Sometimes I need a night off.

Poor Pretty Kitty has the runs.  I think the shock of moving and a new cat food have combined to make her a little uncomfortable.  She has an appetite, I've heard her eating at night.  I'm just praying she gets well soon (or off to the vet). 

This weekend will be crazy - guys coming over to paint the house BLUE praise You forever Jesus.  It'll freak out the Metrolift drivers for a bit but they'll live. 

I think I should get some prominent new house numbers, though. 

So, I have tomorrow off and it's pretty much an off day.  I got my lithium level back.  It's good, which means I just need to deal with the side effects. 

I've said it before, I see why people go off their meds - but to me that doesn't excuse it.  I know what I am off my pills - and I will not inflict that on anyone. 

Anyway, onto happier subjects.  Tonight I mainly just played online and listened to Demon Hunter.  I didn't do the laundry, pick up, or organize.  I played a few songs for Ron while he rode the exercise bike and that's it. 

I need to have some time off now and then.  I'm always "on".  If I'm not caregiving and managing life with an alcoholic, I'm helping run a small business.  I also manage a very severe form of mental illness and mother two cats. 

Now, I'm absolutely certain someone out there has a much more difficult time - and I'm praying for you.  I have my hands full with just this. 

Sometimes I need a night off. 

If I weren't worried about - horrors - disrupting my sleep cycle I'd spend hours awake reading my book ("People of Babel" the last book in the "People of the Ark" series).   I can save that for tomorrow. 

I can pick up the house tomorrow. 

.6

Ron and I were talking about my medication, and I read the side effects for each aloud.  "Low blood pressure".  "Dizziness".  Common themes, along with darker themes of cardiac problems and fatal seizures. 

I take the hardcore stuff [making fake gang signs].  I'm in the lithium crew. 

I got my lithium level today.  .6  Optimal.  Medline on optimal lithium level

It's good because it means I'm going things right.  It's bad because it means I will have to manage these side effects - the dizziness and low blood pressure.  For instance, if I stand up or stop walking, I get very lightheaded.  I need to move or sit, or I will fall down. 

God, I hope I don't.  That would be so ghastly if I passed out somewhere. 

One problem I encounter, Ron is slow.  I love him dearly, I married him, but he takes a while to stand up.  Then he takes a while to start walking.  In the meantime, a wave of dizziness swamps me and I feel like I just got off a very whirly carnival ride. 

Sometimes I get a little bitey and snap at him.  I try to be honest with you.  I battle impatience - a sin. 

Well, it's not a sin to fight it.  But it's a sin. 

So, I'm dealing with brain fog, not very coherent at times.  I have to work on enunciating my words sometimes.  I get dizzy, whirly, sensations.  I have low blood pressure. 

But I'm well, in a way I've never been.  I can rely on my mind. 

And my lithium level is optimal. 

I slept horribly, woke up with a migraine, and had to work anyway. 

But I did get to come home to this. 

Special Peple

I am almost certain my lithium level will come back toxic.  I am having a lot of physical symptoms.  I just feel ill.  Today, at church, between grief for Bubba (last place I expected) and taking care of Ron, I just felt like I was watching it all happen at the other end of a tunnel.  Afterwards, I felt very dizzy, like I just got off a carnival ride.   I had to keep sitting down.  My left arm kept twitching.  Now I'm enjoying the nausea on top of the dizzy, sick, weakness. 

I've never had a hangover, but it felt like what I have seen in others, nausea, weakness, shaky.  Surprisingly, I do not have a headache. 

I guess one could consider it a good thing - my physical symptoms certainly distract me from my grief.  That's what the addicts do: use the addiction to mask emotional pain.  I don't want to do that, I just want to feel well.  I do need to grieve and it's hard to do sick. 

Considering the crisis last week, I do not want to reduce my lithium dosage unless I have to.  I could see myself in very bad shape if I went around playing doctor.  Not to mention, I did sign a paper saying I wouldn't change my doses. 

I didn't sleep well last night, a curious cat exploring my room and coming to visit.  She's a sweetie, I'm glad I picked her.  I told Ron, the "approximate age 6" on her card probably means she's almost as old as Bubba.  At any rate, I might not have her for long, but I'm all about the quality. 

