Pondering the Last Day Alone

I've been thinking a lot about something my bloggie friend CrazyCris said in a comment the other day. After I wrote about missing my past love, she wrote: "Life is full of surprises and you may wake up one day and that will be your last "alone" day... who knows?" When you guys comment, you have no idea how many new, interesting thoughts you put in my head.

It's true that one day, I might wake up, go about my business, and randomly have my life change. My sister met Beloved via email because a mutual coworker of theirs thought they might hit it off (simply from knowing them both through email). Chicago Cousin and Kira both met their loves at bars/restaurants (they say you can't meet people at bars, but it turns out you can). In very random acts, I admit, I was with Kira when she met her husband and I was with Dorothy for her first date with Beloved. Actually, Chicago Cousin and Hawk (and Kira?) were also on Dorothy's first date. Weird. I guess I'm just trying to say that yes, random things do happen, and you never know when your life is about to drastically change.

I've had this feeling for the last few years -- some kind of intuitive feeling or premonition -- that I already know the person I'm meant to be with. I've either known him in my past or have briefly met him somewhere. Perhaps this is just a hopeful fantasy. Or maybe it's because I don't like to date total strangers. I've really only dated people I've been friends with first -- or have known for a long time. I've had flings with strangers, but they never last.

So I think I'm subconsciously or consciously I'm looking for someone I "know." Someone I met on the El on the way to work in Chicago? Someone I went to elementary school with who moved far away in first grade? The son of one of my mother's friends? That guy I sat on the bench with outside of EPB every day in Iowa City waiting for my next class whose name I never learned? Something like that. Or maybe it's even more random. It's someone I walked past in the airport in Arizona over a decade ago. Someone I didn't even look at.

We all know chemistry has a HUGE affect on the way we relate to other people, but many of the men I've loved shared no chemistry with me at first. I wasn't attracted. It was only with time and friendship that I saw the magic and felt the tingles. That's why I know online dating doesn't work for me -- and yes, I've tried it. I can't make friendships online. You either like the person, or you don't. There's not a lot of wiggle room for the slow burn. I've always been more of a turtle than a rabbit in everything I do. Slow and easy has won me many races.

So maybe I've already woken up and had my last "alone" day and not even known it? That's a fun thing for me to think about right now. Maybe right at this very moment, someone is getting up the courage to reach out to me. Or maybe we are both making plans that in some way will cross.

Or maybe I'm just totally full of sh*t. But it's fun to think about. I certainly hope one day he arrives.

Return to Junior High Music

One of the things that annoys me about Farmsville (yes, things actually do annoy me here) is the lack of modern music. I'm not sure what it is about the radio stations around here, but they all play the exact same music today that they played back when I was a kid. Late-70s to early-80s rock and 80s and 90s pop are all you are going to get. Oh, and country. There is plenty of country. Because I don't like being shuttled back through time every time I'm in my car, I never listen to anything other than NPR and my own CDs.

Last night, for reasons unknown to me, I turned on the radio in the Corolla. As I drove into town, I heard "The Search Is Over" by Survivor (see video above -- nice hair and clothes). It was played by a DJ who was dedicating it to a pair of long-lost lovers who had reconnected. Sweet. As I listened to the beginning of the song, I remembered listening to that same dreamy dedication program when I was young. I would lie in bed and secretly hope that someone would call in and say they wanted to play a song for ME. It was like Craigslist's Missed Connections 1985-ish.

I went to the watering hole to meet Spice. When I got there, I sang a few bars of the song. She didn't recognize it. Spice is almost 10 years younger than me, so it wasn't that shocking. So I sang a bit more for her boyfriend, who is only a few years younger than me. Know it? Nothing. REALLY? LIKE FOR REALS? So then a few of the other "older" people in the watering hole also pretended to not know this song. If you can't tell, I totally didn't believe them. I think they were trying to save face or something, but why? Most of them belt out ridiculous songs on a regular basis with no shame. Whatevs.

Just when I thought I had gone through a worm-hole into a different timeline where No One Knew the Song, a girl playing pool started singing along with the jukebox, because of course I had to play it. FINALLY. I mean, come on, Survivor wrote "Eye of the Tiger." I don't believe for ONE MINUTE that the boys in the bar didn't know the band. This is Rocky territory if there ever was one.

I remember swaying to "The Search Is Over" at middle school dances, oh yes I do. I almost grabbed one of the boys at the bar to dance with me, but I knew they would shy away. What happened to those good old days when we could slow dance or roller skate with boys without all of the bullsh*t of the world complicating matters? Oh, to be young. To have not a care in the world other than wearing the right socks so my roller skates didn't give me blisters. Those were GOOD TIMES.

So in honor of my youth, I will now link you to some of the songs that take me back in time. I know you want to be earwormed in this way. DON'T deny it. And yes, I totally played these records on my RECORD PLAYER.

Enjoy!

• Will You Still Love Me? -- Chicago
• More Than a Feeling -- Boston
• Come Sail Away -- Styx
• Jack and Diane -- John "the Coug" Mellencamp
• Can't Fight This Feeling -- REO Speedwagon
• Faithfully -- Journey
• I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight -- Cutting Crew
• Time After Time -- Cindi Lauper
• High Enough -- Damn Yankees
• When I Look into Your Eyes -- Firehouse
• When I See You Smile -- Bad English

Did I miss any of your favorites?

February Madness (Literally)

Image from space c/o NASA.

Back in November, the weather got cold and I thought to myself: "Self, what are we going to do? It's just beginning. Imagine how much it's going to suck in FEBRUARY!" I don't know what it is about February that is so brutal. I suppose it's the first month where winter is ending, so Spring Fever gets going full blast. People want to get out and play and be in nature for longer than 5 minutes without the weather changing in some drastic way. Oh, February. You are brutal.

It turns out that we humans aren't the only ones who suffer in February. I read on io9.com (my absolute new favorite web site even though I don't know what the i or the o or the 9 stand for) that our planet sucks in more BRIGHT meteors during February than during any other month. In fact, this phenomenon is known as the "Fireballs of February." True story.

I am sure I've seen more of them, but I remember seeing exactly one really bright and amazing falling star in my entire lifetime -- on a very important date. It's a fun memory I've had all this time. Sadly, I was unable to catch it and put it in my pocket.

Anyway, February has been the month of meltdowns, mishaps, and Stupid Things. I'm not the only one who has ended up crying for seemingly no reason. It's somewhat contagious methinks. And now I know the truth. IT'S ALL FEBRUARY'S FAULT. I'm off the hook for my shenanigans and ridiculous emotions. But because February wants to punish me, I now have one extra day this year of this bizarre month to get through. I find it odd that today is my mother's birthday (Happy birthday, Ma!!) and Dorothy's and Kira's birthdays were both back on February 5. Some of the most important women in my life were born in February. How dare they?

And regarding meteors...

So I've been reading Lucifer's Hammer. In this story, a big ole comet comes and hits Earth. Suckage. But before it shows up, way back at the beginning of the story, some people were having a discussion about whether or not they could go out and take a look at the comet BEFORE it got too close. This book was published in 1977, so Skylab was the new thing:

"Could we get something like Skylab up there in time?" Harvey asked.

"Skylab? No. But Rockwell's got an Apollo capsule we could use. And we've got the equipment here at the labs. There are big military boosters around, things the Pentagon doesn't need anymore. We could do it, if we started now, and we weren't chicken about it." Sharp's face fell. "But we won't. Too damn bad, too. We could really learn something from [the comet] that way."

...

"Damnedest thing... Whole nation depends on technology. Stop the wheels for two days and you'd have riots. No place is more than two meals away from a revolution. Think of Los Angeles or New York with no electricity. Or a longer view, fertilizer plants stop. Or a longer view yet, no new technology for ten years. What happens to our standard of living?"

"Sure, we're a high-technology civiliz--"

"Yet..." Sharps said. His voice was firm. He intended to finish. "Yet the damned fools won't pay ten minutes' attention a day to science and technology. How many people know what they're doing? Where do these carpets come from? The clothes you're wearing? What do carburetors do? Where do sesame seeds come from? Do you know? Does one voter out of thirty? They won't spend ten minutes a day thinking about the technology that keeps them alive. No wonder the research budget has been cut to nothing. We'll pay for that. One day we'll need something that could have been developed years before but wasn't..."

