He Ain't Heavy...

So, I’ve just figured something out, and I thought I’d share it with everyone here. Because…well, because I can.

I’m angry with my brother. That took a while to admit. My brother has his problems, and has been on the substance abuse carousel for a long time now. Which is saying a lot for a kid who just turned 21. I’ve never really allowed myself to be angry with him. I’ve allowed myself to feel upset at his words or actions, but have always couched it in, “but he’s really the sweetest kid!” But, really, how sweet is someone who says mean things to you, steals money from your wallet, and lies to everyone? I know, I know. Addiction is what makes people do these things. And that’s the same shit I’ve been telling myself for years.

Here’s the thing. I am allowed to be angry with him. Even if all his actions are driven by his addictions, they are still his actions. And it’s ok to be angry with an addict. Yes, I know, I sound an awful lot like I’m trying to convince myself of this fact. And I am.

I know my brother and I love him. And I love how funny, silly, kind he can be. But I don’t love how mean, cold, angry, manipulative, dishonest and violent he can be. And the latter has increasingly been his mode. And it makes me angry. And let’s see if I can start another sentence with “and.”

Holy crap, this entry is like watching an episode of Intervention. Damn it. I hate when I fall so cleanly into a category. Like “family member who enables addict by making excuses for them.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. At least ¼ of all my family members have some kind of addiction/mental health issue or another. Complete with at least one member of each side and generation having been in prison for drug-related issues. But I was really hoping my branch of our family would be spared the whole Prison/rehab thing. And it’s looking more and more like only a jail term will make my brother seriously believe he’s an addict.

Goddamnit. I really hate feeling like this. And I hate even more how long it took me to figure this out.

I know they mean well, but...

So my boss has gotten a very specific idea in mind for a web graphic I’m making. Unfortunately, the idea itself is hackneyed, cliché, ugly and more than anything just fucking ugly. In addition to style issues, since the size I’m allotted (145 pixels wide) any text he wants to use is completely illegible.

But, I can’t seem to steer him in a different direction. Instead, clearly, it’s MY fault it’s not working. I’m just not cropping it right, or using the right font, or who knows what. And I’m about tired of it, and am on the verge of saying, “Look, it’s a terrible concept. Just fucking awful. Can we stop it now?” Probably won’t go over too well.



Minor irritations added to constant, grating nausea are a good way of getting Coley to bite your fucking head off. There will be some who might feel that I’m not allowed to complain about the ailments of being knocked up, because I actually MEANT to get knocked up. To them I say, “Just try to stop me!” I’m in no mood for kindly meant advice, or “Just hang in there!” motivational clichés. The only thing in the entire world I want right now is to go to bed for a month. I will lay in bed, read my book, sip my ginger ale, and snuggle my obnoxious-ass cats. Unfortunately, I have to go to work, and SMELL everyone’s nastiness (which includes gas, perfume, scented lotion, soap, cigarette smoke and AWFUL food smells). For those not in the know, my sense of smell and taste are so sensitive right now, someone down the hall was eating corn chips, and I had to run to the bathroom and dry heave for 5 minutes.



Something I’ve noticed, people who have had kids, will not offer bullshit encouragement. They will either sympathize, or even better, tell you, “Just wait til that kid starts kicking you in the kidneys”. As the ER nurse told me, “No one gets to have an opinion unless THEY have that alien living inside them.” I think that sums it up nicely.

Oh, and I had to quit the softball team on doctor's orders. I'm also not ready to tell people at work about Mocha Cub. So I made some vague reference to my doc telling me not to play. Of course, now everyone on the team is asking, "is everything alright?" Because clearly I'm dying. I don't think anyone has an inkling of the truth. But I bet the rumors are AWESOME.

A few notes of note. Or not.

So, uh, remember when my back was hurting yesterday? And remember when I whined all day about my back hurting, and not knowing WHY my back decided to hurt? Let’s rewind to Wednesday Afternoon, shall we?

SCENE: My kitchen. I’m making dinner, Sarah’s chatting with me, and Xtian is popping in periodically to tease/grope me. Xtian surprises me from behind and tickles. I grab him by the arms and pull his body onto my back, suspending him in the air.