Years ago, Ron teased me about "Heather's Home for the Aged".  Bubba was old.  Frosty was old.  Ron was "old" if you consider mid 50's to be old.  I guess it is, because most senior housing wants mid 50's as the starting age for admission. 

I swore, swore I wouldn't get another old cat.  They rip my heart out when they go.  God had other plans.  I found it so sad, as I sat in the chair, petting my new baby, people asked her age, and then immediately dismissed her. 

She's very attractive.  She's incredibly sweet.  She's already fixed and uses her box.  She has a soft and engaging meow and beautiful green eyes - but she's "old".  Get rid of it.  Put it down.   

To be clear, Bubba was dying regardless of what I did. I just chose to make it easy.

Reminds me of some people after Ron's accident.  "Oh, he's broken.  Get rid of him." 

Huh.  Like I told the man, pointing at blind Ron in his wheelchair "I married him the way he is now".  I don't value externals. 

Sure, if Ron woke up tomorrow, young, handsome, sighted - healthy, I'd be thrilled.  I want that for him, and I know if nothing else Ron will get that in heaven.  If I could give it to him, I would. 

When I met Ron, I didn't care about his looks, I valued his mind and his heart.  I could care less about his flaky skin (psoraisis), his blind eyes, the scar on his neck, or his facial feature.  I cared about the fact that he gently laid his hand on my head as I rummaged for something in my bag (as we exchanged phone numbers).  I cared about his patience when I made a mistake, and his delight when I figured something out. 

I don't think I told you this, Ron and I were enrolled in a "special jobs for special people" program at a national fast food chain.  Ron entered the program before me.  We were assigned to the same restaurant, and, after training, they put us together on the front register. 

We're both extroverts.  We did the job, and did it well.  Together, we make a dynamic team.  You should have seen us working the drive through.  I'd take the orders and assemble them.  Ron would make the drinks.  I had fans - one guy wouldn't buy anything unless I put the order together.  He was diabetic and I was the only one who always gave him the diet soda he wanted.   We had a lot of fun, and as I learned the ropes, I learned a lot about Ron. 

I think, if you really want to know someone, it helps to work with them.  You see them dealing with frustrations, making mistakes (and hopefully owning them), dealing with superiors, and dealing with those lower down the food chain. 

I remember reading a job search book.  A manager of a Fortune 500 company did a lot of interviews.  After every interview, he and his secretary would talk about the applicant.  Many times, the applicant treated her like crap, and they'd dismiss him.  The ones who treated her with respect got the job. 

So, looks weren't important to me with the cat.  I once had a very ugly cat.  She also had one eye, which made her look even worse.  But she was a sweet baby.  I care about that. 

My new baby kept me up, making noise.  She was exploring every inch of my bedroom.  If she figured out I was awake (ie - another trip to the bathroom - I get up a couple times a night to urinate), she'd come over for a minute or so of petting.  Then we'd go to sleep, or I would. 

I think the sleep deprivation has a lot to do with my symptoms today - I hope it does.  I'm staying hydrated, and I need to eat pretty soon.  I'm thinking macaroni.  I need salt. 

And there go the neighbors.  [sigh]  God love them.  Everytime I have a delivery, and it's nice, they play for hours outside my bedroom.  I will probably not be falling asleep, as needed, at 6. 

Worst case I can skip my God Time and shower, get up at 3:15, do them later. 

Or I can sleep in here, on the floor.  I'll see how rowdy they get.  That's the only bad thing about working off hours.  People don't expect you do sleep. 

Ugh.  I lost my train of thought. 

So, church was good.  Our rides were good.  I gave away a Bible on the way.  While Ron and I had to wait an hour for our ride from Starbucks to church, we had good books.  I'm reading Book 4 in the "People of the Ark" series.  It's the last one. 

The author creates very interesting, flawed, characters.  No one is all good or all evil.  I like that. 

Ron, happily, is already asleep.

