Sense Of Humour A Must

My temporary breast prosthesis is shaped like a little cotton filled football. I tried it out yesterday and well, between it and the increasing fluid build up in the place where my breast used to be, I couldn't wait to be rid of it the moment I walked in the door last night.  So I took my bra off right then and there, tossed that on the dishwasher and totally forgot I had been wearing a prosthesis at all.

A few hours later I walked through the kitchen and spotted my prosthesis laying on the floor, its cotton batten filling just visible through the flap in its side. I scooped it up in a hurry, so very grateful that the dogs had not discovered it. More than likely they would have snatched it up in their jaw and carried it to the living room, dropped it and then picked it up again and again searching for the squeaker that inhabits all their toys. I can only imagine.

Belly Laughing In The Night

It's really early - I've been awake for an hour already. Maybe because today we're opening our Christmas presents? When I was a preschooler I remember getting woken up in the middle of the night by my older brother and sister to start opening presents.

I opened up a present that contained a doll before my Dad came and hustled us back to bed. Typing this I just realized only daughter is probably groaning at the thought of us opening our presents early. My reputation for not being able to wait for the actual day to give someone a present is well known. I get so excited I want them to open the present NOW!

We're travelling to see family for Christmas and decided opening presents in a hotel room just doesn't cut it so we opted to open them early. I only put the presents under the tree last night for fear that the dogs would mark them as their territory if given the chance.

If you want a belly laugh just click on this link. Some people won't find it funny, maybe even irreverent, but dearest one just had to come tell me to be quiet because some people actually like to sleep at night. I know it's going to be one of those things that makes me laugh every single time I read it.

And perhaps it's extra funny because once again I made it past the shortest daylight day of the year. Less than seven and a half hours of daylight yesterday. It is always a relief when that day is behind me.

After my last post I got in contact with my Spiritual Director. After writing some words of encouragement, he recommended that I go outside and make some snow angels in the snow. Which is another way of saying put rule 62 into effect.

The Art Form of Sticking One's Foot In One's Mouth

"Tidiness is the art form of the non-creative." ~ wildlife artist Greg Beecham

If there is truth to that quote then judging by my desk pictured above I'm quite creative!

It's bitterly cold here today. So cold the Puglies won't go outside. Last night I took them for one last constitutional before bed and they both sat on their butts trying to get all four feet up in the air at once to keep from freezing. Needless to say I carried them both back to the house, each snuggled under an arm like a football. This morning the windows are frosted up to the tops and the sun is shining through making it seem like I have stained glass windows.

At least the weather gives me something to write about. I've had a full week with little down time. Gone for 12+ hours at a stretch. Three luxurious days lay before me with no plans to venture farther than the yard. Winter makes me feel like hibernating and my cave is rather full of stuff.

Once winter is here to stay, and judging by the snow and cold, it is, I feel closed in on, like my clothes are too tight except it's the house that feels too tight. Invariably this lead to me wanting to open the door and chuck most of my belongings out in a snow drift so I feel like I have more room to stretch. Contrast that with a sunny summer day when I feel like opening doors and windows to let the outside in! Same amount of stuff, same house, way different perspective.

I had a few places to stop yesterday to buy yet more stuff. Winter boots. Greeting cards. I am so grateful for warm boots in this weather. It was a spur of the moment buy as I have boots on order from the catalogue. But I couldn't face taking one more dainty step on snow and ice in my dress shoes. I'd already just about ended going ass over tea kettle coming out of a store the day before and this lead me to walking tentatively ever since. I'm the kind of person who would lay in the snow after a fall, declaring "You don't understand! I had to wait to buy them until they were on sale!" as they loaded me onto a stretcher. And I'd expect applause, too, for that ridiculous behaviour. Oh, come on, you frugal shoppers know exactly what I mean.

So there I was standing in line at the checkout counter, in my new furry lined knee high brown boots, buying a bunch of greeting cards when I put them on the conveyer belt at the exact moment that the clerk started that belt going into overdrive. It was like she was driving a car and her foot was stuck on the gas. I take a lot of time looking for just the right card and one of those cards had been the only one of its kind in the rack and I'd be darned if it was going to get wrecked by jamming up the conveyer belt.

