebar, so you can see all the things I'm finding interesting in my Google Reader: also, it's reminding me that it's probably time to fix the template so that it's not quite so Christmassy.

And, in other news, I bought some scratch tickets and won hundred thousand dollars. Actually, I bought some scratch tickets and haven't scratched them off yet, but I was just trying out that positive thinking thing my CBT therapist has been talking to me about. :D Update: I have won $4... I don't think I'm quite getting the hang of this.

Oh Hai

Do you know what month it is?

If you said "February", as in the shortest month, as in the month before we have to move out of our house, then you are correct!

But you don't get any bonus points.

No, sorry I am hoarding the bonus points, as I have apparently hoarded Every.Single.Thing. in my entire life.

In case you couldn't tell, the packing? It is not going well.

And by "not going well" I mean, I haven't even started.
I have done a lot of what I like to call 'pre-packing' and what you might instead call 'not packing at ALL', but we'll just have to agree to disagree on that one.

'Pre-packing' mostly consists of looking at my room, crammed full of books and art supplies and teaching supplies and paper products and electronic equipment that predates my life, and wondering "How the hell am I going to pack all of this crap?" Other questions that get asked during the 'pre-packing' stage include: "Do I really need four sets of headphones, especially since I detest the ear bud type of headphone and will not wear them (the noise is in my ear! Who likes that?)?"; "How can I possibly get rid of this vital memorabilia from my life/my sibling's life/my parent's life/my niece &/or nephew's life? (And why have I made myself the receptacle for all of this stuff???) And yet how can I possibly store it all?"; "Would this be worth anything on e-bay or should I just Freecycle it? Maybe I should try Craigslist first?"; "What is the point of packing everything up if I'm just going to have to try to maneuver around the boxes AND the furniture for the next 6 weeks?" and Oh Yeah: "How the hell do I know what to pack, what to toss, what to store, if I don't know where the hell we are going??? (After all, you do tend to keep much less of your possessions at hand if you are living in your van.)"

The open houses are not proving fruitful, just yet, as sellers are wary of selling right this minute, and also, their houses are in really awful shape (and not applicable for wheelchair users, in most cases).

I am still strangely not panicked, as I assume I will be living out of a home for quite a while anyways (and have spent zero non-essential dollars since the beginning of the year in hopes of being able to supplement this nomadic type living): No matter where we move, it will need repairs, updating, painting , cleaning, etc. All of those things are smelly - even though we're definitely aiming for as smell/chemical free as possible - and not just short-term smelly... they smell for a while. So I am going into this assuming that I will be living on my grandmother's couch for some time - which you all know I both love and loathe - and that, at some point, the pain of the springy mattress and cushionless couch, and the need for a shower, will necessitate (at least) intermediate stays in a hotel.

(I no longer have alternative housing options with friends or family - all the condos are rented out and siblings are living with their respective in-laws, most of my friends are pet owners, all of my other family & friends insist on living in places with stairs... Plus? How awkward a conversation is that: "Hi! Can I come take a shower at your house please? And then I need to have a coma for at least 3 hours, so I need somewhere quiet to lay down. Thanks!" ...)

So the packing thing is extra tough - What will I need at hand in the next three months? In the next 6? How do I best pack things so that, if there's something else I haven't thought of, I can easily send somebody to find it? How much of my craft or healthcare entourage can I reasonably expect my grandmother & uncle to accommodate in their den? My computer's a must have, but what about the printer? I need the box full of patches, but can I live without the just in case cough medicines and sinus pills? I can't lug my three bookcases full of books, so how do I decide what I might feel like reading on a spring day when I feel like crap or during a late winter snow?

I am, as usual, conflicted: feeling both energized and drained by the thought of being somewhere new, feeling both a longing to stay and a wanting to go. It's scary, this change: it is for us all. I'm worried about so much - how this is all going to effect me physically, how it'll impact our relationships, our dynamics (if we wind up moving further north, will SisterNc & Big Brother decide, for example, that the drive is too much so we won't get Lil Girl during the week anymore?), how much more of the year we'll be rootless, and a million other things - and I know that each member of our family has different concerns and so it feels like we're in a snow globe, with each of those worries floating around us, constantly churning.

And we just won't know until we know.

So, I'm trying to just go with it, to not be constantly focusing on all of those worries, to just let them be there until we have some answers. It's tough, but it seems like one of the skills I've picked up along the way: living with the questions because there's no other choice. You keep working towards the answers, keep plugging along, but you don't let them bury you.

Still, it certainly doesn't make the packing go any easier.

Hey all!

Be prepared to be amazed as your Bloglines and Google Readers overflow, while at the same time your blog reading time shrinks to a minimum & you wonder how the hell you'll ever catch up. That's right, it's National Blog Posting Month!

I've participated in NaBloPoMo for the past two years, making this my 3rd Annual NaBloPoMo, and I figure if I could manage it last year, while my family was literally falling apart, then I should be able to handle it this year too. (Of course, that means you get treated to all of the wonderful drama that is my life, but you wouldn't still be reading if you didn't enjoy some of it, right?)


This isn't a bang-up first post, but I've got to go clean a bit for the house showing we've got in under an hour, and the piles are mocking me. Although today? I am not leaving during the house showing, even though it is sooo awkward. "Hello. Just ignore me. Please just make your own plans for my childhood home, and I will sit here and be as invisible as possible." But it's been a busy week, and I've got an even busier one coming up this week, so rest I must. They'll just have to deal.

Alright: see you tomorrow! Or sooner, you never know.