Perpetual Smile

I stayed up late last night writing and talking to Mike on Facebook. Yes, I know, we could have easily called each other, but it’s more fun to let Facebook’s messenger wreak havoc on our computers and stall everything. But that’s Facebook for you!

Yesterday was also Election Day. I so wanted Mr. Theriault to beat Jarjura out of mayor. I can’t stand Jarjura, and Theriault was my elementary school principal. I’m glad I voted though; I almost didn’t go because I didn’t feel like driving two seconds down the street. (What? I wanted to go to Barnes and Noble to write!) I convinced myself by asking myself, What if my vote is the one vote he needs to beat Jarjura? Unfortunately, Jarjura won. Again.

To make things worse, today is Wednesday and this? Is the longest week, ever. Can I say, however, that I have been possibly exposed to swine flu THREE TIMES and have escaped it? (It’s coming to get me, you know.) My four-year-old goddaughter has some sort of flu (Sandy is getting her tested to see exactly what strain), my Aunt Rikki has some sort of flu, and her daughter Katarina — who is two, almost three — also has the flu. My mom, who is a psych tech at the hospital, said that regular flu season hasn’t begun yet, so the state is saying that if you have the flu, odds are it’s H1N1 — swine flu. (H1N1 sounds like some nerdy fifteen-year-old boy’s name choice, complete with freckles, acne, glasses, and a sock to masturbate in.)

In other, completely unrelated and much more exciting news, I bought this little cube of Post-it notes that POP UP. You can pull them out one at a time! And the bottom has this little circle of rubber-like material that sticks to your desk like you wouldn’t believe. If you felt it, you would not believe that it actually sticks. And clearly I need to either get some sleep or get a life.

Anyway, today is also Hilly‘s birthday, who is fucking awesome. She’s also hot, which helps her awesome case. So go smother her with birthday wishes!

<3

I flipped open my checkbook and looked at the last balance. Almost $70. Good. I could get my hair done, and I’d still have enough for coffee for the week.

Mike had overdrawn his account, so after lunch and meeting with the bank accountant to straighten things out, we went to his sister’s salon to attempt to look human again. (Well, I already looked human and just needed a trim and some color. He had a beard fit for a grizzly and wanted to shape up his cut. Secretly, I hoped he would clean up the beard, too.) Britt brought us back to life in just a couple of hours, and I felt so good that I practically skipped out of the salon. Who cared that I desperately needed sleep? Not me.

Later that night I begged Mike to take me to Kmart — sorry, Target — so that I could get a beach chair and noodle (one of those foam floaty things) for a beach trip I had planned with my family the next day. Kmart had plenty of noodles, but just one beach chair. It didn’t recline or anything, and I wasn’t going to settle when what I really wanted was one of those chairs you could actually lie down in. So I asked Mike to take me across the street to Walmart.

By the time we got to Walmart, Mike could barely walk because I beat him into taking me to Walmart his back hurt so bad. I felt awful and kept trying to get him to sit down while I hunted for the beach chairs, but he’s just as stubborn as I am and wouldn’t listen. We ended up in the garden section looking at reclining beach chairs. These at least reclined, but in all of my fatigue I was about as cranky as a nap-withdrawn two-year-old and insisted on scouring the store for a damn unfolding-lay-down beach chair (because my vocabulary is awesome, too)!

Somewhere between the garden section and somewhere else in the store, I stopped and covered my face with my hands. I had spent about six or seven bucks at Stop & Shop on Garnier color safe shampoo and conditioner. I had spent somewhere around eleven bucks at Kmart on the noodle, some cookies, and something else that I still have no recollection of. I saw little colored numbers spinning around me in that store aisle, and then they all nosedived right on my head.

“What’s wrong? Dizzy?” Mike put a hand on my back to steady me.

“No,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I think I overdrew my account.” Had I really made fun of him for overdrawing his account just a few hours ago? Maybe I was the star of some sick reality TV show. We left the store and I called my sister to have her look at my checkbook. I did the math and slumped in defeat. How could I let this happen? Being tired was just not an excuse.