I reached to save it and she just kept her foot on the gas. I grabbed that card and watched as the belt threatened to suck another card into that little space between belt and counter. I felt like I was playing Jacks and was scrambling to pick up the last Jack before the red ball stopped bouncing. At the last minute I grabbed up every last card, narrowly avoiding getting my fingers jammed in there when I said, "You're going to drive me crazy." You ever have that happen? Realize you've said out loud what should have stayed in your head and there is no going back? Not even on a conveyor belt.

The sound of my voice must have startled her because she suddenly let go of the belt drive button. She looked embarrassed to have been caught not paying attention. I was embarrassed to have spoken out loud what I thought I was only thinking. I kept my mouth shut after that for fear of sticking the other of my newly purchased furry boots in my mouth although I do think there's room for me to rest one of them up on my desk. Right beside the catalogue I ordered my boots from to be precise.

And You Would Be.........?

I stopped by to see my sponsor on a whim tonight. As I got close to the road that leads to her house I said a little prayer and decided that dropping by to see her unexpectedly would be A-OK.

I drove up to her house and the lights were on. So far so good. One of her dogs came bounding up to greet me. That meant she was home. I rang her doorbell. I never ring her doorbell. I knock and then walk in. We have that kind of familiarity with one another. Her TV was blaring but she was no where to be found. I called. No answer. I slipped off my shoes and went looking. Her dog picked up my shoe and went to lay down and chew on it. As I called to him to give me back my shoe a voice said, "What are you doing in my house?" I looked around wondering where was my friend that she could see me but I couldn't see her.

That's when I realized the character on the TV show had asked me that.

Eventually I found my sponsor relaxing out back in her hot tub. I told her how her TV show lady was looking out for her. Lordy, we laughed and laughed.


Photo Credit

Good Night Mary Ellen

It is just past dusk as I type and I can hear the last of the birds singing in the trees. I think of them as being one big family like The Waltons and saying goodnight to each other through the branches. In the time it took me to type that they have all gone silent. I wonder if the occasional chirping I'm hearing is one of them telling their mother that they are thirsty or have to go pee or one of a gazillion things little ones can think up to stall having to snuggle up to the dark.

Dearest one and I met in town to go grocery shopping. It is a simple pleasure we like to do together when we can. I hadn't been out of the house since I came home sick from work on Monday and it felt good to get in the car and go somewhere. We went out for lunch afterwards and then he went home and I went to the office. It was Friday afternoon so everyone had gone home early. The rest of our building is being taken over by the public for the next 6 weeks which means I have to work behind a locked door for the duration. I am interested in seeing how the imagined working out of it all is going to look like in reality. God gives grace for the situation, not the imagination. Doesn't that sound like a worthwhile mantra?

Tonight dearest one decided to join me as I lay on the recliner and as he sat on the edge of it he teasingly pushed the top of the chair back as far as it could go. Our combined weight pushed the recliner over backwards to the floor and we lay there laughing while the blood rushed to our heads. He hopped off the side and I asked him to please help me get right side up again but it took awhile because we kept erupting in that hysterical kind of laughter that makes it hard to do anything else. I would have doubled up with laughter but I couldn't even get my head off the floor. Being upside down isn't much fun but we sure laughed anyway.

Oh, For Vanity's Sake

"You lied." I say between clenched teeth.
"I'm good at that," he deadpans.
Damn. I smile in spite of myself.

Earlier he'd held up a tiny needle full of liquid and told me it wouldn't hurt near so much as the other ones he used to give me so I told him, oh alright, go ahead.

He is my family doctor. Someone I've known as a patient for a dozen years. We know each other outside the office through a mutual organization we're both active in as well. He has the quickest, dry wit that he uses to diffuse uncomfortable situations and a compassion that runs deep. The first time I ever mentioned my history of childhood sexual abuse to him he stopped in his tracks and listened with the whole of his being. He encouraged me to get counselling and celebrated with me as I began healing. When I did my radio documentary two years ago he gave me the kindest feedback on it.

I've been feeling crappy since late last week and today just happened to have an appointment to see him that I'd made earlier this month. He took a swab of my throat and gave me antibiotics for strep throat.