Oh, you might be interested to hear how we have the cats set up.  My bedroom connects to the bathroom, via a door.  We closed the door to the bathroom, and let Pretty Girl roam around in the bedroom and bath.  Baby Girl has the rest of the house, although we've let Pretty out when Baby Girl is with Ron (we shut Ron's door) or outside (we shut the cat door, but I don't like to do that).  Baby Girl is very independent and spends a lot of time outside.  She can circle the house and look at Pretty Girl, through the bedroom window.  Pretty Girl can look out at Baby Girl. 

I think they can get along pretty well.  We just want to take our time introducing them. 

Last night Baby Girl came home while Ron was sitting on my bed petting the new cat and giving her treats.  I'm sure BG felt very threatened - she uttered a feline profanity and took a flying leap at Pretty Girls' head.  They hissed and growled for a minute until I got them separated.   Understandable.  I also fed Baby Girl a delicious can of food, right outside Pretty Girl's door.  BG ate it and had a good time doing so, her tail was up and happy. 

We don't plan to have the cats meet for another couple days, and then just let them work it all out.  Ron is willing to go above and beyond to help. 

And I need to eat, take my nighttime pills, call Mom and Dad, and love on my baby.  Just pray I get some sleep! 

Pretty Girl

Cat lovers will laugh with me.  I left the house with certain expecations.  I'd find a nice kitten, adopt it, and bring it home Monday after I got it fixed.  I wouldn't adopt an older cat because they've broken my heart, twice. 

I left the house with Ron in the wheelchair, various snacks, and drinks.  I am such a vending geek I wondered if the shelter had a vending machine.  It has a contract with Dr Pepper. 

We rolled in, it was chaos.  When we told them we wanted a cat we were directed to another area.  I only saw 2 other people who got cats today, but I think the dog kennels are nearly empty (sadly, I saw at least a dozen dogs "surrendered"). 

They had the cats in a trailer.  We went up the ramp and met a cheerful volunteer. 

The last time I went to BARC (board of animal control), it was awful.  Frosty had gone missing for a while back in 2005.  I was directed into a 200 square foot room crammed with cat cages, surrounded by miserable, begging, meows.  It was awful. 

Cats are smart, they know what to do to get a home. 

I entered a large and bright main room.  I was told they had 3 "free range" rooms for loose cats, or I could view a caged cat in the main room.  I felt like I should enter a room to the right, and I did. 

I found myself in a room with several adult cats.  I parked Ron and sat down, figuring my cat would come to me.  Boy, did she.  She got right in my lap and didn't budge for an hour.  She is a beautiful orange/brown tabby, shorthair, adult, and rather chubby.  She hissed at other cats. 

Ron fed treats to all the cats, and petted "my" cat.  It was clear, after about half an hour, I didn't need to go into any other rooms or look into any cages.  My cat had chosen me. 

I had wanted a big, sweet, lump.  Bubba was a wonderful cat but he was not affectionate.  This one was very cuddly.  I think she knew I'm hurting. 

I still miss Bubba, terribly, I didn't expect that to change, but I knew Bubba would want me to open my heart to another cat. 

Remember what I said about older cats?  She is 6.  Definitely middle-aged. 

Ron made friends with Oscar, a longhaired black and white male.  I was delighted to hear every animal in the room was fixed, and ready to go today. 

No return trip!   I wouldn't have to watch a spayed animal suffering in pain!  Awesome. 

I decided to take her.  The volunteers kept watching me - I think they were rooting for the cat.  Since she is older people can be stupid about that.  Everyone wants a young animal, or a baby. 

In the meantime, Oscar had dragged of my bag of treats and chewed it open, eating half the contents.  Ron rescued it.  I did warn a volunteer Oscar might get sick, and they just laughed.  Oscar was also adopted today. 

I was given a claim form for Pretty Kitty (her name).  I found out then she was 6, and surrendered for "allergies".  [sarcastic]  Yeah, allergies.  Probably a new boyfriend who didn't like cats.  I guess they never heard of Claratin. 

I put her down on the floor, and she tried to get back in my lap, looking desperate.  She looked so sad when I left.  She thought I was gone for good. 