Mike stopped at a red light. “Do you want to go deposit some money into your account?”

“What money?” I had my head down on the dashboard.

“Maybe from your business or savings account?” He started driving again. “Do you want to stop at the ATM?”

I tried to climb through the sludge that my brain had become. What he was saying didn’t make any sense. “Would you mind?”

We drove to an ATM from our bank and I took some money out of my business account. As I started filling out a deposit envelope, the screen froze.

TEMPORARILY OUT OF SERVICE.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” TEMPORARILY OUT OF SERVICE. “No,” I said. TEMPORARILY OUT OF SERVICE. “Do you hate me? You’ve got to be kidding me!” I turned and pointed, staring at Mike through the glass windows. He stared back at me. “Do you see this? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I hung my head in defeat and looked down at the money in my hands and the half filled out envelope. As I started to shove everything back into my purse, the screen came back to life.

“Gotcha,” it seemed to say. “Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

I composed myself and deposited the money, wondering if I was just crazy or if someone had a bad sense of humor. As I climbed back into the RAV4, I asked Mike if he’d seen the out of service notice.

“Yeah,” he said.

“The weird thing is,” I said, “is that my balance read something totally different from my checkbook. So obviously something didn’t come out yet, so I didn’t technically overdraw — yet. So as long as nothing else comes out tonight, I should be okay. Right? Right.”

I went home and left my stupid noodle on the porch. I crawled into bed and tried to look forward to the beach the next day, even though it meant getting up early and still not getting enough sleep.

I dragged myself through the next morning, but once I got to the beach it felt totally worth it. I didn’t have a beach chair, but at least I could float on the waves with my noodle and soak up the sun. I deserved it, dammit.

“Is that your noodle?” My baby cousin Kat asked. She was wrapped in a towel and shivering; the water was a little cold that early.

“Yes it is,” I told her.

“Can I play with it?”

“Yes, as soon as you warm up a little more, I will take you in and we’ll play with the noodle.”

She beamed up at me, and I grinned right back.

An hour or so later, she was ready to go back into the water. “Can we play with your noodle now?”

I held her hand and led her into the water. We got to her thighs and I put the noodle down, still holding onto her. “Ready?” I lifted her up and tried to sit her on the noodle. She didn’t quite weigh enough. “Wanna ride it like a horsey instead?” She nodded and I sat her down straddling the noodle. She grinned and giggled as she rode the “horsey” through the water, just like I had when I was a little kid. Suddenly the night before was totally worth it.

“Excuse me,” said someone from the shore.

I looked up to see the lifeguard on duty standing with her hands on her hips. “Yes?” I giggled at Kat continued to bounce as she floated.

“You can’t have noodles in the water.”

Welcome to the beach.

House sitting for my aunt was PARADISE, I tell you. I went from living with a whole mess of family to, well, just me. I didn’t even have to worry about the cat (although I did really miss her and I think she actually missed me, too). I had three bathrooms, a kitchen, dining room, living room, office, and bedroom, as opposed to one bathroom, two bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room (AKA my room; that’s another post for another day), and the living room. I always had hot water, never had to wait to take a shower, and a fridge that produced ice and water.

I also had an intruder.

As I dried off after taking a nice hot (bubble!) bath in my aunt’s Whirlpool tub, I heard a sound downstairs. Suddenly, being alone didn’t appeal to me too much. “Who’s there?” I said, feeling a little silly. It was probably just the house settling. Quit being a baby, I told myself. There’s no one here.

I got dressed and turned the water on to brush my teeth. A sound erupted, something between the sound of a vacuum cleaner and a tornado. It split the sound barrier in half, so if I screamed I never heard it. I ran into the hall, in the direction where the sound came from. Immediately I realized that it was coming from Katarina‘s bathroom and ran right in. I don’t know what ran through my head, or what I expected to find or what I thought I would do when I found it.

If the whirring, mind splitting tornado sounded loud in the master bedroom, it was World War II in LA in the bathroom. I peered into the tub and read one word on the digital display: DRY.