Me: “See?! You can’t fuck with me, I will destroy you!”
Sarah: “Ok, people with back problems shouldn’t be lifting their 230 pound husbands.”
Me: “My legs are doing all the heavy lifting here, Sarah. Geez, MOM!”
Sarah: “Well, when your back dies tomorrow, I’m going to remind you of this.”

So, yeah, my own retardedness thrown back in my face. Thanks, Sarah. Thanks a lot.

~~

A while back during the weekly shopping with Sarah, I realized that I had forgotten to grab a new multi-vitamin at Target. We were at the dread Whole Foods (yes, I shop at the godforsaken organic store. You forget, I was born in California. Which means despite my outer coating of “FuckOff!” there beats the heart of a goddamn hippie), when I had this realization. I was already in line, so Sarah ran back to grab a cheap bottle of whatever Lady vitamin they had.

Moments ago, I took this vitamin, and noticed the label: "VeganGuard! This product is certified vegan." This leaves me wondering: aren’t these mostly just minerals and extracts from fruits and veggies? Is there bacon in most multi vitamins?
And, hey, aren’t vegans always talking about how much healthier they are? If all they eat are fruits, veggies and all natural shit, why do they need a multi-vitamin? Is it because their diets DON’T provide them with all the nutrients they need? Muwaahahahahaha. Fuck off, vegans! I’m eating meat WHILE taking the ridiculous vegan vitamin. Take THAT!

~~

Ok, the headache and waves of nausea can really just stop it right now. Three days is long enough.

I know, I had the initial, “Nausea? Could that be….dare I even think it? Morning sickness?” thoughts too. But let me assure you. No, is the answer. No. How do I know this? Because it’s not physically possible for me to be knocked up right now. So, seriously, Nausea, can you at least leave me alone if you aren’t an indicator of good news? Thanks.

If only it was Friday...

All right ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. My back F’ing HURTS.

And one again, my boss has removed every picture of a non-white person from the piece I’m working on. He claims he “doesn’t even notice” the race or ethnicity of the people in the artwork. Really? Then why hasn’t a single picture of a blond been replaced? Yet every, and I mean EVERY, picture of a black or Hispanic person been removed? That’s called “covert racism.” You’ll notice that the word “racism” is still part of the term? Yes. That’s because EXCLUDING PEOPLE FROM YOUR ADVERTISING BASED ON RACE IS: RACIST.

Ok, moving right along.
All three kitties went to the vet this week. No real problems, just check up and immunization time. Just guess the final bill. Nope, not even close. $424. Seriously. These are INDOOR only cats. They have no health problems. They eat better than 90% of Americans. This is beyond ridiculous. I don’t think they’ll be going to the vet anymore. Ever.

If you write a blog, and were thinking you might want to give up posting, have me start reading. Seriously. Every time I start reading someone’s page, they decide to stop writing. What have I done to offend, people? What? I get bored easily, and need a few blogs on hand to lighten up my day. Is that so much to ask? Le sigh.

In other news: someone sent out an email today reminding everyone that Daylight Savings is this weekend. “At least we get an extra hour of sleep and sun earlier in the day!” Umm, I’m pretty sure you have that EXACTLY wrong. Geez, she’s got to be 55 years old, has she never dealt with Daylight Savings before? Fuck, man.


As we can all tell, I’m just a mite irritable today. I think the constant, searing pain in my back is not allowing me to absorb any happy goodness. Maybe some drugs are in order…

Mild Rash...

I’m lacking perspective today. A work-related annoyance has been blown to full-scale “I can’t deal with humanity today. Why aren’t all the stupid people rounded up and summarily shot in the face?” Turns out, I become a bit of a fascist when I’m pissy. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my work annoyance is a genuinely annoying thing. If I may vent?

So, I’m rewriting all the brochures our little institution puts out. These are financially related applications/informational brochures. Not rocket science, not art, but I’m pretty pleased with how they are coming out. I’ve been working on this same brochure for more than 4 months now. Here’s what sucks, I can churn out one of these from scratch in a day, day and half. No problem. But, herein lies the problem: EVERY FUCKING ASSHAT WITH AN OPPOSABLE THUMB thinks they have approval/veto power over everything I put out.

