Sunday, April 27, 2008

Misery Loves My Company

Sorry about not posting much lately...not that the two or so readers I have really don't know what goes on in my life on a regular basis, anyway. I woke up last Tuesday at 4:30am and was having the damnedest time breathing. Then came the chest pains. Oh. Boy. This. Is. Going. To. Be. A. Fun. Day. Deciding to head off this bout of pneumonia (cause that is what it felt like, and how it started the last time) I called my doctor and scheduled an appointment. The said they would work me in at the end of the day. Woohoo. That means I get undivided attention by people who are desperate to get their workday over and pissy that I am prolonging said workday. I'm SO blessed.

I called a friend to inquire if she felt like wasting her day by taking me and my unruly, yet sometimes entertaining, child to the doctor. I know my limits and driving while I feel like general poop doesn't benefit anyone. Actually, it is downright dangerous. I died once while I was driving and drove into a ditch. Yes, you read that right. I died. The heart stopped causing me to pass out and I drove off the road. Drove off the road and into a ditch while technically dead. Now THAT'S talent for ya, folks! (Booking info for parties and other entertainment available at the receptionist's desk on the way out, y'all.)

I have been seeing this doctor since I was 18 years old, and since I am so old I fart dust, that means this guy knows every medical malfunction my body can produce. I told him what was going on, about how I had probably over done it by lack of sleep, plus a day at the hospital for my daughter's surgery the Friday before, then a trip to the grocery store on Saturday, and a trip on Sunday to Walmart to get 30 FUCKING GALLONS of bottled water for the 55 gallon fish tank that occupies my living room. His raised eyebrow at this explanation of my week made me wince. At least he didn't lecture me. I hate lectures and know perfectly well at this point that me feeling generally craptacular meant my health was not up to par.

So he listens to my lungs and then stands there while twisting his wedding ring and looking EXTREMELY worried. Gee. That can't be a good sign. Of course the advice that follows if for me to get to the ER toot-sweet. He advised me that he couldn't even hear any air moving through my lower lungs and crackles in the top of my lungs. Not good. So I ask him about giving me a break since I was in the office and we caught it early so how about some antibiotics and a suggestion of bed rest and we all go home happy? Eh...I guess he wasn't feeling that. I got a prescription for a diuretic (pee pills) and an order for blood work and an X-Ray. Great. Thanks. That'll work. Yeah. Right. (You may now take a break to go get a paper towel or something to wipe all the sarcasm that is dripping off your screen at this point.)

So I came home (with the help of my WONDERFUL friend...Thanks!) and basically debated going to the ER for the rest of the night. And the next day. And the next day. And the next....ah get the point at this point. So here it is Sunday afternoon. Last night I was so vertically challenged I just kept dropping to the floor unconscious every time I got up to pee (damn pills) and the chest pain was just this side of unbearable. This morning? Let's just say that upright and breathing was the last thing I wanted to do. The pain has now passed to the other side of unbearable, and I am just sitting here thinking...wouldn't it be funny if they found my fat ass dead, slumped in front of this computer....hey...does anyone else hear that laughing???

Why haven't I gone to the hospital yet, you ask? see, there is this little 4 year old here that sort of depends on me to take care of her. I have been asking around for days to anyone that will listen to me for some help in the babysitting department, but the friend that took me to the doctor is out of commission due to her own health problems. My older sister is pregnant with her fifth child and sent me an email saying that her house is full of a stomach bug and she had a slumber party for a niece to help with. Gosh. Priorities. Dying sister....puking kids...slumber party for a child that doesn't even belong to you. Slumber party it is! Bitch. (Not that I'm bitter or anything.) Her suggestion was to call my mom. My mom and my daughter don't get along so well. They just don't seem to like each other....(daughter is 4, mom is crazy)...can't figure out why.

So here I sit and I feel like shit, and it sounds like I'm starting to rhyme. So I leave you with that, while I pass out flat, after I've peed for the hundredth time.

(I'm gonna go crawl in a hole and whimper now...I really don't feel so very good. Must be the bad rhyming.)

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Spider Girl, Spider Girl...

Short but sweet for this post, folks. Last night after I had already retired for the evening, my night owl of a 4 year old decided she wanted to play video games into the wee hours of the night. (I just used the word night waaay too many times, didn't I? Oh well. Deal.) She was in the home office on the main computer playing said game, and was completely unsupervised. FCB (That would be Fat Cranky Bastard for any new folks. He's the dad.) was letting her play alone in his office, completely trusting that she was ONLY going to be playing a game and not going to do anything destructive like say, USING A BLACK SHARPIE TO COMPLETELY REDECORATE. She had managed to "color" all over herself and it really looked like spiderwebs all over her arms. She even managed to get some in her armpits. The desk (it's black) and the chair (also black) were not spared, but thankfully you can't really tell she went all Picasso on them.

One way to surely kill the heart patient sleeping soundly in the other room?

"OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?!?" Said loudly and incredulously like he was actually expecting her to behave.

"Yeah. I'm up. What did she do now? Calm down, old man. (All this being said while my heart was beating 400 beats per minute in my throat.) Just use the magic eraser on the furniture and some dawn on her arms and stuff. If it cleans up oil spill wildlife it can get Sharpie off a 4 year old. I'm going back to bed now before I fall over."

As I was drifting back off to sleep I hear, "Hey, it's actually working!"

Yeah. I'm SO the Mom.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

I'm Being Held Hostage By A Groupie.

