Sunday, January 3, 2016

Did you know that if you say ROFL, you sound like Scooby Doo saying "Waffles"? Well, you do.


Hey y'all. I will try and include a little nugget of wisdom in this here blog occasionally. Maybe.

So, still on Christmas break. I have actually been on break since September 21st. Tomorrow, I must return and I'm not happy and I'm terrified. Why? the kids have been with the sub WAY longer than I had them. I can't remember their names. I have to figure out where they all are reading level wise and math ability wise. Le soupir. (For all you you who write LE SIGH. Just say it right. Le soupir. That is french for that. So there.


Je ne veux pas retourner au travail. For real. I just feel....eck. Hey, did you ever notice those stupid little cars like I don't know, nissans and toyotas that young guys do all that stupid stuff to? Maybe it's just here in this Fosse de l'enfer et le d├ęsespoir . Le sigh. Anyhow, they make them way low to the ground, put all these colored lights on them, (ILLEGAL, PEOPLE!) and make them super loud. They are idiots. That's all I have to say about that.

Okay, see if you can riddle me this: the other day, we were in Austin. We were in traffic, and I hear a train horn IN MY RIGHT EAR LIKE IT IS BEARING DOWB ON ME. I actually screamed and ducked. My Daddy was a Railroad Engineer, so I know the sound of a train horn. THIS was a train horn. I had such a panic attack, I almost got out of the car to drag that dipshit out of his care and roundhouse kick him the hell out of Austin. Maybe in the vicinity of College Station. I asked my husband through tears, "Why would anyone do that? That was just mean! He is trying to just scare people! Waaaahhhhhh!" (I cry when I am really scared suddenly. My husband informed me that having it that loud was not legal. I swear, everyone nearby was looking around screaming. Everyone. It would have been funny if it wasn't SO DAMNED SCARY! Some people have to carry generators in their cars to make ridiculously loud horns work. It takes too much of the car's power if they honk the horn. Idiots.

While I'm on the topic of horns, I give you: *this has absolutely nothing to do with horns.*

THINGS MY MOM SAYS



If you play in the dirt, you'll get worms.

If you bite your nails, you'll get worms.

If you walk in the dirt barefooted, you will get ...what the hell...that worm that is in pork. Trichomania? That sounds an awful like trichitillomania. OH! TRICHINOSIS!!! Whew...that was bothering me. I was wayyyy down about the little old lady and had to figure this one out. DAMN...I JUST TOLD YOU THERE IS A LITTLE OLD LADY!

If you don't come in before it gets dark, the gypsies will steal you and sell you into white slavery. *for more on this, read my book. Coming soon* and by soon I mean someday.

Don't sleep in your socks. You'll die.

HOLD STILL!!!!!! (crack! ) (sound of hairbrush hitting my head). How will I ever comb through this mess if you move? My hair was down to my ass. I guess it was hard to get through it NIGHTLY AND PUT PINK FOAM ROLLERS IN IT. Hey, guys? I HAVE NATURALLY CURLY HAIR. So...yeah

Now, you know that isn't right!

Can I get you some tea?

He's a bastard.

Well, I don't care...he is.

You know, I'm going to die soon, so you need to.....(whatever...it always changes)

If I get old and senile and slow, do you promise that you'll kill me? *sidebar here* This was a conversation we had as we entered the mall. There was a sweet little old hunched over lady in front of us. She crawled at a snail's pace
But come on...she was elevendy million years old. We couldn't get around her because...I don't know why, but we couldn't. She was pretty wily and light on her feet, I guess. So, as we are slowly following her...my Mom asks me to murder her. MURDER HER. Sit back and ruminate on that for a damned minute. Has your mother EVER asked you to MURDER HER? The shock I had was zero. She always says this type of thing. So I said, "No. I won't murder you."
"But why? I don't want to be a burden".
"But you want me to spend my life in prison and probably get the death sentence from MURDERING YOU? You want me to leave my children without a mother? You think, "Well she wanted me to kill her" will be a good defense?" She had nothing to say THEN. Mom:0 Me: 19,000,000,000,000; *approximately*

*Xanax bottle open: Xanax in the mouth...slow and steady...ooookkkay. I'm not going to run screaming everywhere.* So yeah...there is that one.

WHAT????? CHLAMYDIA???????? WHAT?????OHMYGOD! This was accompanied by much running in circles and probably twirling herself up in the phone cord. (remember those?) *To get the full story, read my book...when I get it published. I'll keep you informed.*

Taking a bath is sitting in a tub of your own filth.(which would explain why she gave us baths every night.)

I don't care what the beach is like, the only good beach in the world is Pensacola Beach (where she was born). I don't like the Atlantic side, I like the Gulf side. Pensacola Beach has sand that looks like pure sugar...it's just beautiful. sidebar* Meh. It's a beach. We have a shitton of them in Texas.*

I have NEVER received a ticket in my life! I turned around and there was a cop with his lights on. I said, "Uh, Mom...you better pull over." She thought I was joking. My Dad told her to pull over. She finally did and was all prissy with cop.

Someone will kidnap you.

You'll get kidnapped and taken to Juarez. They do that, you know.

If people see you playing in the yard, they will kidnap you. *bear in mind this was the early 70s...there was nobody like ISIS around. Hippies, yes. Crazed people searching for kids...few and far between.*

You can's have pixie stixs. I TOLD YOU THAT LITTLE BOY DIED AFTER HE ATE ONE!! I DON'T CARE IF IT WAS LACED WITH ACID! HE DIED!!! HE ATE A PIXIE STIX.

You are such a sweet little girl *I am in my late 40s*. Come sit on yo Mama's lap. Um..no thanks. Then she gets mad and begins screaming that I am an ungrateful child..not all children have good mothers, you know!

OHMYGOD!!! YOU ARE VOMITING!!!! OH MY GOD! DON'T CHOKE TO DEATH! YOU'RE VOMITING. DON'T CHOKE, YOU COULD CHOKE. OHMYGOD!!!! Again, running around and achieving nothing. This is why when my children threw up, I would pat their backs gently and tell them to let it out, it will be over soon. They have no issues with vomit, now. I'd rather be in Guantanamo Bay than throw up.

I AM EXHAUSTED NOW.
And hey, y'all? PLEASE COMMENT SO I KNOW YOU ARE READING THIS. IT'S VERY DISHEARTENING TO LOOK HERE AND THERE ARE NO COMMENTS EVER!.. PLUS? IF YOU DON'T, YOU'LL GET KIDNAPPED.
See y'all later!

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Is it wrong?

WARNING! THIS IS A REALLY RAMBLING POST.

So as I was saying, is it bad for me to feel sad all the damned time? Like I have the weight of the effing world on my goddamned shoulders? I mean, I was always told, "You think you have it bad? You've never had it bad. Quit crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" Words like that I understood.

I couldn't explain my feelings, though. It is still pretty much *I was going to say impossible, but damn...clearly that isn't right* Anyhow, what I was going to say was that I have difficulty articulating what my feelings are.

Sort of like a dude. I'm like a girl/dude. I am not a big girlie movie person, I like action movies. I always wanted Tinker Toys; Lincoln Logs..things like that. Maybe I have gender issues,too?! Anyhow, I am tired of trying to always be "normal". Having dropped all that shit in your lap, allow me to explain the why to all of this. Let's see if you can keep track:

I have been diagnosed with the following:

Chronic clinical depression
OCD
PTSD (you don't have to be in a war to get this)
personality disorder
the biggie: BIPOLAR DISORDER
Generalized anxiety..
and some other shit I can't remember right now.

Now, see...many people will say something like: I always thought she was crazy. Or maybe, Wow, I've never seen her like...go crazy.

Well, that pisses me off. Here's why:

It's ignorant and offensive. Being Bipolar doesn't mean you run around batshit crazy with your genitals hanging out screaming, "Let's go to Vegas!" I mean, you could do that, but I don't. Bipolar disorder has different variations and different medical "cocktails" to attempt to control it. Some are more manic, some are more depressed. Some swing wildly between the two. Some manic episodes last years, some last an hour...you never, ever know. For me,the depression is more prevalent.