Like I said, published in 1977. Amazing to think about it. Because now, the Chinese are going to beat us back to the moon. And we will have to wait a looooong time before we can catch up. Sad stuff. And it's not just because I think the moon is awesome. Guess what's on the moon? A sh*t ton of minerals and resources that we've learned about since we've been gone. Things that are Very Expensive back here on the home planet. Things that other people could monopolize. (Nothing has ever seemed the same since I read The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress.)

Also, since I've been watching Doomsday Preppers, that whole part about two skipped meals made me pause. I had no idea how important our trucking industry is until I learned:

3 days + 0 Trucks = Total Disaster

But no, I'm not going to become a prepper. No, I don't think a giant meteor is going to come wipe us out. But I do think that the people who are good at science and technology (sadly, that's not me) need to keep pushing forward as much as they can. My grandfather went from living in a home that had no electricity and included an outhouse to having satellite cable in his lifetime. That must have been totally weird. I'm not sure if he ever saw the Internet. What will I see in my lifetime that is completely foreign now?

Where was I?

Oh yes, February is almost over -- thank GAWD. I don't know about you, but I can't handle any more fireballs right now.

And because no, I didn't know, sesame seeds come from Sesamum flowers. Now you don't have to google it, too.

Is My Day Done Yet?

For those of you who don't have Twitter, I posted this lovely photo of myself on my account yesterday and didn't want you to miss it. As you can tell, I was feeling a bit off. I was getting ready to sneak into town in my pajamas to get some Diet Mountain Dew because the poor cupboards were bare. I had a weather-induced migraine that woke me up in the middle of the night with flashes of white light and horrifying pain. All of the snow on my lawn melted overnight and it was a beautiful day, but then it snowed again last night and the house shook so much that I thought Farmhouse Villa might end up in Oz. (Which would have been cool.)

Right now, I'm waiting for Word to download an update that is taking a ridiculous amount of time. It's not my day. I was up until 5am last night trying to sleep, reading, and periodically working. The thing about migraine medicine? It's LOADED with caffeine. Try sleeping after you've been popping that sh*t all day. You won't.

So now I'm behind on work because everything is taking forEVER and Stupid Things happened all week long which kept me from being on top of my deadlines. Right now, I'm reminding myself to just do the best I can. It's all I can do. No use freaking out about it. RIGHT?? Right.

*Yep, Word is still updating. Gotta love Microsoft. Cough.*

Let's see. Hmm. What can I tell you about that is remotely interesting or cheerful today? Oh yes, Featherplume had a baby boy! I can't wait to meet the little dude. And see Featherplume because, oh my, it's been too long.

Oh, and I also recently wrote an article over on BlogHer called Spending the Night When Your Partner Has Kids, which was written for those of us who are childfree but continue to date in this wacky childfilled world. Enjoy!

My update is finished. Whew.

When Old Love Remains

Yesterday was a long, emotional day for a variety of reasons. And so even though I've been focusing on myself and my own goals and activities, it was bound to happen... I got sad about being single. I think part of it came from seeing my sister and brother-in-law go off to have a romantic weekend in Omaha and stay at a hotel for the night for her birthday. Oh yeah. I used to have romantic evenings. I remember those. Boy, it's been a looooong time though.

I've been being good to myself this year, yes I have. But that doesn't mean I'll be able to maintain happiness and distraction and projects at all times. Part of being mentally healthy is being realistic. Remember how I said a few weeks back that I was happy being single? I am. I truly am. But I miss having a companion and lover. And sometimes, the missing is overwhelming. Yesterday was that day.

Sometimes, I get sad that my brother-in-law doesn't have another man around. Don't get me wrong, Beloved can totally hold his own and has a wonderful companion with my father. But sometimes I have flashbacks of Beloved and Chicago Ex shooting the sh*t together and my heart hurts a little bit. They got along very well even though they were quite different. There were so many holidays and family visits and all of those things, and he was always there.

Thinking about those memories reminded me of Chicago Ex and then I got stuck in a hamster wheel of All That Went Wrong and Damn, I Was a Total B*tch, and Wow, I Really Blew That and Maybe if I Had Handled That Differently, We Would Still Be Together. In our last few years, I was taking Lexapro, which worked GREAT for my anxiety, but it made me into a sleepy sloth. I had no energy to go anywhere or do anything. I was a dud girlfriend. I got very boring, I'm sure. I was also quite miserable because I got Marriage Fever, and I poured that misery onto him. I wish I had been different. I wish he could have known me now -- on Effexor which has removed the slothiness completely. I wish he knew the Screw Getting Married, Let's Just Love Each Other me. I wish he knew the Good Me. I'm sad that I was so awful after our break up to where we can't even be friends now. I was just so sad.

I know many people -- men and women alike -- who have had big, horrible break ups. Of marriages even. I was with my Chicago Ex longer than some of these people were married, but still. How do they move on from it? Especially when there are children involved? And people I know here in town who break up with one girlfriend and move right on to the next one or vice versa without any hint of sadness involved. Where is the heartache? Where is the regret and confusion? Am I the only one who has it? Am I the only one who fears I'm going to be that old woman from the Titanic movie who is standing on the edge of the boat when she's 112 years old pining over a memory a past lover? Am I the only one who misses my old best friend so much that I fear I might never find another person like him, ever? No matter what happens or how many things I do or achieve or how much time goes by, I still get reminded of him once in a while and them I'm stuck in memoryland. I'm 17 years old and meeting him for the first time in my dorm room in Iowa City. And then I'm 28, and he has left me for good.

I went through a LOT of therapy about my Chicago Ex. That's how I met Shrinkydink. And I knew then and know now that a lot of factors went into that break up that were out of my control and had nothing to do with me. Other parts were TOTALLY my fault and had everything to do with me. And Shrinky told me it was OK to miss him but that I should realize I was missing the companionship, not the man. For many years, I believed that. But now I wonder: Is that true? I don't know. Because all these years later, I still miss the man. The exact person. My bestie. My partner in crime. The person who could make me laugh so hard it hurt. The man who could make me so angry I might scream -- but still love him anyway. I miss hearing his voice and his stories. I miss holding his hand. I miss kissing his mouth and holding onto his arm as we walk down the street together.

Oh, Blondie, move ON already.

But how do people do that? Really, tell me. I don't know how to. I try. I've kissed other people. I dated someone else for a few years. I've worked on my mental health. Hell, I moved to another state and started my whole life over. But still. It's there, the love. It hasn't left me and I'm terrified that it never will.

It's quite ridiculous that I'm writing all of this online for the whole world to see. Oh my, Blondie has a SERIOUS HANGUP about her old boyfriend. What a psycho! But I'm hoping someone has the answer to this problem. Or at least maybe someone else feels the same way? All of the movies and books and pop culture movements have people Getting Over It in these amazing ways. The only thing that reminds me I'm remotely human are the songs. There are some seriously brutal love songs out there that tell me whoever wrote them knows EXACTLY how I feel. Other than that, I'm alone in my old heartache that follows me around after all these years.

Tomorrow or the next day, I'll be embarrassed that I wrote this all out. I'll be all: Oh, Chicago Ex and I were LIKE SO TOTALLY WRONG FOR EACH OTHER. Uh huh. I say that a lot. But I don't think I mean it.

Passing It On

This past weekend, my parents and I took Little to a robot expo that was going on at the Strategic Air & Space Museum in Nebraska. The event was an all-day affair, but we got there kind of late in the afternoon, so most of the kiddos were packing up their projects and wearily heading home. We did see some awesome robot competitions, but we were expecting a bit more. So after looking at all we could find and flattening some pennies in the little machines (!), I pulled Little over to the space capsules and told her: This is how we used to go to the moon.

Little appreciates my love of space. She watched with great interest as I dumped a whole box of mini space toys in her lap later that afternoon (they are for my giant dollhouse project -- there will be a Space Room, naturally). She asked what each one did, and I explained the process of leaving earth, moving to different modules, driving around on the moon, and coming back in tiny, little capsules. Splash!

Little is a VERY smart girl. She's in special classes and everything because she is so smart. But she did get kind of a funny look on her face whenever I talked about how we really did go to the moon. It's the exact same look I get on my face when my mother talks about life before her family had a television or when my father talks about the Farmsville of his youth. Those concepts are SO incredibly foreign to me that it's hard for me to even imagine them -- even when I see pictures. I think that's how the moonshots are for Little. They are something in the realm of science fiction. Sigh. How I wish it could be different for both of us -- for us to SEE a moonshot in real life on our very own televisions.