He listened to the other issues I've been having and ordered the appropriate tests. I asked him if I made another appointment would he do something about the bump on my right index finger. I told him if I was an old lady I'd live with it because it looks like it belongs on an old lady hand. He told me he could do surgery or he could inject full of cortisone right away. At first I refused but the bump looks exactly like the proverbial wart on a witch's nose except it's on my finger. Then, because he told me it wouldn't hurt, I said, sure you can pump it full of cortisone.

Do I have the word SUCKER on my forehead? No. Maybe the word VANITY, though.

You...You...Fried Pie, You

I was dragging my butt all the way to town yesterday. I've been way too busy the past 6 weeks and the thought of being away from home yet another full day didn't thrill me. When my sponsor phoned Friday night to tell me if the weather was shitty in the morning then I shouldn't feel bad about cancelling I secretly hoped the weather would be shitty. It wasn't. So I showed up at her house bright and early and together we went to hear one of these brothers speak on sponsorship. I prayed on the way to my sponsor's house that I would be open to what God had for me. I made a commitment not to whine about how busy I have been. There's part of me that wants to say to overly busy people when they complain about it, "so what?" and then there's me. When I whine about being busy, I want sympathy.

Yesterday, a whole bunch of stuff about AA went from being head knowledge to heart knowledge. Well, maybe not a whole bunch, but it sure feels like a major shift happened within me. I never understood our singleness of purpose before, however humbling that is to admit, in the way I do now. I hope to God that shift is reflected in my sharing at meetings from here on in. Ever since the session was over yesterday, the words "selfish and self centered" have been echoing in my head.

As for other communities I am a part of, I hope to do a better job at showing up instead of staying home. For a long time now it's been a real effort to show up. I don't know when gentle self care morphed into a sense of entitlement about how I spend my time but it has. There are things I'm involved in where I have simply been putting in time instead of being engaged in the commitment and the people I serve with. I imagine I'm going to be pondering that one for a while yet but realizing it made me save this post in draft form and go to church instead of staying home to finish writing.

Those Texans sure have some funny phrases. Fried Pie for one. I doubt we say redneck with the same affection that he called people fried pies. He said it in the same way one might call someone a knucklehead.

I was dying to go up to the speaker after and ask him if he knew this or that blogger but I realized that probably none of them use their real first name and that it wasn't my place to out them as bloggers so I restrained myself. Although it could very well be that him knowing y'all has about the same chance as when someone finds out I'm from Canada and wants to know if I know their relative that lives half way across the country.

I did, however, look up fried pie on a search engine. When all these Amish definitions came up I thought to myself there aren't Amish in Texas! Which makes me think of the time dearest one drove through Chicago, on the way to see me in Ontario. When he stopped for fuel and someone found out that he was from Canada they argued with him that Canadians lived in Igloos and there was snow year round no matter where you lived in Canada. Nothing dearest one said could convince that man otherwise. So as far as I know there very well could be Amish in Texas.

At any rate, according to that Texan, there sure are a lot of fried pies there. And they go to meetings, too.

Bowing To Red Green

"See? I can change."
I say it with a grin because sometimes I get so proud of myself over very little things.
"And you're not even a man." he deadpans as he waltzes down the hallway.
There's a split second before I get his joke. My laughter follows him down the hallway.

We'd been having a conversation about my attempt to load the dishwasher the way he does. I tried it for no other reason than I could. We do most things differently. From folding towels to hanging toilet paper to shovelling snow. We don't argue about these differences anymore but we do notice them. And some days I try things his way just because I can. Which is both monumental and insignificant at the same time.

I was reminded of this the other day while talking to my mom on the phone. I'd asked her a question and she'd turned to my dad for clarification. There was an exchange between them and on her end I heard that My God, you are such an insufferable idiot full of contempt tone of voice that she uses with him. I hate that tone of voice. Hate it. I don't know if it's worse because they have been married nearly 55 years and I wish there was tenderness and compassion between them instead of this pissing contest that never seems to end. I can feel the tension building in my body just writing about it.

I know all about pissing contests and that tone of voice. It was the way I approached my marriage for many of the last 28 years. The world was out to get me, including dearest one, and I only felt secure when I had the upper hand. I forget that I used to look at life that way until I hear my mom's tone of voice or when I choose to do something someone else's way and find out it doesn't hurt one little bit not to be in control of the universe. And some days I still find a hint of that tone of voice coming out of my mouth. That happened the other day in a public place and I apologized instantly. That tone of voice is so, so ugly.

