Well, Paint me purple and call me Irma!

Interesting things are afoot at the Circle-D, Ted!

Last night was rather amazing. I got an e-mail from someone I figured I'd never speak to again.

I've responded, but... this is weird.

Sometimes you just wish things would stay gone.

Autumn!

The trees are just starting to get a hint of gold. It's cold at night and warm during the day. If only the german yellowjackets hadn't been imported along with the dandelions, life would be perfect right about now.

Well... except that the White Sox beat the Red Sox again in the playoff game last nite. *sigh* I'm a die-hard Cubbies fan, and seeing the Sox do well is irritating, especially since one of my best friends is a Red Sox die-hard, and I'd rather see them win for the sake of my friend!

I've been eating soup lately. Campbells has these nifty new one-person soup thingys where the soup is all in a microwaveable bowl already to eat. I like this! Makes bringing soup to work .. workable.

Talked to Dad last nite, and while things are bad, Mom isn't QUITE the raving lunatic Paul would like her to be. I'm going down there next month. Granted, I can't really stay at the house anymore, but I can stay nearby and be there so Dad can rest or go for a shopping trip without her. And I'll know for my own self how things really are, not tainted by St. Paul the Lutheran Minister's greedy skew.

Slowly I am feeling things improve. Not quickly. Not a lot at a time - although the decaffination is rather dramatic. Maybe I can bust through this depression cycle alone.

Maybe.

You May Be Wondering

Why you need to enter the annoying "type these letters" code before you can comment. I'm sorry to have to do this, but someone decided that this was their forum and they could advertise here. Wrong. Everyone who is a reader is welcome to comment. Nobody is welcome to advertise, especially bots.

Well, I'm hoping that things will go well and I will be able to visit Dad and Mom next month. The airfares aren't horrid then, and it would be very nice to be able to see them, even if Dad won't let me stay there. I need to call him. I know that last year, Paul called me and things were NOT as bad as he chose to portray them. I am not entirely hopeful, but I suspect that this is the case again.

Paul seems to delight in breaking BAD news to me. In fact, he was incredibly silent as if in shock, when I told him that if I go down there, I fully expect Mom to not recognize me. I suspect I will be "that girl" - or "the lady" - not her daughter, and while that hurts, I have reconciled myself to the fact that my Mother will not know me. I still love her.

Bleh - year-end-closing at work today. Never a fun time as an accountant. I am pleased, however. The new CPA at work thought that MY spreadsheets had been created by Joe, the former CPA (meaning my work is "up to standard"!!!) and he thought that Tom was making all the journal entries (I do that!!). So my work is standing up well. I kind of like the new guy. We were supposed to have a 10 min. chat, he stretched it to almost an hour. :)

Perhaps there is light.

Defining Christianity

I am angry. I am, for lack of a better term... Fucking Furious.

Mom's Altzheimers has taken a turn for the worse, she's now having panic attacks and severe anxiety all of the time. She doesn't recognize their house, she doesn't recognize Dad, and she doesn't believe his drivers' license when she sees it. All according to St. Paul The Lutheran Minister. (My brother)

According to Paul, Mom is down to like 100 lb. and just falling apart. Dad tells a somewhat different tale, but Paul has always liked to exaggerate how bad off Mom is.

But you ask yourself, Gentle Listener, I am sure, What does this have to do with defining Christianity?

Well, St. Paul the Lutheran Minister also told me that he thinks Mom should be put away in a home. And.... and this is what has me in tears... that "hopefully there is some underlying cause, some other thing wrong.. so she will just pass quickly".

Yes, folks, there you have it. The Holier Than Thou Lutheran Minister, St. Paul Himself, wishes my mother was dead.

My mother, who sat up with me night after night when I had the mumps, who rubbed my back and tried to make me feel better when I was sobbing after being the brunt of jokes in school. My mother who was there for me, even when Dad wasn't.

Yeah - Paul wants Mom dead. And the evil, distrustful inner part of me just wonders how much of that is financially driven. I don't trust Paul. I most CERTAINLY do not trust Linda, his wife. Good examples of Christians, the both of them - who want my Mother DEAD.

I am sorry, I cannot continue. I have to go throw up.

Decaffeinated

Well, it's been 2 weeks now and I'm trying to stay decaffeinated. The headaches are a bit less, but I've been "cheating" a bit too. Some tea, a few glasses of cola.

I did find a really good diet cola - Decaf Diet Pepsi. Tastes almost exactly like regular Diet Pepsi, which is my drink of choice when I want "pop".

I'm still struggling with the coffee thing. I did find that using a BIT more beans, and setting the coffeemaker to "Strong", I can brew up a pot that tastes something more like coffee. This using Starbucks "Espresso Roast" decaf beans.

