The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Cleaning of the butthole, and other joys

Sometimes, toilet paper is not enough. And the cetaphil cleaner causes the TP to disintegrate. So I got some serious moist wipes.

Diaper rash ain't funny.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Why I have not so far

I would not step in front of a car or truck or train, to do so would be to pass on my misery to someone else in an horrific way. I would not make a public spectacle, leave my remains to be found by a child - to scar them. I once thought the stairwell of a hospital would be my best available option.

Right now, I have people depending on me, so it will have to wait until after I am on my own.

I do prefer January.

Itch in the back of the throat, dry cough. Mold in the air. Dust in the eyes.

August is a rough month.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

If only it could be drained off the bottom

Bad day, as in last 36 hours. Grace notes, but it wore through in spots. Very old sore spots.

I don't want to go into that bottomless pool of grief and loss.

Monday, July 25, 2011

I really don't like yappy little doggies.

Watching Dog Whisperer, and learning so much about being a better human being. And dealing with difficult people, like surgeons and cranky nurses and entitled young women. Calm, but assertive, and persistent.

And that Chihuahuas are nasty little creatures.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

And I never did have a family

I wasn't wanted. I wasn't expected. My mother wanted a girl, but not the girl I turned out to be. Nor the daddy's girl that might have made him happy, or not, who knows. No, I always knew I was an accident, a surprize, not REALLY wanted, not as such.

My next oldest brother was nearly nine years previous.

And failure in 3, 2, 1 ...

Been drinking today, tried to make dinner. Wound up with a jar of salsa broken on the floor. I need the time, the space to be inept, useless, incapable sometimes. Because I'm The Responsible One so fucking often.

Just because I need it does not erase the guilt when I take it.

Assholes who think they can make anyone do anything.

Anyone who actively objects to same sex marriage, and all the rights attendant, needs to get a fucking life. No one else's marriage, of any variety, has any effect on them. It's all about distaste and power.

You can't stop any kind of fucking, deal with it.

Fingertips, fingertips, fingertips.

Got a block to smooth, buff and shine my fingernails. I recognize this as vain and irrational. But it is a continuum from sharing with my only decent roommate from 30 years ago, polish and color.

Feels nice to have very smooth fingernails.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

One of those weeks

I know I'm tired when I am asleep, dreaming about taking a nap. Which happened last night. It was a good nap.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Screw the paranoia, full speed ahead

More clearly muscle aches, but across my chest and arm. Right arm. This can't be heart, it's all muscle. Got the stim on.

I hate the idea of it being more serious even being in my head.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

I'm sure it's just muscular.

Been having chest tightness, figured it was a touch of asthma due to allergies. I've had a handful of episodes of exercise induced asthma over my lifetime, with the odd allergy moment that is eased by antihistamines and strong tea (theophylline.) But this one was persisting, at work, so I had a fellow nurse take a listen. No wheezing, and she suggested heart problems. I resist this, and am aware that this is in itself one of the symptoms. So I promised I would follow up. Chest tightness continues, but I am more certain this is just muscular, related to my shoulder issue. But once the suggestion is brought up, I have to resist, and resist the resistance, to both avoid paranoia, and nurse-denial.

I'm covered with tiger balm right now.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

getting away from one bank

I trust my spouse with everything, no question. But when we went to close our bank account to change banks, the manager didn't so much as glance at my ID. Yes, it's a joint account, and either of us has full rights, but to not even have my identification checked, when I am sitting right there, is a bit disturbing. And I'm very glad we left this large, national, bank.

I did not shake anyone's hand there. When he said, "see you!" I muttered, "no, you won't." Because, well, he won't.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Thieving assholes

My mother told this story of my father, before they were married. She'd made candies, wintergreen flavored, a lot of work involved. They'd gone for a walk, and he was, as she described it, gobbling them up. Until they came to a bridge, and he found out they were wintergreen.

"Are you trying to poison me?" And he threw the rest of them in the stream.

She was as much shocked at his not just handing them back to her as at his peculiar accusation.

She never said explicitly, but this was obviously the point at which she knew what she was getting into, and should have run away screaming. And didn't.

The ex used to eat my chocolate, asserting "well, you left them." Yes, I left them because I was saving them for later, as I'd always done with any treat, savor it, stretch it out, make it last. Halloween candy could well last until my birthday, or longer. He never would allow me this, my little treats were his. I learned to gobble up anything I had, never to count on it being there.

I can't imagine D doing this. He always asks, even when it's clear that the treat is for both of us, just to make sure. We delight in treating each other. We share, and honor each other's 'saved.' We are generous with each other. Seems a much better way to live.

He is welcome to any chocolate I have, but never takes it without asking, and receiving permission first.