So, I send this guy around for approval, one asshat looks at it, returns it to me asking me to rework the entire thing. Fine. Now, repeat this no fewer than six times. That’s six times you have to scrap what you’ve got, and start over. Then, you are one signature from pulling the trigger and printing these fuckers, and some clown decides it’s time to rework the entire thing so that it looks almost identical to their current brochure. (What, you may ask is the point of redoing the brochures if it looks JUST LIKE THE EXISTING one? Apparently wasting money.) Even better, they hand me a copy of the one they are using, and blinding spelling errors abound. I mean, like in the titles of the sections. Large, 20-point font. Just awful. How, bad? Well, the title of the “Legalese” section is spelled like this: Acknolegements and Agreement.
Did anyone else just die a little bit? Because I did.

See, these are not HUGE problems, but around 9:30 this morning, I was ready to quit my job and get a minimum wage gig digging ditches. It sounded so much better than this psychological shite. This situation turns me into a bit of an educational snob. I would like to think that the people above me in my company are better educated, or experienced, or reasonably intelligent sentient beings. However it turns out I tie with my boss for the highest level of education reached. The CEO doesn’t even have a bachelor’s degree. (Not that going to college inherently makes you smart and vice versa. But, since I’ve not heard of ONE intelligent or good decision coming from those folks, I’m assuming these are the “Flunked out of junior college” kinds of people). What, pray tell do these people do? The same thing that has been done for the last 40 years. They keep doing the same things and wondering why nothing ever changes, why they aren’t growing. Whenever I ask the now-ridiculous question “Why do we do it like this?” I get “Because that’s the way we’ve always done it.” Nice, so the computer procedures that were written in 1984 still make sense today, do they? Yeah, didn’t think so.

GARGH!

And just for that, I’m going home, and smoking 12 cigarettes and drinking a HUGE vodka/cranberry. (Sidenote: If your grocery store sells cranberry/peach juice? Buy it. Buy all of it, now. You will thank me.)

Right, I’ve got a bottle of Smirnoff and a pack of Turkish Gold calling my name.