In the gift shop, we picked up some robot items and then I snagged a book called Space Flight by Giles Sparrow. No matter how many books I read about the historical space programs or how many documentaries I watch, I can't get enough. Sadly, the book was published in 2009, and now even the glorious shuttles are gone. I wonder what a book about space flight would be like now? Well, we can't even get our own astronauts up to the International Space Station if needed, but whatevs. We made it to the moon first!

People poo poo our space program because it's expensive, but our lives would be a lot harder if we had never explored it. Click HERE to see a list of things that were all invented by NASA. Oh, sweet NASA, how I love you. In my dream world, I marry a Very Smart Engineer who works (mostly remotely because hell NO, I will NOT live in Houston because I am a delicate flower and can't handle the heat) for NASA. Good times. (Is there a NASA matchmaker out there?)

But even though we don't go, we can still think about it. And because my father loves the airplanes at the museum so much, he was able to tell Little what they were all called and what they were used for. And right at the end before we left, she looked up at me and said, "I want to come back here again when all of these people aren't here." Good girl. Yes, Grandpa and I will take you and tell you all about the planes and space machines. It's a date.

The Power of Women Standing Together

It never fails. Every election cycle, people start talking about women's health and suddenly the Only Important Topic in the Whole World is my uterus, my vagina, and how I choose to use or not use them. Good times. And, like many women, this gets me all bent out of shape. I can't WAIT for this election cycle to be over with because I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! Can we just go back to complaining about other things, like WORLD HUNGER or EVIL DICTATORS?

The first time Bush Jr. got elected, I was seriously afraid that something might crazy might happen and Roe v. Wade would get overturned. Lord knows enough people TALKED about doing it. And since then, a whole slew of wackadoo anti-abortion laws have been popping up all over the country. For example, in Nebraska, it's a STATE LAW that the woman must have an ultrasound that is pointed at her so she can "easily view it." Nice. Never mind that what she's going through must be a horrible decision/procedure/whatever, let's make her LOOK AT IT and RUB IT IN HER FACE. Even if she tries not to look, how can she possibly miss it when it's POINTED AT HER? She'll no doubt carry that sad, painful image with her for the rest of her life. Way to go, Nebraska.

But Nebraska isn't alone. I'm just too lazy to look up the other state laws right now because I don't want to get myself all worked up. And you know why I'm choosing to NOT get worked up? Because if something happens to Roe v. Wade -- or if something extreme starts happening in the individual states -- women will revolt. You bet your sweet a$$ we will.

Take, for example, what recently happened with the whole Komen Explosion. After a few days of getting totally beaten in the media, Komen caved (rightfully so methinks) about providing funding to Planned Parenthood for breast cancer screenings. Women came out in droves on Twitter, blogs, in the news -- it was amazing. My Twitter stream LIT UP with angry women. YouTube filled up with video messages. It was all over the national news for quite some time. And it made me proud.

Look at what we can do. We have power.

Since my father is not on Twitter and doesn't follow blogs and such, he was quite surprised when I told him, in all seriousness one night: "I'm not afraid of anyone trying to overturn Roe v. Wade now. If they did, there would be a 10 million woman march on Washington. Bigger than anything anyone has ever seen. I would actually buy a plane ticket and go." Knowing my anxiety with crowds, my father raised an eyebrow. But I really would go. I would make my voice heard just by standing there. It would be a sight to see. We think we don't have power anymore, but we do.

Listen, I totally understand that some people are pro-life -- perhaps even some of my readers. And I get you and respect your opinion. I really do. What I'm really trying to get at here is that we can make amazing things happen if we want to. We no longer have to be at the whim of ancient, old, out-of-touch lawmakers who try to sneakily pass laws that make no sense while we aren't looking. We don't have to Don't Ask and Don't Tell. We don't have accept Prop 8. We can make changes if we want to -- we have, and we will.

I often worry about what life will be like for my young niece when she is my age. But the more social movements I see going on online, the more excited I get for her future. And I will do my best to set a good example for her as a strong, independent, smart, young woman. (Yes, I am!) It turns out you don't have to be a bystander. You can make a difference. So don't get any funny ideas, Washington.

We're watching you.

Add a Weasel to Your Day

My lovely friend Jenny the Bloggess has once again stirred up the Internet with some good fun. She bought a dead, stuffed weasel, named her Juanita, and put this awesome dress on her. (Man, I love the Internet.) Then she gave everyone permission to download their own pictures of Juanita (go HERE to do so) and add little sayings. I couldn't resist.

I forgive the people of Farmsville for many things. But one thing that chaps my hide is a nearly universal use of the word "seen" instead of "saw" in certain circles:

• I seen that movie last week.
• I seen a huge buck in the field.
• She said she seen you at the store.

WTF?

When I finally get too annoyed or perhaps have had too many cocktails, I holler: IT'S SAW NOT SEEN! YOU SAW ME!

*crickets*

Most often, the person admits that they KNOW the real way to say it properly. So why use the past tense of "see" incorrectly? I think it's a cultural or environmental thing. I guess it's "cool" to be wrong in this way?

"Seen" instead of "saw" is kind of like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. Especially when it happens on the National News:

"At the fair this year, we seen Obama eating a pork chop on a stick!"

Greeeeeat. Oh Iowa, I love you, but we have to get better at how we look on the news. Seriously.

So anyway, Juanita also hates this misuse of "seen," as you can tell above. I'm glad I have her on my side. Now make your own Juanita -- have fun!

Very Late Projects Roar to Life

I finally finished my sister's birthday present and will able to give it to her this weekend. WHOOT! (I told her not to look at my blog today. I wonder if she will be able to resist?) I bought these patterns at Subversive Cross Stitch and have been diligently working on them (and making some mistakes on them) for quite some time now. Recently, Ma and I went to Hobby Lobby to get the frames.

There are small groups of red squares in this one that match this red frame:

This frame kind of looks black, but it's actually blue:

And I got this really, really pretty, shiny frame for this message because it's probably the only one my sister will display in public. I will most likely never see the other ones again. But this one? I think it should go front and center on her work desk. I messed up and cut the material too close on the left and then couldn't find a small enough mat, so I cut some card stock I had with fancy scissors that make designs:

These are currently on display at Nerdtopia, which is hilarious because I'm pretty sure I've NEVER heard either of my parents drop an f-bomb. Because Little is also coming, Ma and I put small Post-It notes over the "driving words" to keep her tiny eyes from such inappropriate language. I considered sewing little asterisks instead of the "u" in each one, but then I decided they look MUCH better with the real deal. Fuck. There, I said it. We all know f*ck just isn't the same.

I also finished the little tiny house I've been working on. Lesson learned: Paint the detailing before you glue it on when it's this small:

There is 1:48 scale furniture you can buy for houses like this, but I think I'll leave it without furniture for now because I've spent plenty of money recently. I'm not sure what I will use this house for. I'll think about it:

Speaking of gifts, Ma found the Iowa Magical Corn at her house in a bag full of my craft stuff. WTF??? Wasn't I supposed to mail that out like 6 months ago??? I SUCK. I'm HORRIBLE at going to the post office. I have a whole stack of things to ship out. I'm giving myself two weeks to do it. Start your timers (and bets).

Now that these projects are out of the way, I can start working on the Cattery. The shell came in the mail, and it's MUCH larger than I thought it was going to be. AWESOME. Room for PLENTY of mini kitties and accessories. I think I'm going to paint the inside walls a pale, buttery yellow. I will paint them BEFORE I glue together the shell. Now I just have to find the right yellow. Yellow can be a real b*tch. I mean bitch.

Happy Friday everyone! Have a great weekend!

When the Universe Listens

Dear Universe,

Well, it turns out you were LISTENING when I complained to you about not making enough good things happen for me. You seem to have totally changed your tune. Good on ya.

I was very excited yesterday when Mini Gretchen showed up in the mail. She came on the same day as the mini project shell, which is sitting by the door waiting for me to dive in. I will do my part and clean off the dining room table to get this project going. I did go ahead and start a mini cat cross stitch pattern I found online for free. Of course, now I can't figure out where it came from, so I can't link to it, but it's easy and cute and will make nice wall art for the cat shelter.