One time, several years ago, I made an offhand remark to dearest one about the way he folds towels. I can get pissy about the stupidest things. Any time I talk to my mom about these things she eggs me on in a men are such idiots and far inferior to us women kind of way. And that day dearest one said to me, "Show me how you do it." He meant it in the sincerest way and when I gave him a puzzled look he added that in his job they only succeed when they work as a team so why not try it at home. Team work never entered my mind. In any bit of life. His comment stunned me into silence and much contemplation.

I think of that conversation every time I look at the pile of folded towels in the bathroom. He has a knack to them now that I can't duplicate no matter how much I try. That conversation is also the reason I try to do things like loading the dishwasher a totally different way just because I can. And because I need the practice. The world will not end if it (or the toilet paper is on backwards) doesn't run according to the book of Hope.

And, God help me, if I keep on trying I might just be in the market for a pair of these suspenders before you know it.

Toe Wisdom

"I"ve learned to be careful whose toes I step on because they might lead to the butt I have to kiss tomorrow."

This quote made me laugh when I heard it yesterday.

Beepity-Beeps

"Dubai unveils world's tallest building."

That's the headline I read on the web announcing the opening of the world's tallest building. I thought, "Don't they have to cover something up in order to unveil it? That would take one big bed sheet."

It was funny to me. I needed a sense of humour yesterday. Work was very busy and for noise accompaniment there was an alarm system beeping every 5 seconds. It was interspersed with another alarm going off every time someone opened the main doors outside my office. Which happened about 150 times. I was serenaded for 8 hours straight. About 5 minutes before day's end the fix it man figured out how to silence the whole lot. By then my beepity beeps were giving the buildings' beeps a run for their money. I bet a bed sheet could have come in handy for muffling the noise. A big one.

It Isn't?

"I must be singing too loud."

Several pews ahead of me is a young girl who turned and looked right at me as I sang. She frowned, too. I admit I cannot carry a tune but I do love to sing. At her glance I lower my voice and sing much quieter. We're in a church in a city. There are nearly 1000 people at Mass, and sure, she is several pews ahead of me. But still. She looked right at me. It's only later in the Mass that I notice her turning and looking at other people that way too. And they weren't even singing. Imagine that.

Say What?

"Has Mommy fed you supper?"

Dearest one has a mischevious look on his face
even though I start glaring at him.
He knows them's fighting words.
I look from dearest one to the Puglies.
Between slightly clenched teeth I say,
"Don't."

That was about two weeks ago.
Since then dearest one has kept talking to the dogs
as if I'm their Mommy.
Not every day, God help him,
but once in a while.
Kind of like a kid who finds
what gets under someone else's skin
and then capitalizes on it,
just for fun.
Or just to hear me hiss the word "Don't".

So last night I crawl into bed.
The Pugs do, too.
They happily sprawl out on dearest one's side of the bed.
A few minutes later dearest one comes into the bedroom.
He likes the side of the bed that's right up against the wall.
To get there he has to be kind of acrobatic.
I know I could've just got out of bed
and made it easy but I bet, after all is said and done,
he's really happy I didn't.

He looks at the situation,
trying to figure out how to get into bed,
without stepping on the dogs.
I think to myself,

"Get out of the way so that your Dad can get into bed."

I start giggling.
Dearest one, still standing on the floor,
asks me what's so funny.
I tell him what I just thought.
We both shriek with laughter 'til our bellies hurt.
The Pugs look at us
and silently hightail it
to the far end of the bed.

Frozen Schmozen

So I went outside this morning to brush the snow, yes, the SNOW, off my car. I'd started my car from the house and, because I hadn't left the heater turned up high or the fan on, I first tried to open the car door to fix that. Might as well have all the help I could get to melt the snow off the windshield. I pulled on the driver's side door handle and got no response. Nada. I went around the car, sweeping off big patches of heavy snow and tried the other door handles. They were frozen shut. Every single one of them.