The tub was drying itself.

A self-drying tub had given me a heart attack and had almost prompted me to call my dad. I can just imagine the conversation we would have had:

“There’s an air raid alarm going off in the house! I don’t know where my uncle keeps his ammo! Come get me!”

He would have arrived to find me huddled under the bed with a walkie-talkie clutched in my hand. Or my stuffed penguin.

I spent Friday afternoon on the phone with Southern (the university I’ve been trying to attend since last winter). After graduation Thursday night, I felt determined; I wanted to get everything squared away so that I could definitely start classes in the fall. All work and no school really brings some perspective into your life; I was bored as hell and I suddenly missed the papers, the homework, the fresh new notebooks waiting to be used. (Okay, so I have an addiction to office supplies. Whatever.)

As I learned last winter, doing things for myself without my mom to hold my hand was no easy task. As I got transferred further and further down the line of humorless staff, I thought more and more about giving up. I couldn’t seem to get the help I needed and every person I talked to transferred me before I could get a sentence out of my mouth.

I didn’t give up, though. I didn’t break down like I did last winter when I found out that my schedule had been dropped because I couldn’t afford the higher tuition cost. After the last two years of putting everything into school, after hearing Jon Savoy‘s inspiring speech about his fifteen year commitment to his Associates degree at commencement, I didn’t want to waste any time.

I’m going to double major, in English: Creative Writing and Elementary Education (for grades K-6). I’m probably insane, but I want to do it. I don’t care how long it takes.

Growing up, I had several great elementary school teachers who made me want to be a teacher. Every day after school and homework, my sister and I would play school. She would be the teacher for one grade, and I would be the teacher for another grade. We both played each other’s students. We used actual textbooks that our school gave to us because they didn’t use them anymore. We printed worksheets and carefully planned lessons for our imaginary students. We wrote out math problems on black- and whiteboards. We took attendance on graphing paper from our great-grandmother. I loved every minute of it.

I don’t mind helping Mike’s little brother with his math homework. I love doing it. Even when Tony gets frustrated, I still feel calm and patient — even though I am the least patient person in the world when it comes to everything else. (Kids are my weakness. Heh.) I love playing games with my little cousin Katarina and reading to her. I love helping Tony with his spelling words and his English homework. I love coloring with my goddaughter Kaylene, or explaining to Katarina the difference between an orca and a shark.

I have always kind of wanted to be a teacher, but didn’t think I could because I am already a web designer. You already have a career, I would tell myself. You can’t do everything at once. Wait a few years and see if you still want to do this. Just wait.

But I figure, why the hell not? Why not now? Why do I have to just stick to one thing? I can do it all. I can do and be anything I want.

I’m not going to rush. I don’t expect to finish in just two years (since I transferred, I expected myself to be able to completely my Bachelor’s in another two years). I refuse to put any pressure on myself. I’ll take my time, and when it’s all over I’m going to walk across that stage again — with two more degrees.

I’m all about accomplishments these days. It feels so good to finally feel alive.

Running around on xmas really takes a toll — especially when you’re running on about two hours of sleep.

For xmas eve, Mike came over for dinner. We had all kinds of seafood: scallops, white cod fillet, some other kind of fillet, and of course the requisite pasta. Noni made lasagna for Mike, since he’s allergic to fish. We had tuna sauce, white clam sauce, some other kind of seafood white sauce, and regular sauce for Mike. Dessert was two kinds of cheesecake — the Jell-O kind and homemade baked — and apple pie. I was so full I could only manage a tiny sliver of the homemade cheesecake, and couldn’t even finish that.

Between dinner and dessert we did gifts. I gave Mom and Lauren their embroidery gifts, and Lauren Wall-E and a To Write Love On Her Arms tee shirt. (I had taken Mom to see It’s A Wonderful Life on stage in November as her gift.) Dad really liked the small First Aid kit and thermos set I got him for hunting. Mike liked his gifts, too. Read the rest of this entry »

I feel like I’m at the mercy of some unseen force right now. I swear someone is using a voodoo doll on me.