I'm quite stunned by how much Mini Gretchen looks like Real Gretchen:

If she was walking and had her tail up and then turned around to look at me when I called her name, she'd be an exact copy. LOVE. (Now you just need to find me Webster and King. I know you can do it!)

And, my sweet Universe, you also threw me a bone yesterday regarding Kendrick the Kidney Stone. The nurse called to tell me that because there was no blood in my urine test, I don't have to have a CT scan. Apparently, Kendrick is quite happy in there and isn't causing any real problems. He may or may not come out on his own. Yes, it's true, Kendrick might stay in me FOREVER. Who knew? I'm sure he will make his way out one of these days though, so let's make sure it happens while I'm drunk or something, OK? So I don't feel it as much? Cool.

I also have to send you BIG THANKS for making my back hurt so much LESS. My PT is working, and I don't need to take the hydrocodone anymore, which is great because it's annoying to always be taking pills. Advil is doing the trick. Sure, the hydrocodone high is fun the first day and it works and all, but then it's just a pain in the a$$ (thankfully, I would make a horrible drug addict). Let's keep this whole LESS back pain thing going, shall we?

So basically, I'm having a good morning. I'd like it to stay that way. Let's have today be a Really Good Day, eh? I'm in!

Much Love,

Blondie Blonderson

Thoughts on the End of the World

I'm currently reading Lucifer's Hammer by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. It was published in 1977 (the year of my birth) and is about a comet that is heading toward Earth. One of the people who discovers the comet is named HamNer, but then someone mistakenly calls him HamMer and all of the sudden the comet is being known as Hammer and -- true to form when it looks like a comet may, in fact, hit the Earth -- all hell starts to break loose. It's very interesting. I'm not that far into it, but I'm fascinated already by the characters, commentary, and storyline. Good book.

In the book, it's entirely possible that the comet will NOT hit Earth. You can't really tell with comets because they move around and things (don't ask me to explain it, but it's explained in a very simple way in the book so I get it). Some people are not preparing at all and others are preparing in huge ways. And something else is also happening a bit -- a few characters are looking around at their loved ones and realizing that they really do love them. When all goes to hell, you start to appreciate what you have more than you did before.

This theme is working for me as I work on myself in 2012. Pretending that the world really IS ending in December has lit a fire under my a$$ that was totally not there before. In between fixing my back (which I would NOT do if the world was ending -- I'd just be all: "Give me the good drugs and f*ck it, I'm going to Hawaii!") and working, I've been spending almost all of my time on little projects. I've also spent extra time with my parents because I've needed their help. Ma was kind enough to do my laundry for me (saint). Pa has been taking out my garbage AND scooping my cat litter (saint). And both of them have been giving me extra hugs and emotional support as I go through this nightmare with my back. I am very grateful and humbled by their kindness. Ma is even letting me paint my tiny dollhouse at her house -- near the WHITE CARPET. That, my friends, is love.

So last night, as I prepared for the Dream Time, I took a brief moment to consider what I would do if the world really was ending -- if we suddenly got news about our very own Hammer. Where would I want to go? Who would I want to be with the most?

And you know what? I'm already here. And they are already with me. I wouldn't really want to go to Hawaii. I would want to go cozy up on my parents' couch and watch CNN with them -- Ma would insist on it. It would be her news-junkie heaven. And Pa could explain all of the astrophysics to me. And they have a generator. Bonus.

But seriously, I am happy here in Farmsville. I love being so close to my family. (Except for Dorothy & Co., Chicago Cousin, and Kira -- I've been trying to get all of them to Move Closer for a long time. Maybe some day.) It's exciting to me that I can get a last-minute phone call that all of the aunts and uncles and cousins are all meeting up in town for dinner, and would I like to go? YES! I love getting little invitations from Eagle's kids for just about every single holiday. Our family gets together and I get to pepper my aunts and uncles with questions about their lives, pasts, and old family stories. I've learned SO much more about my grandparents and our family's history in these last few years than I ever would have if I lived far away. And even if my parents weren't here, they all still would be. And there would also be all of my mother's and father's friends, who are all interesting and funny in their own ways. It's fun to hear about my parents having their coffee dates and lunches with their besties. I see them in a whole new way. They aren't just parents, they are friends to other people. I share them.

The other day when my mother told me that her father had kidney stones, I asked her why she hadn't told me this before. It hadn't dawned on her, she said. The only story I really hear about her father is his death -- fast and horrible from a heart attack. It's painful for Ma to talk about her father, so I try not to ask about him very often. I once found a photo of him and asked if I could have it. She said no, but she put it away. It hurt her too much to look at it. I was young, so I got all righteous with her and said if she wasn't going to display it that she should give it to me. Oh, the stupidity of youth. I am much older and wiser now, so I understand. I really do.

Ma doesn't have many stories with her father because he traveled all the time for work. When he came back, my Gran wanted him to take her out on dates (understandable) and go do things with her. As the youngest daughter in a very different era, my mother didn't demand attention from her father the way that I do now with Pa. Well, I don't demand, but you know what I mean. So, unfortunately, Ma doesn't have very many memories of spending time with her father or hearing his own stories or going to do special things with him. She recalls exactly one little fishing trip. That's the one she's mentioned a few times. Other memories are lost to time, or perhaps too personal or painful for her to share. It's OK. I have a lot of stories about her mother. Gran was more of a tour de force in our lives.

Anyway, all this to say that when it comes down to the end of the world, I'm where I want to be. I'm blessed to be creating friendships with my older family members and my parents. Sure, we have hiccups from time to time, but both of my parents have changed since I've moved home (and I have changed, too). We've learned how to navigate this life together as adult friends. I'm also creating these relationships with my aunts and uncles, who were always quite mysterious to me growing up. There was such a big divide between kids and adults back then. I was too busy playing with my girl cousins. Now, in their absence, I'm "playing" with their parents. They are very interesting people. I am blessed.

They have fantastic, interesting lives where they are and are perfectly happy, but I do feel a little sorry for my family members or long-lost friends that don't live here. They have no idea what they are missing out on (or maybe they do). They come in and out so fast that everything is compacted. When I used to visit from Oregon or Chicago, everything here annoyed me. It was too much, too quiet, too loud, too many events all crammed together. So I understand why it might not seem like a great place to live. But when you do live here, things look much different. There is a peace and serenity that comes with living in Farmsville that I haven't found anywhere else. And when I'm in my own 60s, I will have many stories about my father to remember. And my mother. And everyone else. For that, I am most thankful.

Right now, the sun is shining bright and melting the snow off of Farmhouse Villa. I can see birdies outside searching for food. Every so often, a car drives by. I'm looking forward to spring when I can garden with my mother and go fishing for hours by myself without a care in the world. I'm excited to lie in the grass reading and watch the farmers in the fields. And if there is a mystery comet out there somewhere? Come and get me. I will huddle up with the Blondersons, and we'll figure it all out together. It will be OK because after years and wandering and struggling and fighting against it, I'm finally home.

Stupid Thing Happening In Me, Part 392

Yesterday, I was getting ready to go shopping with Ma to get the last-minute touches for Dorothy's very-belated birthday gift when I got a call from my doctor's office. It's never good news when the nurse starts out:

Nurse: Your back X-ray showed nothing wrong as you know, but...

I tensed up. I sat down.

Nurse: It did show a possible kidney stone, so we want you to come in right away for a urine sample and then have a CT scan.

WHAT THE F*CK???

So I peppered her with questions. The poor dear heart had only called to tell me to come in and pee in a cup, but suddenly, I was freaking out on her.

Me: I'm a nervous person by nature, so I'm worried.

Nurse: Yes, I know.

(She sounded somewhat disgruntled; she knows me well since I freaked out on her like a small child when she gave me a shot in my back for my back pain; she also no doubt hates cleaning up after I'm in there because I sweat like only a crazy person can and make the paper sheet all nasty because I'm always scared at the doctor's office; also, she can never hear my blood pressure because I have an inability to relax my arm when she's taking it; basically, I've decided she hates me, which only makes things worse. I feel sorry for her. Seriously. It can be difficult to be my doctor, nurse, etc.)

So then because I was ALREADY in fight-or-flight mode, my brain Went There.

Me: This doesn't mean I have cancer and I'm going to die or anything does it?

This seems to be a common theme with me lately -- the cancer. And I wasn't actually joking. I'm TERRIFIED of cancer. I decided it wasn't actually a kidney stone. I decided it was a tumor. In my kidney.