My daughter is quite a character. She is the type that once she sets her mind to something there is no diverting her from accomplishing her mission. I had promised her that I would take her to the park on Saturday. My reasoning behind this was threefold. (I am never able to do anything without ulterior motives. It's a quirk. Sue me.) First, I was hoping she would play hard enough to make her pass out at a decent hour, instead of the unholy hours she has been keeping lately. (I swear no matter how tired she is, she refuses to let her head hit a pillow before the crack of midnight.) Second, I was planning on taking her to a park on the other side of town, so I could swing by the new location of an old friend, in the hopes of catching him stepping outside (and away from his current girlfriend) for a smoke break. (It worked by the way, but that encounter is another blog entry altogether.) Third, I was planning on visiting with a friend of mine that my daughter is quite fond of. Actually really fond of. I told said friend that it's almost like she is an 80's rock band and my daughter is her biggest fan and only groupie. She agreed to meet us at the park.

Actually, there was also a fourth reason that I just thought of. There is a place I like to eat that I rarely ever get the opportunity to go to. I went. It was yummy. Now back to your regularly scheduled blog entry.

So this friend and I talked and got caught up since we hadn't seen each other in a few months and she played with my daughter on the playground. We then went to eat, and my daughter was behaving better that she normally does, and I told my friend (her nickname is Moose) that she must be a natural Ritalin for my child because the behavior that I was experiencing from my child was delightful.

We decided to make a day and night of it by swinging by Moose's house to grab some old yearbooks and an overnight bag, and to let my daughter pet her kitty. From there we went to Target, then Walmart, and then Toys'R'Us before we found the red wagon that I was looking for. Since my child is 4 years old and 50 pounds of pure muscle, putting her in a stroller is getting a little absurd. Thus the reason for the wagon. But I digress.

After returning to my house, and spending a pleasant evening assembling the wagon (she did all the work, I just supervised) and perusing old yearbooks for a stroll down amnesia lane, we retired. Personally, I was beyond exhausted. That was the fullest day I have had in months.

The next morning I had to listen to my daughter bug me for an hour with, "I think Moose is awake. We need to wake up Moose. Where is Moose? I think she's asleep, let's wake Moose up now." It was only going to get worse from there.

Moose had to go home to take care of her kitty and do a few errands and chores, but promised my daughter that she would be back in a day to spend the night again and accompany my daughter on her Zoo field trip the next day. My daughter and I got in our car to head to the store, and Moose got in her white truck to head home. The truck has a little "Happy Bunny" antennae figurine on it. These are all details that you need to know to explain the email that I sent to Moose when I got home, as well as the reason for the title of this post. This is the body of the email...

Your groupie is driving me crazy. First it stared with the major crying jag in the car when she realized that we were in fact NOT going the same direction you were, followed by lots of snot and drooling when she realized that you were not every white truck on the road cause she couldn't find the bunny. It continued with the chanting of your name along with the insistence that YOU take her to the zoo in her new wagon. NOW! She then proceeded to try to rip my shirt off my body because I was not complying with said request to "GO THAT WAY TO MOOSE'S HOUSE, NO, THAT WAY MOMMY, YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY, I NEED TO SEE THE MOOSE KITTY!!!!!"

She continued to bug me bat shit in the store cause they were out of sprinkle cookies, and she just knew that there are indeed sprinkle cookies at Moose's house and we needed to go there RIGHT NOW.

I have thrown a bottle of tequila at her an a CD of your greatest hits, but I don't think it is working. She is at this very moment mumbling under her breath and plotting to tie me up with dish towels and haul my ass away in her new red wagon...

Monday, April 7, 2008

Hazardous Blogging (and the attack of the "G's")

First of all, any word with three "g's" in it should be illegal. It's just torture for the tongue.

But, on with the post.

I was reading a friend's blog this morning and she was writing about how blogging can be hazardous to one's health. Die hard bloggers are literally dying hard. Slumping over the keys as they pound out their personal opinions about all sorts of topics. Heart attacks, obesity, sleep disorders, stress, hand cramping...all dangerous side effects of committed blogging.

Another blogger that I read on a daily basis also, has started writing about her recent breakdown and subsequent healing. She suffered from a sleep disorder and after taking too many ambien, she checked into a hospital for help. She posts daily and when suddenly the words stopped flowing, the outpouring of concerned readers was touching. She is on the road to recovery and writing about it, although not as often as she used to.

The blogger friend this morning that brought this health trend to my attention, and the googling (another 3g word there) that transpired after reading her post, made me start to really contemplate the link between health and blogging. The aforementioned friend has been sick lately, and her blogging slacked off while she was recovering. Her readers waited anxiously (anxiety, stress...see a trend here?) for the next post, and kept themselves entertained with comment banter. It just makes me wonder if there is truly a danger to one's health due to blogging or the lack there of.

I know many people started their blogs to vent, to relieve stress, to express themselves in an open and honest way, or to just let loose and share a few laughs with complete strangers. I started mine for all those reasons. I have been sick, and have blogged. I haven't lost any sleep, though. Heart attacks? Been there, done that. Four times. None of them caused by blogging. Stressed? Well, I do feel a little guilty when a week goes by and I haven't posted, although I am not sure why. I guess it is because I might let down the three readers I have. Sorry about that.
Obesity? Oh you bet! My ass now qualifies as a double wide. Little trucks with flags and "Wide Load" signs follow me where ever I go.

Is it because of blogging? Nah. I have a heart condition that makes it hard for me to exercise or even exert much energy. If anything, this is a great stress reliever for me. Hell, I even crack myself up some of the time. Do I think there are health risks associated with blogging? Absolutely. Actually...I feel a hand cramp coming on right now.