I swept the snow off the door frame and looked for ice. Not that I really wanted to scrape ice off the car, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get to work. The snow was swept away and I thought, that's funny, there isn't any ice on the door. Oh well, I mused, the ice is inside the crack where I can't reach it. Tucked out of the way like a protest about it snowing, for gawd's sake, before the leaves have even hit the ground. I stood there and tried to remember how to thaw frozen doors, wished that dearest one hadn't left for work 90 minutes earlier, and then feebly kicked one of the doors to see if I could jar it loose. No luck. Stupid car. I brushed all the snow off anyway and by the time I was done, my hair, which I'd just blow dried, was wet from the big, fluffy snow flakes coming down. I might complain about snow in October, but the sight of snow flakes in the glow of the yard light is magical any time of the year.

I looked about me and thought about work. I thought about my warm bed and how wonderful it would be to go crawl back between the covers. The Puglies would happily be foot warmers. I'd just have to wait until the warmth of the sun thawed that invisible ice stuck in the cracks of the doors.

Just as I was about to go back into the house and call my boss, I wondered if maybe my car doors were locked instead. So I turned back to my car.

I made it to work on time just fine.

Numbering My Thoughts

Thump. Thud. Thud.

Those are the early morning sounds that woke us up a few days ago.
The energizer bunny had rolled off the bed.
I grinned in the dark and sang to dearest one, "They all rolled over and one fell out..." We giggled and went back to sleep, once the energizer bunny was safely on the bed again. Yeah, I know, there is a kennel in our room just for the Pugs. It's doing duty as a table for a laundry basket at the moment.

Speaking of numbers, you know the all in that little ditty up above, when you count all my posts this one is numero eleven hundred.
Which is cool, eh?
Except eleven hundred sounds weird.
One thousand and one hundred doesn't roll of the tongue well, either.
Some days most words sound weird.
Does that ever happen to you? You write a word out and think to yourself it can't possibly be spelled that way even though another part of your brain is telling you you've been spelling it that way for decades. I wonder why words look or sound so alien some days.

I had something interesting happen today.
Well, let me back up a day.
There's a person in my life who I instinctively don't trust.
Passive aggressiveness is hard to pin down sometimes.
I tried earlier this week but the person smoothly side stepped my bluntness.
Wriggled right out of my question.

I've been known, in my former life, to grab people by the shirt, just under their throat, and threaten them. There is nothing passive aggressive about that but I don't recommend trying it. That was before I knew that I have a voice for a reason and it's much better to use my voice than my might. Anyway, I just was irritated all the day long by my inability to make her own up to something she did that crossed one of my boundaries. I do get tempted to grab people by the shirt now and then but that day wasn't one of them. Mercifully. Making amends keeps me from reckless behaviour more often than not. This morning I prayed that there would be a time lapse between my impulses and actions.

Yesterday I was talking to God and saying that if only I knew a little something about this person who I don't trust, something that would put a human face to her, it would help.
Today a little tidbit of info came out of her mouth and I asked her about it.
Within 5 minutes there was enough humanity spilling out that my heart softened.
I still don't trust her, and that is just fine.
I can trust my instincts.
But it is nice to know there is a soft heart underneath the hard exterior.

Next post will be eleven hundred and one.
That sounds better.
Thankfully there are only two pugs in the bed.

Scary Presence

"Boo!"

I lean forward and say it close to her ear as she appears in the doorway. It's the only thing I can think of to do that might distract her from how I am dressed. Somehow, in my rush to get out the door on time, I get to work and realize I am still in my caftan. My attempt to scare her doesn't phase her one. little. bit. It's the first day back to work and she's on a mission. Eyes straight forward, rushing to her office. She barely acknowledged my presence. I stand there a bit perplexed that my attire warranted nary a second glance and a bit relieved at the same time.

Thank God it was only a dream.

My alarm certainly jolted me awake this morning and once I had some clarity of thought, I decided that my first day back at work would be just fine no matter what.

I did contemplate scaring my coworker anyway but decided that since I'm the only one in the office without CPR training, I best behave myself.

Caftans are incredibly comfortable though.
It's a shame they aren't appropriate work attire.
Scary thought, that.

Peeing On My Feet Part 2

"Hmmm, I wonder if that was a wise idea?"

I ask myself that question after finishing off a litre of water just as I pass the last town I will see for an hour. Before me the highway snakes like a ribbon between as-far-as-the-eye-can-see forest. No one lives along this stretch of highway - every so often there is a lease road branching off - roads used by oilfield workers and that is as close to civilization as I will get for the next 60 minutes.