Nurse: No. We just need you to come in and give a urine sample.

I have a PT appointment today, so I told her I'd come give some pee before that. Unfortunately, my doctor WILL NOT be in today, so I will have to sit and wait with my questions. Thank GAWD for Xanax.

So Ma shows up to drive us uptown and I tell her about the stone. I know basically nothing about my mother's father. He died of a heart attack when he was 66, three weeks before my parents' wedding. He worked in the dairy industry, and he got a lot of free canes because of that that I used to play with when I was young. Other than that, I know nothing. So this shocked the hell out of me...

Ma: Oh, my father had kidney stones all the time. He kept them in a little jar. He had so many that they took out part of his kidney (emphasis mine). Then he didn't get them anymore.

Then Ma started talking about totally different things while I got light-headed. I hadn't had a real meal all day and it was roughly 3:30pm. I started to feel very dizzy. My arms started tingling. I was having a full-blown panic attack, oh yes I was. It's been a while since I've had one, so I forgot that they can make me feel extremely fainty.

I cranked the seat back so my head was lower. Then I started CRYING.

Me: WHY ME? WHY DO I HAVE TO HAVE A CT SCAN? DOES THAT MEAN IT'S XLL OR SOMETHING? DOES EVERYONE GET A CT SCAN FOR KIDNEY STONES? I CAN'T AFFORD A FREAKIN' CT ON TOP OF ALL THIS PT! MY BACK HURTS. I'M TRYING SOOOOOOO HARD TO BE CHEERFUL AND POSITIVE AND HAVE A HEALTHY OUTLOOK AND NOW I HAVE A FREAKIN' KIDNEY STONE? WTF IS A KIDNEY STONE? AM I GOING TO HAVE THEM FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE? FEATHERPLUME GETS THEM AND SHE SAID THEY HURT REALLY BAD. THIS ISN'T FAIR!!!!!!

Ma: Oh, it's just a kidney stone. My father got them all the time...

And then she started teasing me for being so worried.

Something like that.

But when my mother figured out that I really WAS freaking out and SCARED, like REALLY SCARED, she stopped teasing me and comforted me in the way that only a mother can do. We shopped, got some Taco Bell on the way home (Taco Bell makes everything better), and then went to her house to watch Nip/Tuck. And even though I know you're NOT supposed to do this, I did go ahead and look up kidney stones on Webmd just to read the symptoms and whatnot. I also texted Featherplume with questions, and she told about her experiences.

I know a kidney stone is not the end of the world. I really do. But one that is big enough to be obvious on an X-ray? Isn't that a little big? I read the big ones can require special machines to break them up or... surgery. Also? It hurts like HELL to have them pass. I know that for sure. When will it pass? During a phone conference call? In the middle of the night? Will it begin when I'm driving somewhere and least expect it?

It's the anticipation of the event -- it's always worse than the event.

Things I Do Know

• My paternal grandfather was plagued by these puppies, so it's most likely hereditary. 
• I need to drink a sh*tload of water.
• Featherplume has not yet died from hers, and I'm pretty sure she had one when she was preggo with Wee Plume. If she can do it, so can I!
• It's entirely possible that my kidney stone could be part of the source of the back pain I've been having. While I did injure myself, it could be a completely different pain that is exacerbating the situation.
• If I hadn't have hurt my back, I would never have had the X-ray. Then one day, I would be passing a stone with NO CLUE what was going on and totally FREAKING OUT even more than I am now, so I suppose I am grateful that we found it in advance.

One of the ways I try to curb my anxiety is through humor, so I've now named my kidney stone Kendrick the Kidney Stone. I'm not totally sure I have one yet. I need to go ahead and LET A REAL DOCTOR diagnose me for sure with the pee test and the X-ray stuff. But just in case he's in there, he should know that it's war.

Dear Universe,

They say that you should put out positive energy and you will receive it back. WTF? I've been kind to strangers, doing fun crafts, and being extremely appreciative toward my family and friends. I've been a good kid. I haven't done anything really dumb in a while, so why is Something Stupid Happening In Me again? Didn't we have a deal? I work on my mental health, and you make GOOD things happen?

Well, you should know that you can't break me. Yes, I did have a meltdown yesterday. I deserved to have one. I've been in pain for SO LONG. My back has been a NIGHTMARE. And now you throw a scary, freaky, spiny kidney stone at me. Totally not cool. 

Let's work on this together. Clean slate, if you will. Quit making Stupid Things happen, and I'll be even nicer and happier than you can imagine. OK, you go first. I'm waiting.

Love,
Blondie Blonderson

Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day, everyone. I really do mean that. I hope your day is filled with love, chocolate, and Non-Stupid events. XXOO

Enjoying the Single Life

My Year of Doing Things is going quite well. As Valentine's Day steadily approaches, and I find myself ONCE AGAIN totally single, I'm actually noticing that this year, I kind of don't care. In fact, I'm quite relieved. I don't remember EVER having a truly romantic, fulfilling Valentine's Day -- even when I was in a relationship. I think the pressure gets to everyone, and then it sucks.

Yesterday, I went over to my parent's house to spend some time with them and work on some projects. The photo above shows the very first stitches that I put on Ma's birthday pillow -- see the blue? The blue kind of changes color to a gray sometimes. I'm not sure if you can tell from this picture, but it really does morph beautifully. At the top row of a couple of these, you can see the cross stitches. I'm just doing half stitches for now, so I don't have to have an adventure with Belgiumish:

Purty:

When my sister and I debate about the pros and cons of being single or married, we often try to one-up each other with the things that suck about our own lives. No, I swear, my life is totally harder than yours. You can't even IMAGINE how difficult my horrifying life is. Stuff like that. Our lives really aren't so sucky. I think it's part of the regular sibling rivalry that comes with life. We're really after sympathy -- care about me, love me, comfort me. Instead of saying that, we come up with things life this: Oh, you have it SO EASY because YOU have someone else to CARRY IN THE GROCERIES. Oh, you have it SO EASY because YOU don't have a little person demanding your time while you try to DO YOUR WORK. 

But yesterday, I had to give it to her. I went to Michael's to buy some paint for this little dollhouse I got for super cheap on ebay. It's 1:48 scale, which means it's super tiny. I have no idea why I wanted this house, I just did. So I bought it:

Then, I realized I was out of the greatest glue on Earth -- Aleene's Tacky Glue -- so I got some of that, too. Otherwise, the house would be staying in its little sheet prison forever:

I called Dorothy on the way home from Michael's to tell her about all of my GREAT DEALS! (For example, I got 14 craft paint brushes -- the sponge ones -- for $1. Score.) She was at Target with Beloved and Little buying orange juice. As we spoke, I could hear both of them asking her questions, the background noise, and could sense a bit of frustration in her voice from trying to talk to three different people at the same time while in a store buying sundries.

At that moment, I realized it: I have it gooooood. Who knew? All this time, I've been moaning and complaining about my time alone and for the first time, I really, truly, honestly appreciated it. I even told Dorothy that. "I understand now what you mean when you say it can be complicated to share a bank account. If I had to ASK SOMEONE ELSE if I could buy crafting supplies, that would be awful. This is my moment. I'd better buy them all right now!" Or something like that.

I was feeling a tad guilty because I also bought my very first set of acrylic paints and some canvases, but all of that went away as I listened to my sister navigate Target in search of orange juice sales. I don't even drink orange juice. We truly live in two different worlds. And while I'm usually INCREDIBLY JEALOUS of her little family, yesterday I was grateful that I was having Blondie Time without a care in the world. I spent literally two hours in Michael's just looking at stuff without even noticing. It was awesome.

And because I got my glue, I was able to perfect the little house and make sure it stayed together even though it came WITHOUT DIRECTIONS:

Usually, I buy sample sizes of real paint at paint stores for dollhousing projects. This time, I bought actual craft paint. The samples in the stores? Like $4. The craft paint? $.79 a tube. Nice. The glue came in handy for weight:

This little house is so cute. Something about it just makes me smile. While I was building this, Ma was sitting next to me playing Angry Birds:

Here is a shot with my cell phone so you can see how tiny it really is:

The yellow in this photo looks much more yellow than it is in real life. (And no, that's not orange juice, that's just my dirty water.) The house is more of a creamy yellow right now:

Right about this time in my adventures, my back started complaining about sitting at the table for that long. So I went to sit on the squishy couch and did some more stitching on Ma's pillow:

It was a craft mania kind of day.