I can remember being depressed on my 7th birthday, and I didn't know how to articulate it. I guess I came across as spoiled or whiny, because I was mocked and told how selfish I was. I don't know why. I think people thought I wanted my birthday presents then instead of after school or something. I was allowed to open a present, and I didn't want to. I didn't know what I wanted. I still don't for the love of Moses! I never know what I WANT at any given time. Even to this damned mother effin day.

I was diagnosed when I was 30 years old. I suffered for at least 23 years when I could have been treated. I doubt when I was a child that was very common, though. I waited to be diagnosed in order to not give a soon to be ex any fodder to attempt to gain custody of my children. THAT would have been the end. They are grown now. No worries. (In college, all three! One graduates this spring! Thank God! One is in grad school! Thank God! One is a sophomore! Thank God!)

Speaking of the end. Yes. I have. I've tried, but never succeeded. I think I'm too afraid. I'm either too afraid or too lazy. Not sure which. I can never anyhow, because I love my family. I would never do that to them. The dangerous thing is when my mind tells me that they would be better off without me. And I believe my asshole mind. Then I feel like a failure because I am scared.

You see...you can't trust your own mind. It's in there just doing whatever the hell it wants to do, and you can go to hell if you don't like it. (Not YOU, me. That is what it says to me. Not literally. It doesn't holler, "YOU CAN GO TO HELL IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT!" That would just be fucked up. (And kind of damned HI larious.) Because none of the rest is. That is one damned thing for sure. My mind says it's totally okay. It just told me to eat ice cream but we don't have any ice cream because some douchebag got bacteria in my favorite ice cream and they had to close down the factory to do something like hazmat cleaning or some such bullshit. THERE. See? All of that in a split second. I am careful to not SPEAK like that. Writing it is easier. Somehow, it comes out of my mouth, anyhow. *sad face* I HATE EMOJIS, by the way.

Most of the time, your mind is telling you how stupid and worthless you are. I am used to that. I expect it. When it is too bad, I go to bed. I stay in the dark, in the bed and hide. I cry uncontrollably. My family is scared, feel bad because they can't help me and don't understand what is wrong, although they know what is CLINICALLY wrong. What triggered it? Nothing. Nada. Don't need a trigger. It's always there.

It's always there..hiding. You can feel it hiding behind that rock right there to the left. Wait, it's to the right this time. See it? It growls and howls and it sounds like wind going through pine trees in the mountains. Wind sounds sad. That is how depression sounds as it ramps up to pay you a good old fashioned "HEY THERE! I'M HERE TO STAY FUR APIECE! HOW YA LIKE THAT? I'M HERE AND I'M GONNA MAKE YOU CRY AND CRY! Then I will laugh and laugh! I will just descend my damned ass down on your head whenever I'm ready and you won't know when it happens." THIS is the craptastic asshole type of depression that I want to kick in the throat.

I mean, the sister of this depression is always here. She is the one you can barely live with. You can act "normal" with her. You can work, do the things that have to be done in life. It's exhausting to act all the time. She just sort of hangs out next to me all the freakin' time. Like some idiot who likes you and you hate and they tag along like a puppy dog, but a puppy dog that can make you do things. Some goddamned puppy dog with super powers. That's some scary shit if you think about it. It's some idiot who you don't like who thinks you are the shit, but then hates you and has revenge on you because you don't like them always up on your ass whining and shit. They go to school and tell all the kids lies about you..like you pee in bed or something. (I don't. Pee in bed, I mean. Wait. I did when I was given Depakote. That was a goddamned amusement park for demons. I don't take that now.)

HOWEVER! Sometimes, their cousin Mania just waltzes in and begins telling you how damned AWESOME you are, and hell YES, you can do that! Watch. Then you wake up and don't remember drinking like 10 sake bombs, and you didn't know what sake bombs were yesterday afternoon. What the holy hell happened? Well, Mania likes to party! She also spends money, starts things she can't finish, makes really awesome plans that are completely impossible and stupid as shit. AND HAVE YOU HAD A FIREBALL? YES, PLEASE!! !

Hang on, "COPS" , my most favorite TV show of all time is on. I can't pass it up. It is the BEST.SHIT.EVER! Shit is going down on COPS, y'all. Wow. This girl is A MESS OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. Even I have never gotten that low. Wow. M&Ms and Crack in her pocket? I would choose the M&Ms.

So...back to the mania. Mania can fuck up your life forever. Problem is...YOU DON'T THINK THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH EMPTYING THE BANK ACCOUNTS TO BUY EVERY DAMNED THING THAT IS REMOTELY RELATED TO THE LAVENDER PLANT. (I shit you not, lavender) SURE! I can TOTALLY start a plant nursery business RIGHT DAMNED NOW! I have a brilliant botany related damned brain! (that is almost true, but not so much.) There are no roadblocks on the road to absolute straightjacket hell.

OMIGOD! I just realized..I should tell this, maybe. I have ALWAYS been scared of the state mental hospital. Why? Because I was told I would go there if I didn't do this or that or stop doing this or that. Now, none of these things that were "done" or not "done" to me were meant to be hurtful or were malicious in any way. Different time, different ways. That's all it was. I mean, I was also told if I didn't come inside from playing when called, the "gypsies" would steal me and sell me into "white slavery". WTF is that???? Never happened, though.

I was constantly on the lookout for caravans of evil, slobbering hyena laughing people in the shadows wearing stylish scarves dashingly around their hips or neck. I never, ever saw them, which is unfortunate because that would be some interesting shit. They could be really nice. They might invite me in for a delicious slice of pecan pie. Maybe they would put ice cream on top, but maybe they had no freezer since they are in those old fashioned wagons like the fortune teller in the Wizard of Oz.

AWWW, man. Damn. These people on COPS that have all SORTS of drugs and shit...they searched their gross nasty car...and of course they have Whataburger and Dairy Queen bags and trash in there. I sear to GOD, y'all. Most people here aren't like that. Some are, but you know. Different stroke and all that. When I say "here", I mean here in Texas. We have this wondrous place to eat called "Whataburger". It is a heaven you may never have experienced if you don't live in the Great State of Texas. (That made me sound like a raging assclown. I wanted to say it like an old timey politician, and it damn sure made me sound like an assclown old time politician. THAT mystery is solved.) Plus, who the hell asked me to tell me about the most wondrous television program ever? Nobody, that's who. No damned body.

Here's the deal: I am a goddamned AWESOME writer. No, I'm not manic right now. There is something I pretty much always am confident about. I can write my ass off. I don't always do it, because I am busy hiding from the world and attempting to hold a normal job and have a normal life and family. The problem is...I start out writing and it's sort of stilted...tight like a tendon or something. After a few paragraphs, I hit my stride and I start sounding more like me. Not some idiot who is bemoaning her mental illness..I guess this is truly a first world problem.

My communication on here or social media or whatever frequently disappears because I can't type and hide under the covers at the same time. You can't be catatonic or howling in terror and sadness and still be able to make any sense. Yeah. First world. I am hiding in my nice, comfortable bed with nice, clean linens on it and a water pillow for my neck. What the hell? I'm not laying on the dirt floor of a hut with flies on my mouth. That is horrible.

I wonder, are those poor souls ever just PISSED off? Are they ever depressed? Happy? Or, are they just so focused on staying ALIVE and keeping their babies alive that they feel nothing? THAT just drug my ass way down. See? Now I'll focus on that and then mistreated animals and abused children and I want to just not live in this worthless world. (I changed that from an exclamation mark to a period because I am a notorious abuser of punctuation.)

But damn, I don't appreciate them playing really sad songs as they show the children or animals. I am fired up as hell already. You don't need to play horrifically sad music to go along with the shivering dog in the wooden crate in the snow with a chain around his neck. I can see that it is astonishing evil. I can. BUT, I have watched it very carefully, and some of those dogs and cats could just be on someone's couch or something. There is like a shitzhu or however you spell it. Anyhow, there is one and it looks way better groomed than my dogs. My dogs are assholes. Shitheads, if you will.

