Now thank we all our God…

I am thankful. I swear I am thankful. I am thankful that Mogo calls and asks if I will make her a pink dress. Yes, of course I will. Dark pink or light pink? I am thankful that A and V were over this afternoon and that they were all three angels for turkey day. I am thankful that my children let me be a part of their children’s lives even though I am quite sure that, in the grand scheme of things, I am not a very good influence on small children. I am apt to say shit or damn at the least opportune moments.  I am thankful that A and V showed up in their new gramma-made Minnie Mouse dresses. I am thankful to have a skill that makes my little girls giggle and twirl their full and poufy skirts. I am thankful that V wears glittery mary janes without socks and that she is going to be the Imelda of her age.

I am thankful that I have a sister in law who cared enough to take time to know me rather than just blow me off as another too-smart-for-her-own-good idjit. I am thankful for a brother who went to group therapy for long enough to figure out that, as screwed up as he is, on the continuum, he is pretty okay. I am thankful that psychotropic drugs really work if you take them.

I want to be thankful that for whatever reason dinner at my sister’s was much more pleasant than I feared it would be. I am so busy being pissed off at the big guy that it is kind of disappointing not to be able to redirect my anger at him to my my more generalized pissedness at her.

I decided several weeks ago to declare the big lug retired.  That way I stop obsessing about whatever it is he does or doesn’t do to resolve his unemployment. It works in principle. In fact, not quite so effective. He has time to play golf. He has time to sleep until the sun is high in the sky. He doesn’t have time to work on any of the things on his ever-expanding honey-do list. I get to work from sun up to sun down, deal with the hired help, drive myself unmitigated bat shit trying to keep things on a halfway even keel, and damned if he doesn’t unload half the garage into the wine room and, when asked to remove said flotsam and jetsum, loads it into the guest room. We are rearranging the deck chairs and the ship isn’t floating any better for it. Shur glad I know how to swim.

Side effects of cancer

I haven’t talked about cancer in awhile. I have kinda/sorta hinted about being entirely too free with entirely too much personal information, but we are all grown ups here, right?  If you’re not a grown up, please leave now.

The Big Guy has been doing pretty well in the tuned in department. He has lapsed a time or two and I have acted pretty well in character. He never cusses. I do. I wonder if Colleen would condsider “Don’t be a son of a bitch” telling the truth with love. It seemed appropriate at the time. I have issues with boundaries.

So, the nether regions were itchy and uncomfortable. Having experienced the joy of yeast invasions and various bacterial discomforts of only the mildest STD variety, I hied me to the crotch doc.  These things seldom resolve on their own. I am fairly protective of the nether regions. There is good news and there is bad news. The good news is there is no infection of any variety. The bad news is that the vagina atrophies with disuse.

Great muscle tone and vaginal atrophy combined to propel the speculum halfway across the room. Gotta love those Kegels…You are not supposed to spit medical instruments across the room with your coochie. It isn’t ladylike and it certainly isn’t mature. Maybe next month it will be damned funny…not yet.

In case anyone wondered, my vaginal atrophy is a direct result of prostate cancer. Yeah, I know, I don’t have a prostate—he doesn’t have one any more either. Score another one for the big C. The things the urologist forgets to tell men about. geez! Nobody mentioned it to me either.

So in a world where Viagra and Cialis commercials interrupt dinner, what is a woman—particularly a woman who thinks sex is a game played best if not only in pairs—to do with a shrunken va-gee-gee? I can tell you a few things she is not doing with it.

Now neither of us has working parts. He still isn’t talking about his and he doesn’t really want to hear about mine. I am pissed. I am angry. I am outraged. And there is nobody with whom it is appropriate to share my pain.  He has his own, thank you. I am not through existing as a sexual being.

Yeah, I can hear the “EWWWW” from here. Deal with it. Read something else. Cancer sucks.

Collecting Turkeys

This is a wonderful time of year for me. For the next few weeks, no one will ask why I have my house decorated for Thanksgiving. Some years ago a friend gave me an antique glass turkey candy dish. A few months later another friend found one in another color and a collection was born. Now I have a lot of turkeys–a veritable flock of gobblers. I have stuffed turkeys, carved turkeys, cookie jar turkeys, salt and pepper turkeys, candle stick turkeys, tea pot turkeys, gravy boat turkeys, ironstone turkeys, pot metal turkeys, platters, plates, and quite a few human turkeys in my collection. Even my dog is a turkey. So we won’t discuss my coworkers.

Raindrops on Roses…

There is a list of things I want in my life. It starts with the Big Guy and gallops through wonderful relationships with my children; enough money, happiness, success, whatever, to be comfortable until a piano falls on my head when I am jogging at 92. Most of the time…when my chemistry is well adjusted…my life is a source of joy and wonder. But I can go from Doris Day to Bette Davis in the blink of an eye.