I appreciated it. I reveled in it and reminded myself to enjoy my singleness. Having all of these projects really has worked wonders for my mind. I can more easily pull myself out of the winter-snowed-in loneliness by picking up my cross stitch project or looking through a book of painted flowers to try to learn how to do it by myself. I've always done little craft projects, but they come in fits and spurts. I do one thing and then nothing for another year. I'm doing a tad much at the moment, but I'm going to try to keep going. It's so distracting and rewarding. I feel proud when I get finished with something. And men? They don't even cross my mind right now. I'm in my Single World, and I'm loving it.

Valentine's Day this year will be about loving me, my family, and my kitties. No moping, no crying, no longing for a partner. I will work on one of my many projects and enjoy my freedom. I'm learning. Baby steps.

Oh, and also? This song by Katy Perry rules. It might have to be my new anthem.

Looking for the Right Mini Kittehs

Image c/o Schleich

(Sadly, I was unable to attend my last painting class because I had a Cry Day all day about my back, and I was too uncomfortable to go. Boo. I'm sure they had a great time though and created beautiful things.)

People? It's really, really hard to find realistic-looking cats that look like my own fur babies. Grr. I intend to make the most wonderful cat sanctuary ever for the mini contest, and Gretchen and Webster really NEED to be in there. I have found Gretchen but not Webster. Sigh. One thing that perked me up today was purchasing this Schleich Cat Scenery Pack. Oddly, I got a free Schleich white tiger toy a few years ago at the BlogHer conference. Their marketing worked for me, yes it did. I remembered them and went searching for some mini cats. Presto magic!

This morning, I ordered a yellow cat (not Schleich brand) that looks like this, except yellow:

Image c/o miniatures.com

Unfortunately, I'm unable to grab the photo of the orange version from ebay, where I bought it. No biggie. I can show you when it arrives. The version on ebay was the ONLY orange cat I found online that remotely looked like Gretchen. Well, I found a couple of others, but there was something odd about their eyes -- they looked quite crazy. I think this wee Gretchen captures her spirit nicely. This is the look she gets when she's about to do something WRONG so I call her name. If she turned and came running and meowing and chirping and purring, it would be an exact replica.

Webster is becoming a real problem to find. While I have been able to locate miniature gray cats, they have stripes or spots. In photographs of King and Webster, it often LOOKS like they have stripes, but in real life, they are (were) more of a solid gray. There is an awesome world of mini cats out there in all kinds of poses, but are they solid gray? No. Boo. If I really wanted kittehs that looked like mine, I would have to special order them from an artist and pay over $100 for each one. Not gonna happen.

But come on. How hard can it be to make a miniature cat that looks like Webbie?

Apparently, it is really hard. Sigh.

Luckily, I did find some other toy cats that look very realistic, including this one I bought for $2.18:

The only problem I have with these kitties is that they are NOT true 1:12 scale. This means they will probably be larger than the mini kitties should be, which might cause the whole project to go wonk and look funny. Meh. They will just be giant cats, I suppose. We all know Kingie was huge. Speaking of Kingie, how in the world am I going to find a mini cat that looks like this:

Because, of COURSE, Kingie has to go in the miniature cat world. Perhaps some day I will find both Webster and King when I least expect it. That would rule.

But I really DO want to make my cat project look as real as possible, so if the kitties are too big, I might have to make a slightly larger cat playhouse and give it to Little. We'll see. I can't really gauge what these meows will look like until I see them. (And yes, I already know about the Crazy Cat Lady Action Figure, and NO, I will not be buying her. Ahem.)

So anyway, the kit itself has not arrived yet, so I'm preparing for what I need in my mind. I figured the first step was to actually have some cats. I think I'm on my way. Now I just have to think about how to make all of the toys, food, beds, and other items I will need. I'm really looking forward to working on this project throughout the year. Now that my painting class is finished, I need something to daydream about. Wee kittehs will work for now.

The Nightmare of Chronic Pain

I skipped taking my pain medicine before I went to physical therapy a few days ago. Big mistake. When I went to do a simple exercise -- lie on my stomach and lift myself up on my hands with my elbows straight -- I felt horrifying pain and had to stop. I wanted to see how much my back hurt without the medicine -- to somehow gauge what was going on in that mysterious lower back area that is torturing me so. I thought it was a good idea. Instead, I had to lie back down and only do half-exercises. Then my physical therapist skipped the last exercises she had planned for me because I was in too much pain. Instead of moving forward in my recovery, I went backward.

When I first got to my appointment, I explained what I had done to myself to the PT gal. I also remembered the original injury, which no doubt led to even more injury when I biffed it. Two weeks before I fell on Christmas Day, I tried to open the trunk of my car when it was frozen shut. I was standing at kind of an angle when I did this, and I was literally talking to the grocery bagger boy about how much it sucks when the truck is frozen shut. So basically, I tried to lift the Corolla by the trunk handle. Bad idea. After I explained this, my cheeks started feeling hot. As I looked at the physical therapist, the tears I'd been holding in all this time began to flow.

Me: Am I going to be in pain for the rest of my life?

PT Gal: I don't know.

She was just being honest. Back pain -- any pain -- is so mysterious and misunderstood by medicine even to this day. Despite grand strides in medicine, our bodies are still packed with nerves that will fire off pain information at will for unknown reasons. I'm too lazy to go find you statistics about chronic pain sufferers, but we know it's a large group of people. I can name at least 10 people off the top of my head who live with chronic pain -- and have for years.

Despite doing my exercises, my back still wonks out each day for various reasons. This morning, I woke up with horrible pain, which hasn't happened for the last few mornings. For a while there, mornings were better. I got my hopes up. Maybe I sat wrong right before I went to bed? Maybe I got twisted up in the blankets while I was asleep? I don't know. That's the real b*tch with your back. The simplest move -- leaning over to pet the kitteh -- can put you on the floor. Or you can wake up from a good night's sleep and barely be able to get out of the bed. It's not fair.

I feel very alone in my pain. It's kind of like the whoosh -- unless I complain about it openly, people forget it's there. They have no idea that even though I'm smiling, I'm riddled with pain on the inside. I think that's why I finally broke down on the PT gal (she was so nice about it, and I'm grateful). For over two months, I've been living with this chronic pain -- which sadly isn't that much time in the world of chronic pain suffering. It could be a much longer journey than I first expected. When I hurt my back in 2001, I suffered from daily chronic pain for two years after that -- and intermittently after that for the last 11 years. Who knows how long this pain will go? One moment I feel fine; the next, my upper body has the weight of an elephant. Getting in and out of the Corolla is the hardest. I don't want to go anywhere. Moving is too much work.

I've been somewhat isolated since the injury. Due to the pain and the pain meds, I can't drink alcohol. This means the watering hole is much less attractive. That is where I go to get myself out of the house and see other humans a few times a week. Without that social interaction, I've felt myself become hermity again. Oh, I don't need to shower. No one will see me anyway. Oh, I guess I'll just sit here and work all weekend. It's too much work to go anywhere. I did go out last Friday for a while, and I found myself horribly jealous of the people around me. There was good music on and everyone was dancing around. I want to dance. Just in my chair. I want to bop around to the music. But I can't. It would hurt too much. I kept my sh*t together long enough to be social for a while, but then I had to come back home and put myself to bed -- my body groaned with the effort of sitting in the bar stool properly.

My house has also become a disaster area. Last night, Spice came over to work on cross stitch projects and watch some movies with me. Thankfully, Spice is NOT a judgy person when my house is a mess. Before she came, I bent over to pick up a few things off the floor. It was SUCH an effort. Why is the easiest thing in the world so painful?? Her boyfriend came to pick her up, and he came in for a few minutes to let us finish up our movie and see our projects (and pet Webster, who promptly fell in love with him). I did NOT allow the Shame Monster to flare up with any kind of real power, but I was embarrassed that my house was a mess. But cleaning? With back pain? Oh my GAWD. Forget it. You'd be amazed at how much you bend yourself when you clean. It's something you don't think about, but for reals, you need to be really bendy to wipe, vacuum, dust, and scrub.

It hurts to do everything.