I'm half an hour past chugalugging the water when I realize that I won't make it to the next town for a bathroom break. I remember there being a really nice meadow like area along this stretch of highway if I can only remember which side road it's on. I've felt every little bump of the highway for miles already so I turn off the highway and pull down the road far enough so no one can see me. I look up and before me is no meadow. Instead there is an open gate with a large oil company sign attached that says no one is allowed past this point without authorization. No problem. I stop the car just shy of the gate and take a look at the ditch. I could almost hide in the tall grass to do my business but it's still early in the morning and the grass is wet. Somehow it escapes me that dew on my feet would feel so much better than the alternatives. I decide to just walk to the front of my car, well hidden from the highway, and pee right there. Surely no one will come from the other direction - from beyond the no tresspassing gateway. In my haste I don't look where I decide to pee. Only after it's too late do I realize I planted one foot on the top of the road and one foot on the side of it. I cringe as I watch a trickle becoming a small river heading straight for my foot. There's only so far a girl can stretch without either doing a face plant forwards or landing on her tush. Sigh. Peeing on my feet again it is. I can hear the sounds of vehicles rushing past, too far out of sight for either of us to see one another, and also so loud I can't hear whether I'm done peeing or not. Bad timing means I end up peeing on my hand, too. I have just stood up when I hear a vehicle coming from beyond the gate. Lickety split I pull up my pants, note I've peed on my clothes, too, grab my last remaining wet wipe and clean off my hands and feet. I've just jumped into my car before he rounds the bend. I'm pretending to enjoy the scenery, when he pulls up and rolls down his window.

"You doing alright there?"

I blush as I tell him I am just fine thank you. He nods and goes on his merry way. He's had to drive past the kleenex laden puddle in front of my car to greet me. I'm thankful for my sun glasses hiding my mortified eyes. Seconds earlier and I would have been literally caught with my pants down. Peeing on my feet doesn't seem so bad considering what just about happened. After he's gone I manouver my car around on the narow stretch of road and head towards home. Paranioa sets in within a few miles and I just about convince myself that there were cameras on the gate connected to some monitor beyond him back in no man's land. That the guys back at the gas plant convinced him to come check on me to see if I was okay.

I sail past the next town and decide not to stop. It's another hour to the next town. Damn. Not a wise choice. But I am not stopping by the side of the road one more time on this trip. No siree. I daydream about driving all the way home without stopping at all. About hugging dearest one after nearly two weeks apart, and saying " Get out of my way I have to pee." Dearest one is known for hugging me when I am uptight and not letting go until I calm down. I envision myself warning him I have perfected the art of peeing on my feet while away and if he doesn't let me go I will pee right then and there. And furthermore, with any luck the one time I try to pee on my feet, I most surely will pee on his.

Bet he will let me go in record time. Don't you?

I am so glad I didn't have to find out.

Reality Check Out Lane

"Holy crap Hope! Give your head a shake."
That's what I thought
after I walked up to a check out counter this week
and read a sign that said,
"Another associate
will be happy to assist you."
only to think it said
"Another asshole will be happy to assist you."

Sometimes what we see
and what is reality
can be two totally different things, no?

Waterworks

Two rambunctious little pugs woke me up this morning.
It's hard to stay grumpy when
they nearly wiggle themselves inside out
because I am home.
In a few hours I'm off on a road trip to see Fr. Charlie.
Who knows how I'll be when I get there
but right now I feel like I'm going to talk for 2 hours straight
without nary taking a breath.
Well, except that breathing is necessary.

Yesterday I sat in a waiting room
and listened to a young girl talk just like that.
Loudly.
I heard all about so and so and their boyfriend
and whether the baby is his or not.
Wow, she talked loud.
Like the young person beside her was deaf.
I watched her friend's body language
and it seemed to say please speak quieter.
I sat and judged the young girl for her verbal diarrhea
until I realized that most of us
probably have similar conversations going on all the time
except they happen in our head not in a public arena.
So there really is no difference between us.

I was sitting there waiting for a pelvic ultrasound.
One where the prep is having to drink a litre of water
and then hold your pee for an ungodly amount of time.
I went to the reception desk upon arrival
and told them this was cruel and unusual punishment.
They asked me to repeat myself.
I did.
In a whisper.