I just really do not like 7-up or other lemon-lime drinks all that well, Orange soda is ok once in a while, and root-beer tastes too much like a "dessert" rather than a thirst quencher.

Lemonade is ok, but canned lemonade is crap. I'm spoiled. Every year at the company picnic, our boss hires this lemonade & popcorn wagon to supply drinks & snacks. They make fresh-squozen lemonade right in front of you while you watch. (Juice of 1 lemon, 2 "squirts" of sugary-syrup and fill the glass with water, then shake well...) The stuff is like ambrosia. You'd never want store-bought lemonade again.

Besides, frozen lemonade is just a mixer portion of whisky sours, right?

So I'm feeling pretty darn good about this all, overall. I think cutting back severely before I cut it off entirely is going to work out best. I've had a couple of caffeine-deprivation migraines, but nothing to be over upset over. I'm happy about that.

I also seem to have had a lot less heart-flutters. This is significant. I'm thinking of making a list of "changes" and their effects to bring when I finally manage to get back to a Dr.

I'm feeling a little less stressed and anxious too.

Now if I can just get the rest of my life back in line...

An Open Letter to Those With Whom I Share the Road

Dear Ms. Soccer Mom:

Yes, you have an SUV. Yes, it is big. Yes, it is shiney. No, it does NOT mean you own the whole farking road. Tough darn titties, but I am NOT going to allow you to barge in front of me. Get a life. And a fuel-efficient sedan. And get the fuck off the cell phone.

Dear Mr. Illegal Wetback Immigrant:

A) You don't belong here.
B) Go back where you came from
C) Go to a driving school when you get there.
D) This isn't Tiajuana - we have rules of the road here. Learn them before you apply to come back legally.

Dear Mr. Over-the-Road 18-wheeler Driver:

I don't care how much you pay in taxes, you still don't own the fucking road. Don't bother honking the millisecond the light turns green. I MIGHT could get so rattled that I stall the car from popping the clutch. Oopsie.

And that road construction? Well, you're about 8 feet above me, you probably could see the right lane was closed about a mile further away than I could. Too bad you didn't get to the left sooner. No, I am not going to sit still and wait for you to get in front of me. Deal with it.


I hate people. I need to be a hermit. I really do.

Ramblings

I used a word yesterday that I absolutely never use. I called someone a retard.

I'm sitting in the parkinglot of Taco Bell, rummaging through my purse to find my cash before I hit the drive-thru. There's plenty of room to go around me, and at least 5 people already did. This brain-dead poster child for retroactive abortion in an Audi pulls up behind me and proceeds to honk her horn repeatedly for me to move.

Apparently owning an Audi makes you stupid. I motioned her around me, flipped her off, and asked her if she was a retard, loud enough for her to hear through her fully-automated sun-roof.

This is abnormal behavior. I never call anyone that. My appologies to Rick and Sheryl, wherever you are. Rick used to work with Terry at Deane, and they had a son who was born so badly brain-damaged that I suspect to this day he doesn't walk. Nice kid. Nice parents. Sad, sad situation.

The cats have managed to tick me off to an extent I hadn't dreamed possible. There has been a stack of "I need to deal with this" boxes under the stairs for months. Yesterday as I was about to run out the door to work, they decided to topple it all over. The livingroom is a wreck. The cats are now afraid of me. This is good.

So they pick my name in the bi-monthly random drug screen. *shrug* I wonder if they will call me to tell me I'm testing positive for my heart meds, or whether I'll just get shitcanned for being an anti-hypertension addict.

Last nite was tense. Bad indigestion. I suspect I need to buy new margarine. That stuff really made me uncomfortable. Maybe I should just stop eating.

I've lost my energy for quilting. I wish I could find it back. Maybe over the weekend. The few squares I sewed together at the picnic for the "Ice Cream & Sherbet" quilt (an Irish Chain variation) looked nice together, but I didn't get back to it. Hand-sewing just isn't appealing right now. Besides, I got a TERRIBLE cramp in my wrist from what I did do that day. I'm thinking I need to go at it a bit less aggressively.

Ok, off I go. Behave yourselves.

Paranoia? Or Hypochondria? Or could it be....

All this recent focus on my inner and outter health is beginning to sound like my (fortunately) dead ex-mother-in-law. I appologize to the Gentle Reader for the overabundance of angst - but it's MY blog, and so there... phlllhhhhbbbbhhhtttttttttttt

So I'm at the grocery getting lunch. They have these awesome roast beef on focaccia bread sandwiches, and I can get an orange juice instead of sodapop...

And I am at the checkout and see a "women's magazine" (Definition: 30 pages of "Diet Advice" interspersed with 20 pages of "Sex Life Advice" and 40 pages of the most calorie-fat-and-sugar laced recipies known to humankind) but there is an article in there, allegedly, about Altzheimers, and considering Mom....