So yeah, I've been trying to keep my sh*t together about all of this, but today I just need to vent it out. I try not to talk about it with my friends and family because I know chronic pain sufferers can start to be annoying in that broken-record kind of way after a while. Yes, yes, I know your back hurts. I get it. But they DON'T get it. Not the ones who have never injured their backs. Those healthy-backed people have no idea what it feels like to take a pee and suddenly realize you can't get up off the toilet without crying out in pain. Or roll over in the middle of the night and be jarred awake with a sharp knife in the spine. Or look down at your precious kitteh and want to reach over and rub his belly but realize you can't.

And it's awkward to worry if you're going to get addicted to your pain meds and worry about what they could do to your liver but know that if you don't take them, you'll be stuck in your bed all day or crying before the afternoon is up. It's weird to call in refills for pain meds and wonder if your doctor is concerned about how many times you are refilling. Yes, I know pain meds were invented for a reason, and they do actually work when they're used properly, and my doctor will warn me if I've been taking them too long (it's only been about month). But still. I don't like taking pain meds. I don't want to need them to feel remotely pain-free. I'm sick of them. But right now, sadly, I need them to function. I have to work and be able to pee and sleep. I need them to function in the most basic way possible. It's soooo frustrating.

But as with all things, it could be worse. Because I've shared the fact that I'm injured, I've heard a lot of Back Horror Stories. In fact, Spice's father had to have a metal cage inserted into his spine because of some herniated disks. I know realistically that I'm not alone with my pain. People suffer from all types of pain for all kinds of reasons. In fact, in the scheme of things, my pain is most likely rather minor. For this I am grateful. (And I send my love and hugs out into the Universe for anyone who deals with any kind of pain.)

I just wish so badly I could go ONE DAY without feeling like I do. To twist and bend without thinking about the repercussions. To wake up and stretch out without a care in the world. That would be nice. Someday, Blondie, someday. You'll get there. It's just going to take a lot of time and work.

Cross Stitch Pillow Tops Invade Farmsville

My Gran was a very handy woman to have around the house. She made all kinds of goodies, including this needlepoint chair bottom you see above. I have two of these chairs, and even though I've had them forEVER, I have just begun to appreciate what they truly are -- handmade masterpieces that have lasted quite a long time. I'm not sure when Gran made them, but I doubt they were designed with 2012 in mind.

Since I've been all into needlepoint and cross stitch lately, I thought I would make something stitchy for my mother's upcoming birthday to follow in Gran's footsteps. I wanted something that looked like I made it -- not anything too old-fashioned or meant for... an antique chair.

I found this Pansy Garden Pillow Top at The Stitchery, which is perfect because my mother LOVES bright flowers -- and she has a soft spot for pansies because Grandma Blonderson adored them:

While I was at it, I ordered this Bunny in the Garden Pillow Top for Little's birthday (it's on backorder, but that's OK because we have some time):

And, because I lurve orchids so very much, I couldn't resist and ordered this Pink Orchids Pillow Top for ME:

Even though Ma's birthday isn't for a few weeks, I brought over the kit to her house and shoved it in her face. LOOKIE! SEE WHAT I WILL MAKE YOU WITH MY INCREDIBLY CRAFTY FINGERS! She wasn't as excited about it as I was, but that's OK. She'll swoon when she sees the final product, I just know it. (She also probably suspects that I will make her help me sew on the backs of these pillows, which may or may not be true. I'm going to try really hard to do it ALL by myself.)

Last night, Pa and I had a movie date. Ma had a meeting with her women's organization, so we watched a movie that would no doubt have scared her quite a bit (28 Days Later) and I began work on Ma's Pillow. It's a cross stitch pillow, but the directions recommend that you do all of the half stitches first to not waste the yarn. Also? These pillows come from Belgium, so if I run out of yarn, I can use the handy form that came with the pillow to request more, but I would have to write in whatever language that is on the form (Belgiumish?) and then wait a LONG time while my note travels overseas, gets translated into the real Belgiumish by someone, and then travels back to me. So yeah, I'm doing the half-stitches first.

Of course, I totally forgot my camera to show you what I've done so far, but it wasn't very much, so we can catch up with photos next time. If you look in the first picture for a blue/gray color at the bottom and middle, that's what I started with. I love the color -- it kind of changes from blue to gray to white to green. Really pretty. And the yarn that comes with these kits is SO SOFT. I was worried it would be kind of scratchy, but it's going to be perfect for snuggling with when I'm finished. Awesome.

I'm still working on my sister's birthday gift, which is already late (but that's OK because she's coming to visit soon and can get it then) and is NOT a pillow over at my house, so I left the pillow goods at Nerdtopia for safekeeping. Plus, I get a swoon of joy over working on a project near my parents, so they can watch the process and be involved in a way. Now, Ma will always remember that I made that very pillow right there on that very couch. Fun, no?

Ma's pillow is going really fast, so it should take no time at all to get it finished. Then I can work on Little's and the one for myself. And then I can do MORE PROJECTS BECAUSE PROJECTS RULE!

Meep.

(NOTE: The Stitchery did not pay me for this post, and we are NOT affiliated in any way, but their stuff is super cool, so you should check it out if you're a stitcher.)

On Dying and Social Media

A few days ago, a blogger died. Scratch that -- a mother, wife, daughter, and beloved friend died. I didn't know her. In fact, I didn't read her blog. I saw tweets about her passing, so I ended up going to her blog to read some back posts. This, sadly, is not the first time I've done this. I've been alerted about other people who have passed away who maintained blogs, so I've found myself reading people's archives after they are gone with an odd sense of curiosity mixed with profound sadness. It's so sad that this person is gone. I wonder if I read long enough, if I can find the secrets to life in his/her words.

I have yet to find the answers to life's mysteries in a blog post, but I DO find incredible life lessons. These lessons are not what you would expect -- they usually aren't deep or unique. They're simply posts about spending time with family, friends, children. Some dribbles about housekeeping or chemo treatments or wishes for the future. One person was killed in a car accident, so there was no illness ahead of time. The person was simply gone... POOF.

As a writer, I've spent endless days reading collections of "letters" or diaries left behind by the greats. I've always been drawn to these types of works because they allow me a peek behind the curtain. But often, I've found that there is nothing profound in the writing. They are simply letters that the people wrote to their friends, lovers, or children. You can say the same thing about blogging, I suppose. My own posts have no secrets about the meaning of life -- in fact, I'm often complaining about my lack of knowledge in that area. But there is something so very intoxicating about reading another person's words after they have left us behind. So yes, the personal works I've read by famous writers do move me, but the bloggers move me more.

When my mother had cancer when I was young, I often saw her writing in a diary. I knew not to read it. One of the greatest lessons my mother taught me was to respect other people's privacy. I was afraid that if I read it, I would read that she was afraid of dying, and that would have been too much for my young mind. I also gathered it was a kind of prayer journal, so that added extra weight to the privacy issue. But my mother was sick almost 25 years ago -- it was different back then. Cancer was private and hidden, scary. Contagious? People seemed to think so.

Today, people with illnesses have HUGE support networks online. As someone who has had a few major hiccups with my health, I'm grateful for this system. I've been able to share feelings, learn about medicines or doctors, and get support. I've been blessed (stops to knock on wood) to NOT be diagnosed with a terminal illness. But if I ever am? You bet your sweet a$$ I will blog about it. I think the loved ones of bloggers who have passed away are extremely lucky, and here is why:

• If my own mother had died, I would have read her journal that was most likely written in only on really bad or really good days. Bloggers write about all of that and everything in between. So you get to remember the "dumb" things about your friend, like how her sock drawer was organized or what she liked to eat for breakfast that NO ONE else liked to eat. You'll remember the little things that people think are silly or boring when someone is alive.
• If you are a child, niece/nephew, or grandchild of that person, you will have a treasure trove of information about your him/her when you are old enough to read it and fully understand it. You'll get to see a side of that person you didn't know about, such as how witty he/she was when responding to comments, random things that were randomly written about at 3AM, and how very loved your parent was by his/her community of friends.
• Because no one can "see" them when they're writing, bloggers tend to forget that their words are going out there into the universe. Personal hopes, fears, and memories come out that might not otherwise be shared in an entire lifetime. 
• The mere fact that someone has left a blog behind means you can still read it -- you can sometimes read 5-10 years back of his/her life. Sometimes there is a blog before an illness, sometimes not. In the case of an accident, you can go back and realize how special life was to the person, and that he/she was out there exploring the world or going on some kind of a personal journey or whatever -- the person lived. Not only died but lived.