The shitheads also roll around in filth for no real damned reason. Two of them like to just piss like freakin' damned fountains in my house, when they know good and goddamned well that they are housetrained. Shit, our dogs live for EVER. My Westie, aka the Filth Magnet who has the yawning pit of death of a mouth is 15 years old. My Sheltie aka: the Dumb One is about 12 and my Yorkie aka Ewok is 10. Who has dogs that old? WE do! Our Golden was 17 years old when we had to put her down because she had cancer. Our other sheltie was 19 goddamned years old! Ungrateful little doggies. I love their goofy doggie selves. Plus? The Yorkie, the only girl...GETS SHIT DONE.


Dogs are the best. Nothing is better. They are innocent and happy (usually, unless some asshat who is itchin for a one way trip to hell when they die gets a hold of them)and they want to play play play and run run run and if you are my Westie, BITE THE SHIT OUT OF MOM'S HAND EVERY TIME SHE GETS NEAR YOU. Thankfully, his rabies are up to date. He is a raging maniac. We can't take him to the groomer's because NONE OF THEM IN OUR TOWN WILL TAKE HIM. He is notorious. I have to take him to this vet who also has a groomer in his office and he can sedate my dog before he is groomed. I am not sure I like that, so we haven't ACTUALLY done that, yet. Judging from the last mauling I suffered because I dared to attempt to comb him GENTLY AS FUCK and cut his claws, we will have to do that. Otherwise, he gets so stressed his nose bleeds. Maybe we'll leave him alone since he is so old, but he is so unsanitary! It's not good for him! I'm all conflicted, now.

The world is just too messed up and terrible. My dog gets nosebleeds from STRESS when we try to lovingly brush him or hold him. He's never been abused or hit. He flinches when I try to pet him. I don't know WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH MY DOG! I hate the world.

Only..you know what? My brilliant, amazing precious children are in this world, and that makes up for all the shit whirling around. I can still laugh at funny shit. I can still read and go to places that aren't here. I can hug them, hear them, watch them and be so very proud and love them so much I just want to bite the shit out of something. (is that not normal? I feel the need to bite stuff when my emotions are really high one way or the other. Just bite the living shit out of something.)

Okay. Review: I'm mentally ill. Your suspicions were correct. Congrats, Sherlock. I am SO mentally ill. Like REALLY REALLY. I'm now fascinated with gypsies. I want one of those old timey wagons. I hate people who hurt animals or children or really ANYONE. There is no need for pain, especially against such innocent beings. I love COPS. My dogs are crazed demons. The world sucks ass. My kids are by far the ONLY thing that gives me hope for the human race. I'm sure there is more, but damn. It was a long ride, here. I'm exhausted. If you know me, I don't even want to discuss this, ok? Don't judge my ass or I'll have a major big problem with you and who KNOWS what my unhinged mind will tell me to do? I know I wouldn't want to find out if I was you. That's for sure.

Mom, Dad...should you read this..NO you didn't do anything to hurt me or anything wrong, for the love of God. Seriously! You have GOT to settle the hell down. Oh, I'm sorry for the cuss words. I have a filthy mouth. I'm sorry. You had nothing to do with it. I love you both. You did nothing wrong. Oh shit. Goddamn it. They are going to lose their damned minds. I LOVE YOU BOTH! OKAY? JESUS!

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Regular old post. No Festivus

So, Wally has flat out lost whatever mind he had. Yesterday, he decided he could do as he damned well pleased WITHOUT HIS CANE. I was tired of fighting, Tyler was freaking out because if Wally falls, it will be the hospital again. So, he managed to get out there, and drag a rake one handed. Made a big assed mess is what he did. He still thinks he can use the chainsaw and reciprocating saw. Every doctor and therapist has told him, "NO!" Eff them. He knows better.

He says I cannot have a new dryer. This is going to be a major point of contention. Pretty major. We are watching the news about the San Bernardino active shooter. I swear to God, earlier, I was outside HANGING UP CLOTHES ON THE STUPID, PIONEER CLOTHESLINE, and I heard 1. Sirens; 2. Pistol shots. Pop pop pop.....pop pop. Hmmmmm...it was coming from the direction of the high school. Thank god my kids have all graduated. Anyhow, I think "Oh, I'm being overly dramatic like everyone says....it's nothing..." POPPOPPOPPOPPOP.........(VERY DEEP MUFFLED) ratatatatatatatatatataat. Not a pistol. An sutomatic rifle. I know what shots sound like. It was not like a nail gun, it wasn't from Ft. Hood, although since it was cold and rainy, they sent troops out in the field to bomb the hell out of it. Our house sort of jumps off the ground all the time. We don't even notice anymore, so this that I was hearing, was definitely not that. Then, I hear: sirens. More sirens. Time: 1:2something. Kids out..coming back from lunch maybe? I don't know the times. I just stay away anytime near 4:00. You can't get down the street when they are dismissed. Anyhow, I heard the pistol shots further away...down towards a convenience store, our vet, and a trailer park. I came in, told Wally, turned on the news and found out about San Bernardino. Nothing about here, so who knows what I heard.

Oooohhh...WARNING: THIS IS ABOUT TO TURN INTO A RANT, AND I DIDN'T PLAN IT. Don't blame me.

I am in favor of the 2nd amendment. I shoot, my husband shoots, my kids shoot. I have been shooting since I was a wee tiny girl. My Daddy is from remote West Texas, and naturally, you take your kids out and train them with a .22 rifle. We did that several times. I grew up around guns. We lived in the actual...LITERAL (you know I hate that word being used incorrectly), however, LITERALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF A PLACE CALLED NOWHERE. You shoot. Kids carry pocket knives all the time. Not to kill people, but because it's a tool. I have two scars on my right thigh and knee where I shut my knife wrong. Who cares? I didn't even say anything. I sure as hell didn't run and cry.


Anyhow, back to guns. I am pretty damned good. I have a 9mm that is just mine. I love it. It's a Smith & Wesson 639. Stainless and I am used to it. We have probably, seriously, no exaggeration, probably close to 20 guns that we shoot regularly. Some are very large weapons that even shooting ranges won't let us shoot. I promise....I guarantee...that if someone in that building had been able to carry a gun...this would have been much less serious. Here, you never know if someone is carrying, so you best behave. If there is a sign saying you cannot even bring in concealed carry with license, then you aren't supposed to. Who knows you have it, though? (Not condoning that, it's ILLEGAL.) Anyhow...if people were able to conceal carry everywhere, there would be a shit ton less of these damned ridiculous horrific situations. Who goes into a place that serves people with developmental disabilities???? What the hell? Really. If I had been there, and had a gun...at least ONE would be dead.

My husband is absolutely POSITIVE that we will have to defend our HOMESTEAD...WTF? I know, it's the Homestead Exemption, but still... He is sure we will all have to defend the ole homestead from a tribe of government agents. He's POSITIVE. We must be ready. Nobody cares and we don't listen and find him insane. Fear not. After his stroke, he can't do it. Whew.

My point, and I do have one this time, is that these effed up individuals need to be terrified to go into any place because they won't know who the hell could have a gun and be more than ready to shoot them dead in a hot second. I know California is not a very gun friendly state. Imagine if it was. Let's face it. Criminals are going to get guns. They aren't going to do it legally, more than likely. We get ours from gun dealers. We have inherited guns. We lock them securely with biometric safes.

24 years ago, our town was the genial host to what ended up being a huge mass shooting. A major insane person from the next town over decided to ruin many people's lives. He drove from his town to ours, decided to crash his car through the windows of a cafeteria called Luby's. It was either Boss' day or Secretary's day. I can't remember. It was full. They nutjob got our of his car or truck or whatever and proceeded to shoot people calmly and cooly. He targeted women. (He had problems with the ladies. Idiot. It was probably because he was BATSHIT crazy.)