I want balance most of all lately–balance and peace. Personally, I am feeling pretty far out there. The war between control and chaos is raging in my mind daily. Chaos is winning today. Today, I feel like Tom Cruise looked bouncing on Oprah’s sofa. I am a characature of the person I want you to see. It’s important to share the joy. It’s important to be real. But sometimes a girl has to to walk back into the room where she just made a fool out of herself. At least Tom has Scientology.

What are drugs for anyway?

I took my meds today. I took them yesterday and the day before and, all of a sudden today, I want to just lash out at everyone who is even marginally stupid…and there are a lot of people who are well outside the margins.Some clever wag once said that perception is reality. I perceive that my tolerance window is, for reasons unclear to me, pretty well slammed shut.  What does that mean? The big guy took my car and had tires put on it. I hate buying tires. Thank you for tires. He also scheduled the housekeeper to be at the house during a time he knew he had class. He didn’t reschedule. He didn’t arrange a key so she could lock up when she’s done. I will probably go home to find the doors open—and the way my mind is going today—all our worldly possessions scattered to the winds. I am not in a good place. I am not a happy camper…And I don’t really want to hear about changing my attitude, thank you very much. So upon which behavior do I dwell? The word count tells it all. DO I know how unfair that is? Oh, yeah. Do I care? Nope. Whew. That was supposed to make me feel better. Instead I feel not only pissy but like a pissy whiner. At least the house will be clean when I get home—empty perhaps—but clean.

Weighty Matters

The only thing that weight loss changes is weight. All the demons still live between my ears. All the voices that sound remarkably like my father still ring even though he and by extension, they, are long dead. I can hear the voice of my mother announcing her surprise that I ever gained weight, “because you have always been so vain.” So, thin is highly desirable, a wonderful thing, and if you achieve it or maintain it, it is also a character flaw.

There are a million dueling messages in my history.  It is good to be smart. It is bad to let people know you are smart. It is good to have smart children. It is bad to let children know they are smart. It is good to be beautiful. It is bad to work at it. It is good to succeed. It is bad to be proud of your success. It is good to be generous, kind, and loving. It is bad to be a pushover.

I guess every coin comes with heads and tails. And sometimes I think the universe is flipping for the best 2 out of 3.

New eyes see differently. I am accepting some things more easily than I can remember accepting them. I am today less afraid than I have been in a long time. It’s hard to quantify ‘afraid of what’ afraid is somehow just a general accompaniment to my day. When I see a police car I am afraid he/she is following me. I don’t have to be going too fast or driving erratically…I am just afraid. I explain ordering a pastry at Starbuck’s to the barista. What does he care what I eat? I am afraid someone will think worse of me than I do… or maybe think as badly of me as I do. Well, that thought certainly took an unexpected turn.

I have been working at the rational thought process. I have been expecting, actively expecting, acceptance. The surprise is I am finding it. Find what you are looking for? What a concept. Accept gifts freely given? Amazing. Offer someone else the opportunity to help you? Maybe that is generosity not ‘slacking.’

It has been a very good two weeks. There have been moments of backsliding and self doubt. I have been on the verge of tears a couple of times because someone else was hurting and out of their hurt being hurtful. I have even been pretty well pissed off a couple of times. Mostly, I have my thumb, middle finger, and forefinger gently touching and a soft “ohhmmmmm” sighing from my lips. Contentment is a pretty heady drug. I feel quite content.

In talking with Eileen about winning the lottery—first you have to buy a ticket—I have a lot of things to do with my $10M tax free. List of top things to do with ten million dollars:

§          $10K to St Augustine

§          Pay off house and bills

§          Buy house for each kid—no more than 2 miles from me

§          Who else needs a million bucks? Or which hundred people could use 10K?

That was fun and I don’t think I got through half of it. Five mil in the bank waiting for fun to be had, orphans to be clothed, waifs to be housed., not necessarily in that order.

I am off to pick up Miss Morrigan at her day care this afternoon. She is a busy school girl. She has taken to school like a duck to water. She is so funny and smart. I wonder if I was ever as wise. She will be 5 on Sunday. It seems we have had her forever. She is so a part of the ebb and flow of our lives.  Audrey and Ronica too, but Morrigan was first. First is heady stuff.

Ready, Fire, Aim

I have issues with boundaries. It seems my mouth gets ahead of my brain and I will tell (just about) anyone (just about) anything. If the stars are improperly aligned and I feel comfortable with you, I am apt to tell you way more about me than you ever wanted to know. God forbid you should be in my path immediately after really good news, really bad news, or after I totally embarrass myself, because the queen of TMI stands a good chance of trying to purge her demons by throwing the pain (or the joy) out into the Universe. It never works. It is seldom a good idea–if it is an idea at all.

Other people manage to live without sharing intimate details of their lives in inappropriate venues. Why can’t I just shut up?