Certified Hoodstar

So, what is UP, headache? Making yourself comfortable? Good, good. Wouldn’t want to be a rude host. At least you won’t be disturbed by any drugs that are actually effective. Instead I’m stuck with the laughable Tylenol. I know, you scoff in the face of Tylenol and only grow stronger. And the stronger you get the more I clench my jaw, the more you grow. Fair play to you. You’ve won this round, but just wait. I’ll have last laugh. You can count on that.

~~~

Oy, I’m driving to Chico alone this tonight. Should be interesting. I’m up several hours before dawn, and am going to have to stay awake past 8 pm. I’m pretty sure I will be deliriously calling everyone I know in an effort to stay awake on the most boring drive in the world. Dark, barren fields? Check. Dark shitty suburbs? Check. Patience crippling traffic jams in the middle of nowhere? Check, check and Double Check.
But really, I oughtn’t complain, since I’m going to Chico so my dad can put new brakes in my truck. And whenever we’re getting free maintenance on our vehicles, we must be gracious. (That would be the royal “we” apparently. I need a nap.)

I’ve got very little today. Oh except for this bout of ridiculousnessReally? If I in any way resemble any of these women, I’ll eat my own sweater. Followed by my glasses, then wash it down with the foulest of all beverages: tomato juice.

Beating a dead horse

I know we’re all tired of hearing me whine. I’m tired of hearing me whine. But, here I go again.

Recently, I found out that all my siblings are on anti-depressants. That’s three out of four, for those keeping track. At least we can all mostly joke about it. When my brother told me he was on the happy pills, I joked “who would have ever guessed I’d be the least fucked up on of the bunch?” And now I’m wondering if I’m just better at denial. Yeah, mostly I’m fine. 80% of the time, I’m a happy person and can function normally and can see my own irrational thoughts for what they are.

But, then there’s the other 20%. That’s where I am now. And rather than disappearing and avoiding people, writing and all communication, I’m going to try to be honest about what’s going on in my head. If nothing else, I can use this as a guidepost; “at least I don’t feel like I did back in November ’06.”

I made a kind of off-hand comment to Xtian this weekend, and when he responded with horror, it occurred to me that maybe other people don’t feel the same way I do. I have a semi-formal company dinner in a couple of weeks, and I need some “semi-formal” clothing. Clothes shopping has never been a pleasant experience for me, regardless of size. Now, really, in retrospect it wasn’t a good day to shop. After my back injury I took two weeks off from running, and with the funk that’s been around me, I haven’t been taking care of myself food/activity-wise. And apparently two weeks are all I need to expand two dress sizes.

Jen recommended a store that had a handful of cute things in the ballpark of my size. So, I put a smile on, picked out a few things that looked cute. As soon as the zipper hit the top on the first one, I knew it was a mistake to go shopping. Fighting back tears I put the items back on the hanger, and left the store. Xtian tried to be supportive, but there’s nothing he can say. I felt absolutely disgusting, and disgusted with myself. I finally just picked out the largest sized clothing I’ve ever owned and went home. It was later, after having a few drinks and calming down that I was able to verbalize.

“Looking at myself in those clothes, all I want to do is take a knife and carve sections of my body out.” I thought that was a pretty standard thing to think. Hell, not a day goes by I don’t fantasize about that. Xtian’s obvious alarm made me think, perhaps that’s not a normal feeling. The only weight I’ve ever successfully lost and kept off for longer than a month was when I was 14 and just stopped eating. I lived on dry Cheerios and soda for 5 years.

As I stood in front of the mirror, I thought to myself “I’m so ashamed at having lost all that willpower. I used to be able to go for days on end without food. And look where eating daily has gotten me.” It was only the next day that I realized how fucked up that thinking is. Envying the girl I was, who didn’t think of anything except everything I wasn’t eating.

But, really, my doctor tested me last year for thyroid issues etc. So, the only thing wrong with me, is ME.

Sure, perhaps all this body hatred is a reaction to feeling out of control of my life and my body. My MIL is a horrible human who does everything in her power to hurt others to “make them pay,” I’m having a hard time getting pregnant, my cycle is so screwed up I don’t even know what to do with it. All things I really have no control over, and I find myself starting my old behaviors again. Anyone seeing a pattern?

And yet, I find that when people ask how I am, I have to play the “I’m great! Everything is chipper!” game when all I want to do is collapse in a heap and sob. Even with my closest friends I feel like I don’t have any right to tell them “I’m having a hard time lately. But thank you for asking.” I try to talk to Xtian about all this, but he has no idea what to do or say, and it just upsets him. So, instead the Internet gets all my mental garbage. Enjoy.

In continuing with our latest theme...

So, let’s all take a moment and, as a favor to me, hope that my current bout of total self-loathing is just some NASTY PMS. Because, clearly, my body has not decided on any cycle at all. And, out of the blue, decided to screw with me again with cramps so bad they WOKE ME OUT OF A DEAD SLUMBER. So, again for those playing the home game, try number two was a rousing failure. Really not helping with the whole “feeling completely useless as a human” thing I’ve got going on lately.

I suppose my sad-bastard music isn’t really helping me get out of funk. But, geez, I can’t stop listening to Counting Crows’ Colorblind. Saddest sounding song I’ve found this week. But, perhaps some Aimee Mann will beat that out for top spot.

Xtian is starting to speak to his mother again. But, this time, HE actually gets a chance to SPEAK. Which has never really happened before. Mostly they're still fighting, but at least both people are yelling, rather than having the yeller (her) and the yellee (he). I’m still not having any relationship or contact with her, and frankly, I think it’s for the best. I know I get roped into her crazy games too easily, so I’m just taking myself out of that. At least I can save my own sanity if I can’t get her to recognize her own insanity. And next year Brother turns 18, and can get the hell away from her if he chooses, so I can stop worrying about him.

~~
In other news, for the first time in my life, I’m trying to let people know when something they’ve done/said hurts my feelings. It only took 24 years, but I’ve realized that I’m allowed to have feelings. Yes, I also have a sense of humor about myself (see: every post on this damn blog), but that doesn’t mean people don’t hurt me. I usually just skip over it, or pretend it didn’t bother me, when really it does. Then I sit and stew about it and harbor negative feelings for people. Sounds healthy, eh? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
I still mostly suck at it, and tell people “oh, no it’s fine. You’re right, I do suck!” Turns out I’m not very good at admitting to my own vulnerability.

Snippets, Snippets, Who's Got the Snippets?

Oh lord, few things in the world make my ovaries ache more than a 3-year-old dressed as a fairy gloriously reveling in the candy-orgy that is Trick or Treating. Even in my ghetto, we had several groups of Trick or Treaters come to our door. The best part was watching the older kids keep the younger kids in line.
More than once did I hear an older kid chastising a younger kid with “Don’t be greedy, just take ONE!” Or “Say Thank you!” Just too cute!