Blogging has changed and morphed so many times since I first started out. I've heard all of the arguments for it and against it. I've heard: Oh, she's just a blogger. Like we aren't real people with real thoughts or opinions. I've also followed the rise, fall, and backlash against marketing, advertising, and flash-in-the-pan blogs. Despite all this, I've stayed here on Clark Street blabbing about my own journey for five years without truly knowing why.

But the other day, as I thought about the blogger who passed away, I was grateful for every single post I've ever written -- even the cringe-worthy ones. Because all of this writing shows that I have lived. And if I'm ever gone, I'm happy it will be here for anyone who needs it.

Super Long Post Explaining My Back Pain

It snowed so much yesterday that my bird tree is touching the ground and there is NO way I will get out of my driveway. Love the snow plows and all, but damn they trap me in Farmhouse Villa.

(Today is my sister's 38th birthday and Kira's 36th birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRLS! I LOVE YOU! I'm enjoying getting old with you!)

I went to my first PT appointment on Friday. After doing some very interesting tests, my doctor concluded that I have a herniated disk. I told him I was NOT interested in expensive testing to figure out what was wrong until we tried some other options. He agreed -- he's NOT into expensive testing either. I scored with this doc. (Also, he's easy on the eyes, which is nice. I mean, aren't all PT doctors? I know Sea Wee is HAWT.)

The most interesting test he did was having me lie down on my back on a table, pulling up my leg to up to his shoulder height, and then pushing down the toes of my foot as far as they would go. Then he had me push my chin down to my chest while he was holding my leg/foot like that. When we did this? OUCH! The right side of my spine lit up like a Christmas tree. Apparently, when you put your body in this position, you're pulling your spinal cord taut like a string. This way, you can tell where the pain is coming from. We'd already determined the basic area, but this helped us to pinpoint it. Doing this exercise on my left side didn't hurt as much. I could feel it but not like on the right side. So the herniation must be coming from the right side.

The doctor pulled out his handy, plastic spinal column/hips model and explained herniation to me. In between the disks in your spine, you have squishy areas filled with water, nerves, and other squishy stuff that keeps you from rubbing your spine disks against each other. Something like that. When you have an injury, some of this stuff can pooch out of one side (he even had a little red pooching area on the fake spine to show what it looked like). So when you bend over, you end up PINCHING this herniation, which is why it hurts so very much. And because this is all happening, all of the nerves and muscles and everything else in that area gets all p*ssed off, too, which causes the pain to travel a bit. This explains why I woke up two nights in a row CRYING (literally CRYING) out of my sleep because the FRONT of my hips hurt. It turns out we have nerves that run from our spines along the front of our hips. We also have some nerves that run out of the bottom of the spinal cord area.

Blondie: Oh, maybe those are the nerves that have been bothering me so much.

Doctor: No, those nerves don't go very far... if you know what I mean.

Blondie: Oh. Uh huh.

I *kinda* knew what he meant, but now I'm so curious -- do those nerves to go your pooper or your private parts?

Anyway, I told him when I first came in that I can't bend forward at all right now without feeling like I'm literally going to break myself in half. Not good. Due to that fact and our tests, we figure the herniation is probably pooching out of the front of my spine, so it's best to not lean that way (there goes brushing my teeth, feeding my cats, or really doing ANYTHING). He then gave me the most basic of exercises to try -- leaning backwards a little bit 10 times in a row. It still hurt. He said in my case, my height is working against me. He said that because I'm so tall, my back is being compressed a lot by just standing or sitting because of the weight of my TALL body. Note, he did not say I was overweight, just tall.

This flashed me back to when I first went to an occupational therapist back in 2001 for my back injury at the book store. In that case, the a$$hat just didn't want to treat me, so he said, and I quote: "You're just a big woman, and big women hurt themselves. You probably did this in your sleep." Um, no. I did it at work. And I have suffered for it for my entire adult life. (Never bend over and pick up an 80 lb box the wrong way. You'll break yourself.) Oh, and at the time I weighed roughly 150 lbs and I was 6' tall. Regular BMI for a 6' tall woman? Roughly 200 lbs. Just sayin'.

My new and amazing doctor had me lie down on his table with my arms on a pillow and just lie there like that for a while. We chatted about life, my tattoo (I had on half-sleeves so he asked about it), and I encouraged him to find me a nice single man (I saw his wedding ring flashing at me, of course). This activity was loosening up my lower back. Then he had me prop myself up on my elbows for about 5 seconds. The more I repeated this, the better I felt. Then he asked me if I would like the electrodes and an ice pillow? Yes, yes I would. So he gently put on the electrodes, placed an ice pillow on me, shut off the lights, and left me there for 10 minutes. I was in heaven.

I will be going back twice next week and then we'll re-evaluate. He said I could possibly have a slight fracture, but he really thinks it's just a herniation. I had told my doctor my history of wonking out my back about once a year and ending up in the ER twitching and moaning in pain. He explained that if back pain lasts longer than two weeks, it's almost never muscular. In this case, the injury happened on Christmas Day, so that's waaaaay too long for a tweaked muscle. I knew something was really wrong. I just knew it. I could feel it in my soul. Damn.

And now for "How Blondie Hurt Her Back."

It's time to share this story with my readers because it involves Something Horribly Stupid Happening On Me -- or In Me, I guess. On Christmas morning, Little was wanting to open her gifts and everyone was taking a really long time to get their sh*t together. I decided to help her out.

Pa was in his bedroom getting dressed, so I ran from the kitchen to his room along the brand new and very fuzzy and (apparently) super slippery carpet at my parents' house. As I got closer to his doorway, I realized the light was off. I could see the outline of my father -- he was tucking in a shirt. He had on jeans and a shirt, but since I could hardly see him, the little bit of shirt that was sticking out of the fly of his jeans looked like, well, you do the math. TO BE CLEAR, my father was NOT undressed. He was NOT exposed in any way. But my mind played a trick on me so I thought I was seeing something I should not see and I stopped cold on the slippery carpet. This led to a banana peel fall, where my feet literally went right out from underneath me and my entire body was temporarily horizontal in the air. Thinking I was a cat, I twisted to the right.

BAM! I hit, and I hit HARD.

I landed on my right hip. I laid there for a few minutes, moaning in pain. I'm pretty sure the whole house shook when I landed. No one saw this except my father, so no one understood what had happened. Like any good back injury, it didn't really hurt until later that night. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone why I stopped short like that, so I'm pretty sure even Pa doesn't know... well, he does now. (Hi, Pa!) I'm only sharing this because so many people keep asking me what the heck I did and are worried they are going to move/lift the same way I did and blow their backs out. So rest assured, unless you are running full speed ahead on slippery carpet and then stopping because the lighting tricks you into thinking you're seeing something that IS NOT REAL, you should be fine.

Back to "Regular Rambling."

Also? I have scoliosis. I was diagnosed with it by that first occupational therapist, but since I didn't believe anything he said, I asked my new doc for his opinion. It turns out that I do stand a bit crooked, and I have a slightly curved lower spine. Random fact learned from new doc -- depending on which hand is dominant, you will probably have that shoulder a bit lower than your other shoulder. My left shoulder is slightly lower because of this. I have such an informative doctor. PT was fascinating.

My doctor wants me to do the exercises 5x a day until I see him again on Tuesday. He said if I do this, I should feel MUCH better by then. I didn't get these exercises done a whole 5x yesterday -- Bad Blondie. So I'll do better today. Hopefully, by opening up my spine in the opposite direction, I can encourage the herniated squishy stuff to go back where it belongs. Or something like that.

Most likely, because this is how my life goes, my insurance company won't pay for this treatment. (I'll just believe that for now so if they do it can be a pleasant surprise.) But I'm willing to shell out the money now because I'm only 34 years old. I can't let my back fail me now and pay for it well into my little old lady years. And I've promised to take care of myself, so it's my job to make sure I get in to see the doctor, do the exercises, and make my life as pain-free as possible. My uncle is now something like 65. He had surgery last year for a knee injury that happened when he was in his early-20s. Watching him go through all that reminded me to take care of myself now in preparation for the future. I don't want to be in pain if there's a way to fix it. So hopefully, these exercises will fix me up. If not, we'll go from there.

So, my dear readers, I will hopefully be able to STOP venting and complaining about my back pain soon. Thank you for your encouragement and warm wishes throughout this endeavor. And, if nothing else, take away this lesson: Do not run on soft, new carpet.