My husband had to respond to that, along with state troopers, the rest of our city's PD, EMS, Firefighters...other town's PDs. It was a horrible horrible scene. Many of the people who were shot had guns in their cars. Had they been able to conceal carry, that man wouldn't have been able to do this. My husband's partner shot the fool. Then the fool shot himself. Before he was shot, he hollered, "I have hostages!". My husband's partner yelled back, "No you don't!" and shot him. None of these brave but idiot fools, (including my husband) had their vests on. FOOLS! My husband's partner was using a state trooper's car as cover and reached in and got a vest off the seat. FOOLS! My husband always wore his vest after that, and I had a big sign on the door telling him to wear it. ANYHOW...., they had the highway shut down and helicopters there to take wounded to a large hospital nearby. (The same hospital Wally was in after his stroke.) However, 23 people died that day. In a restaurant in the middle of the day. The man was not connected to the restaurant in any way. He was simply some crazy person who snapped and went and killed many innocent people. Had he known someone could and probably would have a gun, no way, Jose. In Texas, you can pretty well assume more than one or two people will be armed. Had it been so then, many people would have lived.

How did I get on this subject? I try to stay away from decisive issues on here. So..yeah. FAIL.

The press just asked the police chief of San Bernardino what the gunmen used. I just yelled: "GUNS!" Jeez.

With that, I bid you A DOO. (a student of mine used to close all of his writings with that. Awesome.)

Tuesday, December 1, 2015


Happy Whatever, everyone! I do not like this time of year, so I wish all of you a theft free holiday. I figure that is pretty nice and very generic. So there. That is what I wish you.

This is our yearly holiday letter that I started a few years ago in answer to all of the "Holiday Update" letters we get from people instead of a nice, normal card. So, here we go.

I hope you all have had a lovely year! We sure haven't! Well, we are all alive. I suppose that is as much as anyone can ask, really.

I have no Christmas/Hanukkah wish-list. I hope nobody I know does, either. Why? Nobody is getting a damned thing this year. Why? We have no dollars. Why? Well, because the stock market ain't so swell, and lo and behold, Wally had a stroke on September 21st. HIS BIRTHDAY, by the way. What is the Universe telling us? Nothing good, that's for sure. So, after they got him to the hospital, he had a second stroke. Airlifted to another hospital. ICU for a week or so, then acute care for a few weeks. Then a rehab hospital for several weeks. Now home with continued physical therapy. He cannot work, drive, do anything manual and needs help with many other tasks. It infuriates him. What infuriates us is that he thinks he can do things such as cut down a tree with a chainsaw which he attempted to do, with no functioning right arm, hand and very little mobility in the right leg. He stumped out there with his cane, and drug a chainsaw. He wouldn't listen to me, at all. Of course, he couldn't do that. Tyler did it. Then Wally insisted it get thrown in the backyard.

Meanwhile, my dryer died. Of course it did. What a delight. Especially since it's been raining for a week, and I have had to be a pioneer woman. I have had to put up a clothes line and hang up clothes with clothespins, (which I thought were for art projects at school...not work.) and it's cold. My stuff isn't drying. I need a new dryer. Wally is content to not get one. I am not content, so there will have to be something done. Guess what it will be? A dryer. That's what.

Let's see...news from the rest of the year. January started off normally. No big whup. (There is a video on Youtube you must watch from a lady who is insane. She talks about boycotting Bath and Body Works. Her name is AzAngela or something like that. Just search for Angela/Bath and Body works rant. You'll be glad you did.) She says, "No big whup". While chomping gum.

February came, kicked my butt and left. Thanks, February. (My birthday is in February, and every year, February insists on making me another year older. February can suck it.) Valentine's Day came and went. Basically, this means my class had their Valentine's party, got sugared all up and sent home with their parents. No big whup.

March. Hmmm...SPRING BREAK! No big whup. We did nothing. I worked on something for work. THE.WHOLE.TIME. Morning, noon and night. Big fun. I did not enjoy it. For those of you who did go somewhere and had fun, well good for you. I went to Paris on Spring Break a few years ago. Have you done that? Yes? Did you get into a street riot? No? Then I win.

April. Tyler turned 19. Impossible. However, happen it did. My niece turned 16. She now drives. Stay off the roads.
April is not a good month with the exception of those two birthdays. We have had horrid things happen in April, and I don't like it.

May. My nephew turned 15. Good lord. Where does the time go? IT GOES AWAY. IT NEVER COMES BACK AND WE GET OLD,SICK, UNATTRACTIVE, AND DIE. That's what.

June. School got out for Summer. NOW THAT IS GOOD STUFF THERE. What did I do? I had a pretty bad breakdown and stayed in bed a good portion of the summer. Seriously. It was fairly horrid. I don't usually tell about these things, but that is seriously what I did all summer.

July. Bed

August. Bed and return to school.

September. Wally turned 62, Jack turned 23, and Kira turned 24. Wally had two strokes. We have racked up an unreasonable amount of medical bills, which luckily are all paid by our insurance. I don't know about the life flight. They keep sending me bills for...get this...sit down....32,000 dollars. US dollars. Greenbacks. Moolah. 32,000.00. I opened the first one and just busted out laughing because let's face it: they ain't getting that money from me. I threw it away. I got a second one, which is weird since the insurance is paying and all I get are "This is not a bill" from all doctors and hospitals and rehabs and everything. I again laughed and saw that they had a thing that said they offered "convenient payment plans". I don't like that. I can't yike dat. (My niece used to say that. We all say it now.) I can't yike dat, and so I didn't and I threw it away. I took pictures of it so people would believe me. I threw away a third, too. Those people think I will or can pay that? BAHAHAHAHAH! Ignorance. I thought I might be gaining weight. Nope. Scale at hospital showed me down five pounds. Which made sense since I almost never sat down.

October. PROPERTY TAXES DUE. WALLY FREAKS OUT EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF EVERY SINGLE DAY! HELP! ALERT! ALERT!!!! THE GOVERNMENT WILL TAKE OUR HOUSE, SO WE NEED TO SET UP THE MACHINE GUN TO BE READY FOR WHEN THEY (THE GOVERNMENT...WHICH IS A SHIT TON OF PEOPLE) COME TO TAKE OUR HOUSE AND LAND. WHEN WE KILL THEM ALL, THE SWAT TEAM WILL COME, (BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS WAIT UNTIL THE WHOLE GOVERNMENT IS DEAD!) WE WILL HAVE TO KILL THEM ALL. THEN WE WILL HAVE TO HOLD OFF EVERY AUTHORITY AND PERSON. Yes. I deal with that daily. A shrink at the rehab place saw him twice and said it would take very little for him to do that. I will kill him first, so no need to worry. Guess what I did? I PAID THE DAMNED PROPERTY TAXES! CRISES AVERTED! For this year. Not one kid came to trick or treat. I thought I might be gaining weight. Nope. Scale says the same. Interesting since I haven't watched my weight and have lived on coke and coffee.

November. More at home physical and occupational therapy. Cook, clean, take blood sugar, take blood pressure, cook, do laundry, clean, grocery shop, clean, do other crap like get handicap parking, (AWESOME!) and talk to insurance people and disability people and my employer since I am on leave. Then we ate like pigs at my Mom's house. My brother was relatively pleasant. A success. No weight gain according to scale, but it redistributed or some shit. A pair of jeans of mine...they still fit fine, but I used to be able to pull them on and off without unbuttoning or unzipping them. Not now. Something is wrong. I will tell you what it is. I think I am gaining weight.

December. Today is December 1st. Who knows. My kids are going to Chicago to see their Dad and family up there. The leave as soon as school gets out and come back as late as they can to start spring semester. I see no reason to pretend to be jolly or anything. I don't like holidays. I won't have my kids. No big whup. (that cracks me up every time.)

Friday, November 27, 2015

Title suggestions

Greetings my people! (I think maybe there are two people: my Mom and Dad)

Anyhow, I have my book finished and I am struggling with a title. It's kicking my butt. Okay. First, it's humor. Second, it's a memoir. Third, non fiction, of course. Weird stories of crazy crap that I have done or I've been involved with and I still say I'm innocent. Things like: The time I had drinks with Stevie Ray Vaughn and didn't know who he was until he told me. Stupid me. The time my EX EX husband (he was a paramedic firefighter) anyhow, he was working on the movie set for "What's Eating Gilbert Grape". They evidently have to always have an ambulance on movie sets or something. Plus, Leonardo DiCaprio was climbing a water tower. So, he was out there working. I was home, crying, eating, crying, couldn't sleep, crying. I was two weeks from my due date with my first child. I was a hot mess. Like lava hot. So, when he invited me to come and hang out with him and "these two guys" from the movie, I started crying, of course. I sobbed and asked who they were. I began really crying with WAAAAHHHH sounds. I couldn't go because I was so huge. I missed hanging out with Johnnie Depp and Leonardo DiCaprio. Life. Not fair. Anyhow, weird stories like that, and about other weird stuff.