~~~~~

Why is it clothing never shrinks in a way that makes it fit better? I have a great pair of caramel colored pants, when I bought them, they were perfect in length (at least perfect for wearing with a bit of heel) and a smidge baggier than I liked. So, did they shrink in at all? No, they shrunk UP. So, now I have a pair of pants just shy of the length I like, while still being too baggy in the hip/booty area. Oy.

~~~~
I get Jen time tonight. I can’t wait. Since I live far from all my female relatives, she’s the perfect surrogate sister. Nothing caps off a crappy week and a half like giggly-girlie-girl talk. If ever I thought I didn’t need/want female friends, I wholly take it back.

~~~~
I use Pandora to listen to music while at work. (If you haven’t used or heard of Pandora, just GO THERE.) You choose some songs or bands you like, and it finds other music, along with those you specified, that you might like. I guess it’s a little like Tivo in that respect. After months of adding more music to my list, Pandora’s decided I’m either a 14-year-old girl, or a 25-year-old gay man. Whiny boy music, bitchin’ chick music, and enough booty shaking to mix it up. See, young girl, or gay boy. Almost the same.

I have no idea where this is going. So, let's just move along shall we?
~~~~

And just as I thought I would, I fucked my back up again. This time, I can’t really blame myself though. I woke up at about 4 am with my body in a perfect twist. Hips perpendicular to the bed, back flat on the bed. Just perfect. Yeah, muscle relaxants at work = goodness.

I’m going to succumb to my prescription induced loopiness. Happy Wednesday.

If you give me any Candy Corn, I'll TP your house, motherf*cker

You know, for the last few years, Halloween has really lost all fun for me. I’m not a big costume person. Rarely do I come up with anything fabulous, and if I do, I almost never get the motivation to put the costume together. Halloween sneaks up on me. It’s like I look at a calendar around October 3rd, and think “Oh yeah, Halloween is coming up. I should figure out a costume.” Then I forget all about it until 10 pm October 30th. I just suck.

As a kid, I loved Halloween because, as you may have realized, I love candy with a passion. And, strangers handing free candy out? Really?!? Sign me up.
But, you hit the teen years, and Halloween is more or less women’s excuse to dress in ways they normally wouldn’t. Oh, yeah, and drinking a lot. But, I learned a long while ago, that I just can’t drink and get to work the next day. I just can’t. I’m old that way.

So, what’s the point, eh? Add Halloween to the list of things that have stopped being fun. OR just add it to the list titled “Ways You Can Tell Coley Is Old and Crotchety.”

Although, I am interested to see what befalls my neighborhood tonight. On a normal day, it’s not uncommon to find crack-smoking-paraphernalia on my stoop. What ghetto-ridiculousness can the crack-heads come up with?

~~~

So, my beautiful lady Sarah mentioned to a colleague of hers that I’d thrown my back out. His response “She should exercise and strengthen those back muscles.” To which Sarah said, “she does.” He replied with a sarcastic, “Sure she does.”