Saturday night as I got home from my little cousin’s birthday party, I got some super sharp and stabbing pains in my left shoulder. They were in the same spot and only lasted a second or two, but were enough to make me scream, cry, and made my knees buckle. I went to see my new GP on Friday and the nurse practitioner there said she would set me up an appointment with a neurologist. I assumed they’d call me with an appointment later on Friday, but they didn’t. Hopefully they’ll call me Monday, because I can’t take much more of this. I want answers and treatment and relief, and I want it NOW. I am going out of my mind. I’m afraid to do anything or go out in public; can you imagine collapsing on the street or screaming in the middle of the mall? I mean, this is just getting ridiculous. Something is wrong and someone needs to help me before it gets any worse.

I’m also waiting on my college to get back to me. The math/science director still hasn’t responded to my second email, and I won’t get anything until at least Monday. I think my next step should be the Dean; I mean, it was not my mistake and I refuse to pay for the mistake of someone who gets paid to advise students. He obviously gave me the wrong advice, so why do I have to put everything on hold?

Worst of all, Mike is still working third shift. We were supposed to hang out Thursday night (because he was actually off!), but he ended up sleeping through the alarm he’d set and didn’t wake up until one in the morning. He felt bad and I felt bad, but now he won’t be off again until next Thursday. I miss him like crazy and all I want to do right now is drive down there and bang on the doors until they let me in. Then I’d kidnap him and steal him away so that I can be selfish and snuggle in his arms until we wake up. I know he misses me too but somewhere along the line I became sentimental and now I feel like I’m gonna die if I don’t get to see him soon. What happened to the hardass version of me, the one who spat at the very mention of love? Oh. Right. She was one bitter bitch.

On top of everything else, “Jude” invited me to hang out tonight — uh, Saturday night, technically. She was going to have “Zeppelin” come get me, and since I was feeling sorry for myself (because of the Chronic Arm Pains 4.0) I said maybe I shouldn’t. She said she really wanted me to come, and then when said she’d call me back in a few minutes. I assumed she was going to ask “Zeppelin” if she minded picking me up, and that since she wanted me to come over and hang out so bad she’d call me back and make sure I hadn’t changed my mind, but she never called me back. I know I can’t make her give a fuck but really. She knew I wasn’t feeling good — I burst into tears the second she said “hello” when I called her — and yet she still couldn’t be bothered to call me back. This is the shit that makes me want to tell her to have a nice life. When I need her, she never comes through. And yet, when she needs me I am always there.

I love her kids to death and even though I know she’ll pull the You Can’t See the Kids card if I try to stop being friends with her again, I don’t know what else to do. Every time we go through this, she promises to try harder and blahblahblah, but it never happens. We always end up at the same place. She claims that she cares but when it comes down to showing me she cares, she just can’t do it. There’s always something more important.

Anyway, it’s almost 3 am and my arms are killing me. I knew I’d pay for this but I needed to get shit off my chest.

This morning I babysat Katarina for my Aunt Rikki so that she could get some work done. Poor little Kat is sick with a viral infection in her throat and an ear infection, so she wasn’t her usual happy self. Uncle Reno pumped me full of coffee, even though I had already bought a cup at Dunkin Donuts.

I got home early this afternoon and since then I’ve been working on the Letters of Love site. My goal is to have it finished by tonight, but it’s hard to work right now. I have a lot on my mind. It also doesn’t help that the particular person whom is causing all of this grief refuses to answer their phone and talk to me.

This is a huge waste of a post, but I know if I keep going I’ll say things I may regret later on.

Anyway, Mike and I watched Midnight Meat Train last night on FearNET and it was pretty good. I just wish Clive Barker could have given us some sort of explanation for the odd things the antagonist pulled off of his skin every night. It was very B-movie and very Clive Barker.

Edit: I finally got in touch with the person in question. Hopefully I will be able to sit down and talk to them soon.