Now. Please give me suggestions for a title. Nothing more than like four words, preferably.

I would say, "Love, me", but I will reserve that for a good title. You are welcome.

PLUS! Nobody told me the Property Brothers at their ranch thingie came on the other day! I am highly insulted and furious because NOBODY (MOTHER) told me it was on. I mean, I like to watch that man...I mean men. (I like one in particular. Oh for God's sake...it's Jonathan) He is my type all the way down his 6'4" frame. Dammit.

Okay. That's all for now. 10-4. Wait, that is not right. Bye.

HELPFUL HINT: Don't stick anything metal or your finger or really anything other than an electrical plug into an electric outlet. Don't touch metal that has electricity running through it. You will electrocute yourself. I only say that because I did that. Third degree burns and they had to dig the platinum which is a conductor...who knew? They had to dig that out of the charred flesh and you could see my bone. Yeah. That happened. I didn't work that day. Score!

Thursday, November 26, 2015

It's Been A While

SO, I haven't written in a long time. There are reasons, but let's get to the good stuff first, shall we? Yes, we shall. Unfortunately, my husband suffered a stroke 3 weeks ago. It was sudden and when I got the call, I swear I drove well over 90MPH to get to him. His boss called me and told me he "fell out". I don't know, is that one of those Texas phrases?

Well, it means the person in some way has either passed out( and then fell out, I guess), and is acting weird. She told me his speech was very slurred and that nobody could understand him. He was confused, as well. I thought it was his blood sugar dipping too low. I told her to give him a coke and something else sweet like cake icing in a tube, and he should be better. I did leave work to get to him, though. His boss then put him on the phone, and I swear to jebus that the sound of his voice was the scariest thing I've ever heard. None of it was intelligible, and at that point, I switched into crazy woman driving 90 miles per hour down the highway.

After they put my husband on the phone, it got passed to a police officer. He attempted to calm me down and not kill myself on the way. Then he asked, "Is he the retired police officer?" I told him that he was. From that point on, I had no issue getting to the hospital. I was probably over 30 miles away and I flew to get there. Once I was in our town, I continued my crazed death wish driving. The weird thing is that I passed over five police cars, and not one of them stopped me. I wouldn't have pulled over, anyhow, and right now I would be on some TV shows about people who run from the cops. It would have been a high speed pursuit, but I figured that when my final destination was the ER at the hospital, they would understand.

I arrived there before the ambulance with my husband arrived. He was about a 1/2 mile from the hospital. I found out the reason no police stopped me and they appeared to be directing traffic so I could fly down the road. The police officer who spoke to me on the phone had put out a radio call that all officers heard, telling them to let me pass, I was the spouse of an officer who was ill and being transported to the hospital. When I got about a mile from the hospital, I had two police cars behind me, but no lights or sirens. They were making sure I got to the hospital fast. How AWESOME is that?

Say what you will about cops, (but not in my hearing or I will go batshit crazy and break out my secret Ninja/Pirate moves on your ass. It would be an ass whuppin' that would go down into the pages of history books. Who are you going to call if someone breaks into your house? Your local crack dealer? Well, hell no. He probably is over charging anyhow and who needs that? No, you would call 911 and the police would come, and then you could go back to antagonizing cops to get a reaction and saying horrible things about them.

But I digress....turned out my husband had a stroke. I was paralyzed with fear, confusion and well, fear. I didn't want to alarm our kids who are away at college, or anyone else, so I waited to call anyone. He came in with vomit all over his shirt, and the only thing that appeared wrong was his speech. Everything else was fine. He passed all the stroke tests, they sent him for an MRI, a CT scan, and that all happened almost immediately. I have had to wait eons to get someone to come get me in the hospital. Not this time. This time, they got lab results back in less than a 1/2 hour. So, basically all of this hustle and bustle began to scare me even more. Nobody would tell me anything. The Dr. was a douche bag (for reasons I will share later.) The nurse was way more on the ball than that sorry assed Dr.

They had my husband grasp hands and see if his grip was the same on both sides, and it was. Both feet, and toes were fine, his legs were fine, and he didn't have anything drooping on his face. All in all, he seemed fine, but you couldn't understand a damned word he said. We sat and attempted to talk, but for the love of all that is holy, I couldn't tell what he said and he got very frustrated with me. I figured that was a pretty good sign. Yay! It might not even be a stroke! About 15 minutes later, he was paralyzed on his right side and his mouth was drooping on the right side. Wha? What the fuck? He was just FINE. Now...not so fine. I'm no shrinking violet so I began asking more questions than anyone could answer. MY theory is that he had a second stroke after his MRI. I spoke to another Dr. and she said that sounded right. Why did they not want to keep him? Why did I have to wig out so that they would life flight him to a much better hospital? Because he had a SECOND STROKE, but they didn't tell me. Assclowns. They hustled him into cardiac intensive care, and began a whole bottle of TPA to thin his blood, and the next thing I knew, I was driving to the next hospital which was in the next town over.

I arrived at about the same time as the helicopter. I now believe flying cars are in our future. I am serious. I believe I pulled a George Jetson move. I think I flew. In the air. Sort of. I'm not sure. But it was possible! When we got him into the hospital, they did a shit ton more tests. He was in ICU. Yep, he'd had a stroke, and there was a lesion on his brain in the right hemisphere. DAMMIT! He could do nothing at that point. They wouldn't let him have water or anything because he couldn't swallow properly. He waited two days before he was cleared for water. We stayed in ICU for about 7 or 8 days. They then took him down to the Acute care floor. It seemed just as serious as the ICU. Each nurse had only one patient. I even told a nurse "I don't care about that patient! The only patient that matters is my husband, so get in there and do your nursing stuff!" So I'm selfish, so what?

I can tell you this right now; if you are that severely impaired and in the hospital you better have someone who loves you stay there if possible. If you don't you will not get as good care. I am his advocate, his care giver, his person he can get impatient with, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Well, I would, too. I just lied. I would have it another way. I would have him not have a stroke. I've had to bathe him, help him on the toilet, wipe his rear, shave him, brush his teeth, and at first I had to feed him. I have to translate what he says to nurses, and some of the therapists. He began receiving speech, physical and occupational therapy. Those therapists were boss. I mean they should literally be the boss of that place. Of course, insurance won't pay for you to stay even though you need to. So, we were moved to where we are now, a rehab center. I have not left his side. I have slept alongside him, and done all of the other tasks he had to do. I have gone out and politely told the first person in scrubs that they better get their shit together or I would lose mine. He gets much more attention that way. I have become a fixture around here and all of the nurses call our room "The fortress", because I am guarding him.

Now on to the good stuff! Oh wait, my husband is progressing rapidly and he is determined to get out of here, but he is delusional because he thinks he'll go back to work. Um, not without movement in your right arm and leg, buddy. Ok, so this is one of the best places in the world for people watching, and the subsequent stories I concoct about everyone in my mind. It is mind blowing how many people there are to just be a nosy bitch about. I am a nosy bitch anyhow, but this is a whole new level.

Most of the patients in here are quite elderly. Therefore, they want everything THEIR WAY AND THEY WANT IT NOW. I love it. Let them know who their daddy is! My husband is quiet because of his speech. There is a little old lady who is a tiny little thing you want to pick up and cuddle. She has a baby voice and is just precious. I don't pick her up because even though I am fairly certain she would like it, the stupid staff wouldn't like it. Always ruining my fun.