I find it interesting (just for you Sarah), that this person felt comfortable, not only diagnosing the problem, but also questioning my lifestyle and habits. Especially interesting because this person has never met me, spoken to me or seen me in passing. I realize it’s kind of a human foible to try to give advice to those with problems. I realize humans also like to pass judgment on each other, because they would never be stupid/out-of-shape/clumsy/etc to have that problem. But it still irks me. So, a big “FUCK OFF” to that guy.


Speaking of my back, I’m feeling pretty good now. The pain is lessening, and I’ve been sleeping well and moving around enough to keep loose. But, like an ass, this is when I always do something stupid to re-injure myself. For example, this morning, I found myself hoisting a 30 lb Alhambra water bottle onto my shoulder to replace the empty one in the dispenser in the break room. Clearly, I am not to be trusted with my own recovery.
~~~

Ever since I decided and put into writing that I would cut all contact with my MIL, I’ve felt completely unburdened. I’m not angry about the nastiness, I’m not hurt by her behavior, I’m just ok. Sure, she’s crazy, but I don’t have to deal with it at all. I know Xtian is still bothered by it, but I feel pretty great. (This could also being the painkillers and muscle relaxants talking, but screw it, I feel awesome). I guess having a plan really does help, thanks mom!

K, I'm off to find something to do for the next hour or so.

Mmm, prescription meds...

So, rather than drinking my weekend away, as I’d planned, I spent it horizontal. And not in a good way.
While on my run Saturday morning, I took a step, and felt the entire left side of my back…give. That’s right I threw my back out. I’m officially 90 years old.

So, I shuffled back home, attempted to do laundry and shower with mixed results. So, I decided that spending the day on the couch was my best chance at survival. Spending a day on the couch sounds like heaven. But not being physically ABLE to leave the couch just makes me crazy. Clearly, I need to get over it and should be spending my day working. Because laundry gets done on Saturday, for no reason other than, that’s how I like it. (Yes, OCD I am.)
It kept getting worse until Sunday morning, when I finally managed to see a doctor (substory: someone at my union office is shirking their job, because when I got the doctor, I was informed that no insurance was showing up for me. Umm, coverage was supposed to have started on September 1, so huh?).
A bottle of painkillers and a bottle of muscle relaxants later, I’m almost able to fully function.

Freaking Awesome.

More drama arose in the MIL situation, of course. There’s been a lot more than I’ve let on here, but suffice to say, I tried to make some efforts to get past this, establish some rules for conduct and heal this relationship. I was sincere in my efforts, but it bit me in the ass again.
This time a letter was sent to my PARENTS as well as Xtian, talking trash about me and full of lies and misrepresentations. Or so I hear. Since I blocked all her email addresses, I didn’t get the letter. Instead, my father called my husband to let him know about the letter, and to not let me read it. Seeing his reactions after Xtian read it, I was fully convinced that I didn’t need to read it.

My question here is: What does she think a letter to my parents will accomplish? Will they take her side? Umm, yeah, talk shit about a person’s kid; see how far that gets you. My guess: not very far. Did she think my parents have some power to punish me? Not since I moved out, 6 years ago.

But, I’ve come to a decision. This woman is pure poison, and I am not even going to pretend to have a relationship with her. Xtian is her son, and he may choose to maintain a relationship with her, if he likes. I, on the other hand, have decided to not talk to her, or receive communications from her. I don’t want her calling my work, my cell, or my home phone. I’m out. I’m trying to use reason and logic with a person who is incapable of reasonable thought. I’m thoroughly convinced that this woman will never be mentally sound enough to deal with the human population. And until that changes, I’m not going to be drawn into her insanity.

To quote my beautiful Sarah, I have to do what’s best for me and for my family. Luckily, I have a wonderful mama and dad, who are doing the best they can to keep us all happy, and protected.
Poor Xtian is mortified at having his mother’s nastiness made apparent to my family, whom he loves and is still trying to impress. But, this entire experience has made it clear to me that Xtian’s tolerance for insanity has no bounds. Which I guess is good for me. I know now that no matter how crazy I end up, he can handle it. Heheehe.*sigh*

Right, I’m going to take some more drugs and get my ass to work. Thanks for all the love in the comments. Makes me feel a little better about a crappy situation.