So I buy the stupid rag along with my lunch (now also supplimented with ranch-flavored Doritos and a small strawberry-shortcake concoction).

Well, in among the Altzheimer article, various sex advice, diet advice, and fattening recipies there is also an article about a woman who had MVPS = Mitral Valve Prolapse Syndrome. And a lot of her symptoms sounded eerily familiar.

So I went out looking for more info. All of the symptoms sound eerily familiar. The racing heartbeat, the thudding, the fear, the ... well.....

So now I'm at a quandry. Did they check for this when I was in the hospital last? Hmmm Dunno. Can I ask them? Hell no. I still owe them cash. Hmmm.

Ok, the article says that some lifestyle changes can have a positive effect. Eat oatmeal. Consume magnesium. Go for a walk.... Hmmm.... I could try this.....

I still want to go see Dr. Epperly - but if THIS is what is wrong, and not that I'm going insane (Shaddup, Vio), this would be farking wonderful. I mean... this can be treated - insanity, I'm not so sure!

*wanders off for a bowl of oatmeal*

More Deep Thoughts

Woke up this morning with a pain in the gut. Felt like I was just utterly starving. With the latest bit of insight, however, I tried to analyze. I'd had a nice large dinner, there was no real reason for me to have stabbing hunger pangs.

Yet, I was afraid. I cannot find a few things I need, and it's sending waves of panic thru me. I awoke in fear, and that fear was centered in my gut. Hell, I could rub my chest/abdomen and FEEL the pain... Dammit - can it be that my whole life I've THOUGHT that I was hungry, but really was trying to turn off the pains caused by the fear?

This is a lot bigger than I know how to handle.

I slso kind of came to a conclusion that I'm a fucking hell of a lot stronger than I even thought. I've been living with this for at LEAST 44 years. I've done some reading about anxiety and panic attacks and have read some blog/message forums by people who have it (diagnosed). Some of them have had only a few years, and yet are on the verge of total mental collapse. Many of them are agorophobic (sp?), unable to even leave home to get help.

I had the strength and determination to leave Terry. I had the strength and determination to quit smoking. Where can I go to find the determination and strength to beat through this?

Dammit... I am afraid.

Deep Thoughts?

Someone has been hassling me. Giving me the old "You only see the glass 1/2 empty" bullshit. Claiming my life is all about negativity. All my life, from Mom to my boss, everyone jumps on this fucking bandwagon. Why does nobody understand, it's not anger, it's not negativity? It's all about fear.

They say that cornered wild animals have a "fight or flight" response, an innate, instinctual response to fear stimulus. Do you run, or do you fight? What if you can do neither?

So frightened, so long. I remember a few, a very few, times when it wasn't like this. Kindergarten in the basement of the church, before we moved to the scarey big school with all the big kids.... Baking with Grandma....

But mostly what I remember is fear. Fear of not being "good enough". Fear of disappointing the parents. Fear of saying the wrong thing and being laughed at, or being given a ration of shit from an adult. Fear of having a teacher reprimand me, or even worse, bring attention to me.

I remember fear every time I brought home the report card. Fear whenever I did something "naughty" - and often when I had not. Scared of God - of Jesus and his retribution to sinners. Scared of Hell, and the fire/brimstone/wailing/gnashing of teeth of Revelation's end-times. Scared even now when I've renounced Christianity due to it's hypocritical teachings.

I remember being terrified of store clerks. Of having almost panic attacks from having to ask for help finding something. Better to leave without than to be ridiculed and thought stupid for having asked such an obvious question. Even now I am afraid to ask - but force myself to be jocular and over-compensatorily cheerful.

How is this learned? This innate fear? Babies aren't born with it. Babies are supremely confident that all they need do is smile or wail and the world will bring them whatever they desire. Maybe the months in the orphanage started things?

I remember being hideously, painfully shy. So's my dad, but you really have to know him to know it. Can it be that the fear from him produced pheromones that my infant/toddler/child self picked up on and learned this behavior from?

If my boss calls me into his office, I have a panic attack. I just "Know" that I'm about to be chewed out or fired. I'm so afraid I can barely walk, but I grab a pad and pen (to keep my hands from shaking) and go in.

It's getting worse.

Dammit, I need to find someplace - someone - to help. I don't have a clue who/where.

I think I've figured out my heart problems, however. The technicians could not find any pathological reason for my irregular heartbeat, high blood pressure and enlarged heart. I think I know. I think the constant, grinding, insatiable anxiety produces a damn-near constant "fight or flight" response... and it's killing me.

I don't know where to go.

I am afraid.