There is another patient who is in his late 60s and has long hair and a bandanna tied around his head. I call him "Wille Nelson". He will holler "HEY!" at me when I am at the little alcove with the coffee maker and refrigerator are. That is how I met him. He wheeled over to me and said, "I said HEY!" He then opened the fridge and procured a juice, a small diet soda, a half of a sandwich and an applesauce and a coffee. He thought he could just pick them up and roll then on over to his table where he holds court daily. I took most of it away from him and said "I'll carry this, you can't get it all." He seemed a bit pissed at first, but when we got back to his table, I opened the juice, the applesauce the sandwich, and everything else. He thanked me profusely, but also began grilling me with questions about my origin, who my patient was that I am here for, just basically doing all of the things that keep me in my house all the time. I don't like chit chat. I despise small talk. Close talk, loud talk, I hate them all.

Then, his compatriot ...damn, I can't think of his name. However, since that little gang of hooligans stopped me every time I was near, I found out that this guy was from the same town my grandmother was from. A very small town that most people in Texas have never even heard of. He had a tendency to doze off. Like...while talking. Then he would wake up and forget who I was or what we had been talking about. Bless him. BERNIE! That was his name. Anyhow, "Willie Nelson" whose real name is Walter, always went outside to this tree near the street to smoke. That was the designated place. Bernie would go with him. Walter could push his chair with his hands, and so could have Bernie, but he just propelled himself with his feet. He was Walter's groupie. There were a couple of old lady groupies, too. One would be in her nightgown by six o'clock and as my husband and I would walk by on our nightly practice walks, she would stand in her doorway and tell everyone "Good night" until she got tired and then she went in and went to bed.

Everyone knew when everyone else was going to be discharged, and we all felt the same way. Everyone was discharged too early and it was the insurance companies fault. At any rate, there was a Japanese lady who had the same stroke as Wally. Same spot even. So, they finally got her into a wheelchair, and they made her wear a sling which Wally was supposed to, but refused to do. She started coming out and propelling her self very slowly all up and down the room. One time, Walter got ahold of me and Wally and we were sitting there with him, and he goes.."HEY! DEAR! HEY!" So, we all looked toward where he was looking, and sure enough, it was the little Japanese lady in her wheelchair. The problem was, she was wheeling herself into every single room and hanging out. She was just coming back out of Walter's room. She ignored him when he said, "HEY! SWEETHEART! WHY YOU IN MY ROOM? BY GOD!" We all shrugged and went back to our conversation. Walter's job was traveling the country playing pool for God's sake. Is that even a job? He had had a leg amputated due to diabetes complications.
He was also the biggest gossip I've ever met in my life and I loved him for it. He was discharged about a week before we were. I hope he is kicking butt playing pool in his wheelchair.

OH! BIG DRAMA one night. They brought in a lady and she was in the room next to ours. We are in our room, it was about 7pm, the hospital is quieting down because almost all of the old people were asleep and a lot of them got morphine regularly, so...there ya go. The new lady had just been brought in a few hours earlier. All of a sudden, I hear a big bang and then someone weakly hollering, "Help me!" I ran over and saw her sprawled out on the floor and ran hollering for a nurse, who came running and then two more came. I told them what I saw. I went back into our room. I told Wally about it. He made some inappropriate comment which we both probably cracked up at. We went to sleep. The next day.....I peek into the room next door because I am a nosy bitch....no lady.

Where did she go??? What is the meaning of this? Why was I not consulted? So, while Wally was at therapy, I did my daily sleuthing. According to my sources, (the nurses at the nurses station) they had transferred the lady to a bed right across from then where they could see her. They also put the god awful loudest alarm in the world on her wheelchair and her bed. IT WENT OFF EVERY FIVE DAMNED MINUTES. In other words, she tried to get up when she wasn't supposed to all the damned time. Nuisance. The alarm would start and they would all look at each other and one would sigh and say, "I'll go..." I would have gone and duct taped her to the damned bed.

Well, I am exhausted and am going to sleep. We are home and I had forgotten I had started this while at the rehab hospital. So, this post happened BEFORE the other post about the stroke...and after. It's weird. Anyhow, it's all part of the same story.

HELPFUL HINT: LOOK BOTH WAYS WHEN CROSSING THE STREET.

Being Thankful

Hello! Tis me! So much has happened in the last few months that it's hard to remember it all.

On September 21st, it was Wally's birthday. We went to work. I texted him "Happy Birthday, do you want to go out tonight?" and I never got a response. Which isn't really odd for Wally. For some reason...some unknown reason, I had the ringer on my phone on. I was working with the kids, and it was about 10:30 or so. Maybe closer to 11:00. I heard my phone. I ran to my desk to pick it up. It was a strange woman.
Strange woman: Is this Mrs. Wally?
Me: I am Wally's wife, Helen, yes.
NOW I AM GETTING WORRIED.
Strange woman: Yes, well, I am (can't remember her name) and I work with Wally. He sort of fell out.
Me: Fell out? What does that mean? Is he okay? He has low blood sugar, give him a Coke or candy bar...just shove it in his mouth.
Strange woman: Okay...Okay, we did that and he is still acting weird.
Me: Weird how?
Strange woman: Well, some of the other employees said he was walking strangely, and then he came up to me to say something and he couldn't form the words and he was very weak and wobbly.
Hang on.

Phone changes hands.

By now, I'm frantic and running to a neighboring classroom to get someone to watch my class while I go to the office to tell them I have to leave. Now.

New person on phone (male): Um, ma'am?
Me: (frantically) YES?
Guy who turns out to be city police officer: Is this the same Mr. Freeman who is retired from KPD?
Me: yes, yes...why?
Cop: I thought it was him. I've got EMS on the way. He is refusing transport. Here, I'll let you talk to him.
Wally: absolutely unintelligible words that I couldn't even identify as English...
Me: (screaming while driving) WALLY! I'M ON MY WAY, I LOVE YOU! I AM ON MY WAY, DO WHAT THE COP SAYS! I WILL MEET YOU AT THE HOSPITAL!
Lady again: He is refusing to go. They are here but..
Me: PUT HIM ON THE DAMNED AMBULANCE NOW AND GET HIM TO THE HOSPITAL. I'LL MEET HIM THERE.
Lady: Well...ok...but I have him sitting in a chair here...
Me: PUT HIM ON THE DAMNED AMBULANCE NOW!!!

So, as I was driving like a striped assed ape down the highway, I was praying, I had my flashers on, I was crying and I was taking calls. All were from the cop and the paramedics. All were telling me he wanted to wait for me, and he wouldn't get on the ambulance. I got pissed and then the paramedic told me, "Ma'am, we REALLY need to get him to the hospital NOW." I told them to tie him down. They put Wally on the phone and I told him, "You are going now. I'll meet you there, you are getting in that ambulance!"

I continued on my way, (I was about 20 miles away..all open highway until I hit our city limits). When I exited, every single intersection was closed. There was a police car and an officer waving me through while all other cars sat and waited. I went through probably 8 intersections like that. I never had to stop. I was thinking that if they tried to stop me for speeding, they would have a high speed chase on their hands and it would end at the hospital. As I passed Wally's work, a police car pulled out behind me, then went around me on the right and sped up to the next intersection. They did the same thing. They did it on purpose, because one of their own was sick. They cleared the way for me to get to him. How can I thank them? It truly humbled me.

SO. I get to the hospital BEFORE THE STUPID AMBULANCE. Tyler met me there. I run into the ER and they tell me that he is just arriving so sit and hang on a few minutes. Not more than five minutes and they rushed me into a room where he was in a bed with vomit all over him and he was babbling. I got a tissue and ran up to him, kissed him, tried to talk to him, looked around and nobody was saying anything...I asked who everyone was and they were all nurses. I cleaned the vomit off of him. The nurse who was watching his vitals, (not checking...staring at the screen without looking away) finally told me another nurse would speak to me out in the hallway. A Dr. came in. This Dr. will never ever get paid by me, or anybody I am remotely related to because he was a complete incompetent.