When I was called (they call first names only)
I walked very quickly to the room.
I got up on the table
(I know this is all too much information
but aren't you glad you aren't in a public waiting room
hearing me speak this rather loudly in your ear?
Wait. A blog is sorta like a public waiting room.)

Anyway I got up on the table
only to hear her say after a few seconds
that I needed to go and pee a little bit.
My bladder was too full.
I would've laughed except that would have caused me
to pee right there on her table.
I told her peeing a little bit wasn't going to happen.
Now, I envy all those folks who can stop peeing at will.
It isn't and never has been me.
She told me people did it all the time.
I told her not in my lifetime.
She sighed and did the ultrasound.
Then she let me go pee and did another kind of ultrasound.
Blessed relief.

When all was said and done I looked at the screen
before I left the room
(as if I can miraculously read an ultrasound picture, duh)
only to see that it wasn't even my name on the screen.
My first thought was that there was no way
I was going to repeat the torture.

So I went out and told her
that um, right first name, wrong everything else.
Her face registered an "oh shit" moment.
She assured me she could fix it but it would take a while.
Turns out there were two of us in the waiting room
with the same first name.
And when they'd called it
I saw this other person out of the corner of my eye
start to get up out of their chair
but I beat them to it.
I had to pee so bad I just wanted the test over with.
I never stopped to think it wasn't my turn.

And since I don't think there is any delicate way
to finish this rather indelicate post
I will just stop right here
and wish you a good day.

Sleep Purgatory

"Don't talk to me, I'm almost in that place, in between waking and sleeping."

I say it rather snarkily.
If I go backwards towards being awake,
sleep might elude me for hours.
I panic at the thought.
Dearest one crawls into bed and I snuggle up
and kiss that spot in between his shoulder blades.
"Careful, you might lose your in between place."
I can tell he's grinning as he says it.
Then he informs me that he has no in between place,
he's either awake or sleeping.
"I don't have sleep purgatory like you do."
We both laugh.
When I think about how snarky I am about someone disturbing my purgatory I say, "Maybe I deserve sleep purgatory."
I don't remember if dearest one replied
because I promptly fell asleep.
Maybe someone was praying for me.

Modern Art

The traffic is pin pricks of light in a dark morning sky as I type.
Dearest one just left for work and I'm setting a record by being up and coherent. Mark that on the calendar.

I'm working on a creative project and it's hard to shut my brain off for sleep when I'm doing that. Although, I suppose, one could argue that all of life is a creative endevour, couldn't they?

I'm making colourful posters for a talk youngest son is giving to a group of men this month. No powerpoint allowed in this setting, no sirree.
Not that I can do that anyway. I'll stick to tracing and colouring with markers.
Did you know I am very technically challenged? Dearest one bought me a hand held computer gadget for Christmas. I tend to let it run out of battery power and then am impatient while it recharges. It would help if I didn't ignore the battery is getting low signal. Reminds me of how low I used to dare my car to run on fumes. That strategy did catch up with me eventually, although it was dearest one who was driving alone when it happened.

bobbie told me the other day I could use my hand held gadget while it was plugged in. OH, I thought to myself. I checked the box and couldn't find a cord to plug it in with. All it had was the charger cord. That's weird I thought to myself. I went on a little tirade in my head about how companies charge you for every little thing and shouldn't a power cord come with a gadget instead of as an afterthought?

It's a good thing I can laugh at myself. If bobbie hadn't explained to me a few days later that the charger is the plug in cord, I would still be scratching my head and looking for a power cord. Or worse yet, phoning the store and asking if they sold them. Lord have mercy.

Anyway, I can't even draw a reasonable stick man, so for the posters I resort to cutting and pasting clip art. Then I blow the pics up using paint brush and trace them onto poster paper.
I earn an A+ for colouring within the lines afterwards.
At least that's what I tell myself.
The tracing drives me batty.
I swear frequently every time I do it.
At some point in the process I always say I am never, ever doing this again.
This is my sixth time around.

The part that keeps me doing them, is that creative process of designing the posters and seeing them come to life.
It's very satisfying seeing the finished product.
Thank God there are no power cords or chargers with markers.