At any rate, the Dr. talked to me outside, not the nurse. I asked, "Was this a stroke?" he said, "Oh yeah...yep." That was my answer. Then they said he was going for an MRI, a CT scan, all of that crap. We go back in and the awesome nurse was doing the stroke check that they did for 3 more days like every 10 minutes. When I got there, they only thing wrong was his speech. Even that seemed to improve a bit. His arms were both fine, both had the same grip...his mouth wasn't drooping. He said: "I have a headache." The nurse said, "A headache? On a scale of 1 - 10 how bad is the pain?" Wally said, "Ohhhh...a two". IT WAS A SECOND STROKE AND HE TOLD THEM IT WAS AT THE BASE OF HIS HEAD IN THE BACK WHICH WHERE THE STROKES WERE. So now, he has had two strokes, and NOW, he had no movement on his right side AT ALL. His mouth drooped and his speech was just....I mean you just had no clue what he was saying.

He did say he was going back to work the next day. Um. No. So, nobody told me he had a second stroke. I just sort of figured it out. I mentioned it to all of the millions of doctors we would see over the next month. Last week, I was vindicated. One of his specialists said, "You've never seen the MRI?" We hadn't. I told him the story of how he was when first in the ER. The Dr. said, "Yes, there were two strokes, let me show you." I wanted to shred someone. They had told us it was a very small area of his brain, maybe less than 2 millimeters. NO THEY LIED. It was much longer and a bit wider. Had it been any wider, he could have lost all involuntary things like breathing and heart function.

I demanded he be life flighted from the initial death hospital to a level 1 trauma hospital in the neighboring town. I beat them THERE, too. But, he did need to get there fast. When I went into the ICU, a dr. told me I couldn't see him yet. I saw a bunch of people behind the curtain in his room. It was all glass. One of the dr.'s saw how terrified I was, and he said, "Come here...look, he is in there, they are just getting him settled, and hooked up and evaluating him. I will come get you as soon as I can." He was a very kind soul. And he kept his word.

When I walked into Wally's ICU room, I was relieved, terrified, ...you name it. I couldn't show it, though. He didn't realize what had happened. Finally, I realized he was confused and I said, "Sweetie, do you know what happened?" He indicated that he didn't. I told him it was a stroke. He denied it,but he wasn't really "with it" at that point. Cognitively he has not regained the ability to not be impulsive and to realize how serious a situation is.

He tried to chop down a tree with a chainsaw the other day for the love. I even took pictures of him dragging a chainsaw. I was hollering at him the whole time. "I am showing this to the Dr. You are insane. You better put it down or I'll take your cane away!" He got mad at me, threw it down and used his cane to go inside. Thank GOD.

After about four days in ICU (where the poor thing got no water or anything by mouth for two days because he couldn't swallow), we were moved to the acute cardiac floor. It was supposed to be less restrictive, and it was to an extent. The chair bed was much more comfortable than the one in his room in ICU. I slept by his side the entire month and a half.
He wasn't hooked up to as many alarms and beeping contraptions as he had been. He couldn't get comfortable in his bed, though. He couldn't turn over on his own and he was hot, and couldn't sleep (I think he was afraid to go to sleep), and basically he was miserable. He did not get on his feet for over a month. I stayed and helped him and according to the nurse, I made their job much easier.

After another two or three weeks there, we were released to a rehab hospital in another town even further from home. He was taken there by ambulance. When I arrived, they were getting him settled. It was a nice facility and man, did we meet some characters. Their family sleeping arrangement wasn't comfortable, but I didn't care, because the second my head came within a foot of my pillow I was OUT. I slept through them coming in at night to check his vitals, I only woke up when he spoke for some reason. He improved vastly there. I was very grateful for that place and the wonderful people who helped my husband.

I became a world class thief there, too. Let's just say that "housekeeping" wasn't a very good word for that job and who did it. (Seriously...dude...the girl "cleaned" the sink with a wet washcloth. Dry toothpaste was in it. I found the cleaner and did it myself.) So, I snuck around and found where they kept all the towels, sheets, bath sheets, pillows, extra blankets..anything. I just went and got what we needed whenever we needed it. They only bathed the patients every other day according to room number. We were even number days. Uh, hell no. I bathed him daily and changed his sheets. All they did, was check his blood sugar, blood pressure, give him meds, and make him comfortable. It was the therapists that kicked ass. Without them, he would be unable to do anything. Pool therapy was amazing. He couldn't move even a finger, and after his first pool therapy session, he could move his pinky. Doesn't sound like much, but it was huge at that time.
We stayed there almost a month. It was hard on my son at home, and hard for me to have my clothes, FREAKING FOOD BECAUSE I WASN'T PAYING FIVE BUCKS FOR A TRAY. Everything was a bit harder being so far from home.

Now, our reality is different. I have taken a leave from work, and I only have about another month left. I am scared about how he will do. I currently dress him, bathe him, make all of his meals, make sure he takes his medicine, and I am pretty much his "live in nurse". I cannot hire a nurse because they won't love him like I do. He is getting better. His speech is pretty much fine, now. When he gets tired it gets slurred. If he is self conscious about it, he can't control the slurring. He wears a brace on his right leg that stabilizes it. He has a wheelchair, a walker, and we bought a cane. He no longer needs the wheelchair, but he is supposed to use the walker. Well to HELL WITH THAT, DAMMIT! I DON'T NEED THAT! Nope. He is using the cane. He is wobbly, but he is getting around. He cannot use his right arm or hand at all. We have a physical therapist and an occupational therapist who come three times a week and work with him. We are supposed to start out patient therapy soon, but I don't know what their evaluation was the other day. He has to be approved for it only if he is ready. His impulsivity might affect that. However, he is alive. He is waking up everyday. He uses his computer. He watches television, we go for walks, we go to places like Lowe's or the Home Depot because he loves them and we walk around until he gets tired. He reads. He eats, takes two huge handfuls of meds daily and goes to sleep. He is bored and gets cranky. THANK GOD.

On a happier note: my son had his first art exhibit and it went great! Our daughter has met a great guy who she is dating, and he is a state trooper. Our youngest will transfer to another school in the fall. I will have to continue to teach until I am dead, probably. I certainly have no sick days available, or state personal days. I had so many, I have been paid the whole time. I have to go back after the holidays, though. I am terrified. We will just have to get through it. We've come this far.

HELPFUL HINT: Be aware of signs of a stroke: FAST: F-facial drooping; A-arm weakness; S-speech difficulty; T-time to call EMS.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Hey Ya'll

Well, the book is coming along. It's changed itself about 20 times. I have no control over it! Anyhow, I don't know if the humor has had a chance to come through. I did a lot of crap at the beginning, so I need to edit A LOT. I wish I could just put the funniest posts up so people could read them.

Hey, did I tell ya'll about the time my Mama woke up chewing gum? Okay, well...it happened like this. My Daddy used to snore like a wombat or some other snore-y type animal. Nothing stopped him. We would touch him and say, "Turn over!" He'd start up again. This was before those Cosmonaut facial breathing machines that everyone seems to be using these days. That seems to solve it. Anyhow, my Mom had to wear earplugs in order to go to sleep and stay asleep. She is one of those people who love to tell you every last minute detail of her weird assed dreams. So, one morning, she came up to me and said, "Do you know what happened last night?" Well, there are so many possible answers...and I was a teenager, so I just said "Nope. I sure don't."

Well, she launched into this long description of her dream. It was boring as hell, but the end made it all worthwhile.
"And then I was chewing gum in the dream, and you know what I did?" Me: Nope. "I woke up chewing my earplugs!!" I proceeded to laugh my ass off. One of those really good laughs wear you really do fall on the floor or nearby furniture and you can't stop. You want to ask questions, but when you start to speak, you just keep laughing. When I was laughing, my Mom got all offended. Which made me laugh harder. After I got myself settled, she said, "That isn't even as good as the time that I was ice skating with penguins." Oh dear lord have mercy. I thought I'd have to go to the emergency room. Laughing that hard and long can't be good for you.

I don't remember if I told you about the time I put every single box of condoms in her grocery cart when she wasn't looking. THAT. WAS. AMAZING. She was babbling about how she had not put those in her cart. The cashier was just saying, "Do you want them or not?" I was staring at the floor snorting and trying not to laugh. I got into some trouble about that, but damn, it was so worth it. She is very lady like and very prudish. Having something like that happening to her is incredibly humiliating. Which is why it's funny. Why do we find humiliating people so funny? Like, when someone falls...say you don't laugh. Go ahead. Liar. You do. Unless there is an injury or something, you laugh. You remember it forever, too. Then you start laughing all over again.

I have to have surgery next week. I'd tell you why but it is far too humiliating. I feel like throwing up because of how gross it is. I'll spare you.

Helpful Tip: Magma is dangerous. Stay away from it.

Saturday, May 9, 2015

Well, I'm still here...

Hey, ya'll. Hey, they just tried to change my spelling of ya'll. It's a contraction. It means "you all". I put the apostrophe in the right place.

Anyhow, it is almost summer...it becomes a teacher's favorite time of the year, except there is about four times more work...paperwork, grading, field days, field trips, etc.

I just bought a new washer. I am so ashamed that that is news. However, I love it and try to do laundry pretty much every second I am home. It is amazing. Steam, allergen cycle, every single thing you can imagine...and it looks like the Death Star or something. It can do a load of towels or anything really, in like 20 minutes. UH-MAZING. Next? Matching dryer, new fridge, new dishwasher. This house is falling the hell apart, and I'll be damned if it falls apart with old appliances. OH, and a new countertop. Quartz. Not granite. Everyone has that crap. I have a box of chunks of different granite in my classroom that a geologist gave the students. However, the thought of a ton of second graders carrying around chunks of granite is a scary proposition to me. Imagine the chaos and injuries on the bus, for God's sake. Plus, in this part of Texas, granite is very easy to come by from the actual quarry. Limestone is everywhere, too. It's the bane of everyone's existence. No basements, EXPENSIVE pools..hard to start a good garden unless it's raised bed.

I found a brand new obsession. I mean that in a non frightening way, of course. It's a man, I mean a show with a man in it. It's called "Property Brothers", and I think I am going to marry one of the twins named Jonathan. Why? He is perfect in looks, seems funny, smart and is handy with tools. Win/Win/Win/Win. Google that dude. Tell me he isn't hot. Go ahead. Try. You can't, can you? I didn't think so. His twin is also amazingly good looking, but I can tell the difference, plus he has a girlfriend or some such nonsense and I have devoted my heart to Jonathan. Wallsterham? He doesn't seem to care. Another WIN for me. My children think I've lost my mind. I quickly went from Ryan Gosling to Jonathan. PLUS...he's an interior designer as well as a contractor and producer, etc. Why isn't he mine? No clue. I will try to rectify that....legally, of course.

I have lost a crap ton of weight. I'm using HCG. Try it. It is the best thing ever. You don't even think of food. Weight falls off. Really, really fast. Still healthy. All I eat is salad. I am limited in fruit, protein, and no carbs, fat or sugar. Seems like a pretty reasonable diet, actually. If I do eat something I shouldn't, welllll...my intestines don't appreciate it, and make their disapproval quite obvious. I will be back into high school weight soon. Steroids for my vertebrae and pinched nerves made me do that "fat retaining" bullshit. No matter what I did...run like a freak everyday, enter races, do well, eat healthy, protein shakes, no carbs, no fat, no sugar...nothing worked. So, now...I've been off the steroid for like...I don't know...4 years? Keep the pain in check with a chiropractor...who isn't TAKING MY INSURANCE NOW...AND SHAME ON THEM. I can't do 180.00 three times a damned week. So, I have a hurting neck or back all the time, and they told me no more running. Nothing with any impact. Tell my legs that. Tell my endorphins that. The all salad is my choice...you can eat a certain amount of protein, etc. I just don't do well with a lot of meat. Sushi? Yes please. Just no salmon. Not because I don't like it, but because they say no. I have been craving sushi. That is the only thing. Oh, it's almost Mother's day and I'm attempting to justify a couple of cupcakes. Eat at a restaurant? I'm terrified I would be sick for days.

My father is on his "one last trip to West Texas". Terrified? Yes, indeed. I dreamed about it last night. Plus we are in the Austin area...why go back to the West Texas wasteland? I mean, he tried to call me the other night and the conversation went like this:

Him: "Hey, girl...babble interference...cutting out...babble garble"/ phone cut out.
Me: "DAD??? DAD? ARE YOU OKAY?" I immediately worried that he was having difficulty with his heart. He sounded bad.
Him: "Yeah...I'm...garble garble/cut out of phone."
Me: "Dad???" phone cut out.

Two minutes later: I called him.
Me: "DAD???? ARE YOU OKAY???"
Him: "Oh yeah...Ahm on my way to West Texas...Ahm comin up to Dryden..."
Me: "OMG...THAT IS HORRIBLE!!!"
Him: "Yeah, it's still ere. Next I reckon I'll go rat through Sannerson". (Sanderson...we drop consonants and blend vowels and weird things.)
Me: "Oh, okay...be careful!"
Him: "All rat den..." garble garble. Phone cut out.

Whew.

But, "last trip"? Just shoot me now.

That's all. I have no mother's day plans, or at least my children don't. I want to see my Mom, but she said my brother was grilling for her. However, I've learned to not expect anything, so that way I don't get upset and disappointed. Birthdays and Christmas are the same. I will get a "guilt" gift a week or so later, but really...who wants a guilt gift? Something from the heart...that's perfect. My best ever was when Jack was 4. We went to the Antique Rose emporium, I bought a couple of roses I really wanted, and they had a kid's craft thing for Mother's Day. Jack made me a bookmark with dried flower and herbs in it. I loved it. It was super simple, and I've done it with my students a few times. The mother's day directly after Tyler was born was amazing. I remember I was nursing him and life had been so hectic, that I hadn't had a chance to just sit alone with him and I looked down at his sweet face and it just hit me like a bomb. Unbearable deep love. It just washed over me, and I thought, "Wow...I'm the luckiest woman on Earth". I had two perfect boys. I had two angels to love and care for. Best thing I've ever done. Delivery was almost death with the second. First was a walk in the park, but I'd do either again in a second. Mother's day 1992, I was newly pregnant with Jack. It was the day I first felt him kick. Best gift.

Tomorrow? Nada, I think. I'll have to go splurge and buy myself something I want.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone. Oh, and I haven't edited. Again, I'm no editor.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Would you rather?

Hey y'all. I suppose this would you rather do this or that has become pretty popular. A friend asked me these, so I am passing them on to whoever is out there reading this.

1. Would you rather smell bleach or chlorine? (Very strange and makes no sense.) I guess chlorine. That means I am next to the pool.
2. Chocolate or vanilla? I cannot choose. I like a little of both together.
3. Tall men or short men? Tall. Definitely tall.
4. Dark hair or light hair? Well, I prefer men with dark hair, but I have blonde (silver...you know glitter strands of wisdom..) I am not attracted to blonde men usually.
5. Skinny or healthy with muscle? Idiot question. Healthy with muscle. Damn. Maybe skinny. Now, healthy. Yeah.
6. Cats or dogs? SERIOUSLY??? DOGS.
7. House or apartment? I'm all grown up. House.
8. Cake or pie? Pie. With that, you can have two desserts, because you can put ice cream on top and it only counts as one dessert. Win-Win.
9.Educated or blue collar? I prefer an educated person..or man I guess this is asking. I prefer educated people in general, though. However, that isn't to say that someone who is blue collar isn't also educated. So, both.
10. Army or Navy? HOOOAH! ARMY!
11. North or South? South, sugah.
12. Children or no? Um...too late. I have two boys. They are in college, but they are still my babies. If you were to seriously ask me if I wanted MORE right now? One day I'd say yes, the next day I'd say "AW HELL NAW". Then I'd see a sweet little baby and be on board again. However, I'm over 35, so it would probably be born with 5 heads or something. I'd feel a little guilty for my selfishness, then.
13. Beach or mountains? BEACH! Unless I want to see some snow and ski and snowboard, which happens almost never. But I always want peace, serenity and waves and sun.
14. Neutral or color? Balance. I like gray. I like very pale sea green or blue. Then I like pops of color like orange or bright turquoise or something like that.
15. Moves or Home with a DVD: Either

There you go. Happy now? Everyone who reads this, must post their own somewhere...Facebook...your blog...whatever.

NUGGET OF WISDOM: NEVER PLAY WITH GUNS.