A lot of beaurocracy.  A lot.  We finally got through it all and I got my cat.  I wanted a black male kitten, and walked out with a brown female senior.  Ron and I decided to name her Pretty Girl. 

We got into Metrolift and came home.  She meowed, but not loudly.  She was very affectionate with me as soon as I got her out of the carrier, but Baby Girl "caught" Ron giving Pretty Girl treats.  She objected.   Baby Girl is very possesive of Ron, and her treats. 

After we got the kids separated, they went off and sulked.  I am keeping Pretty Girl in my room, letting her out now and then.  Ron is currently holed up with Baby Girl in his room. 

We are doing various techniques.  I put some delicious food and treats into the Pretty Girl's carrier, so Baby Girl has to experience her scent in order to get treats.  I plan to wipe Baby Girl down with a dry washcloth, and put it by Pretty Girl's food.  I have some other ideas. 

I just pray they get along. 

Tomorrow

Last night *something* told me to go look up adoptable pets at the county pound.  Last I heard, they had horrific kill rates.  You can imagine how a black cat might fare. 

You know me, I'm partial to "undercats".  Black cats are misunderstood, feared, and murdered at a horrifying rate because no one wants to love them. 

Like I told the vet, years ago, indicating blind, stroked-out Ron in his wheelchair "I married him the way he is now".  I understand, and relate, to the unloved and unwanted. 

Had Ron and I been "normal" I have no doubt we would have had half a dozen, adopted, special needs children. 

I found adorable black kittens, one in particular really spoke to me.  She had a lot of cattitude.  She's a tiny little furball but adorable. 

From what I read online, ideally I will get a smaller, younger, cat.  I told Ron, I'd like to go to the pound. 

He said OK and made the trip.  He is really helping me grieve.  He's telling me it's OK to cry, understands when I do cry, tells me it's OK to miss Bubba because he was awesome.  I need to hear that right now. 

After Ron made the trip, I found out it's a sponsored adoption day.  A corporation will pay all the adoption fees tomorrow; if we qualify. 

We're homeowners.  We are experienced cat lovers.  I have 4, count it, 4 litter boxes.  I know how to indroduce cats. 

So, we'll see.  I don't plan to go in there and "find a cat".  Rather, I plan to let the cat find me.  We will all know when that happens, I think. 

Please pray, though.  I'm still hurting a lot. 

Remembering Bubba

God, I'll miss him

When my mother came visit, she brought her camera.  She's a world class photographer, and what better subject than my cats? 

Bubba felt differently, in fact, when she pointed the camera at him he began defecating.  It's the only time I saw her put the camera down. 

That's my Bubba, no photos please.  Except the ones in my slideshow.  He's the black cat. 

Yesterday, Bubba didn't want treats.  I found that alarming, but he seemed otherwise OK.  I didn't see him last night and assumed he was hunting.  He does that when the weather's nice.  Very hot or very cold weather would find him loafing in my bed. 

I used to tell him "You get the bed during the day, and we share it at night."  Past tense. 

We had today off, and I spent it at home.  I didn't see Bubba today, until after 5 PM.  I had stepped out to check the mail. 

When I came back, I saw Bubba and greeted him delightedly.  Then I realized, this cat is sick.  He was panting and gasping for breath, gurgling.  Horrible, tortured, meows. 

We called the vet, she had closed the office already  We called the emergency vet. 

Then I gave him some pain medicine, leftover from Baby Girl's spay surgery.  I'm not sorry I did it and the vet said I did the right thing. 

I brought out the carrier, and Baby Girl climbed inside.  Oh, boy.  Carrier!  She went in and out as Bubba labored to breathe, on the floor.  Oh, it was awful to watch.  She watched him closely, as serious as I've ever seen her. 

I opened the carrier by unscrewing all the screws on the sides.  I took a pillowcase off my bed, and one off Rons, placing them both into the carrier.  Then I gently picked Bubba up and laid him in the carrier.  I knew he was sick, he didn't fight.  I closed it up. 

The cab finally showed up at 6.  Rush Hour.  We rode to the clinic, and the driver said he hates to have crying passengers. He'd pick us up again if we weren't crying. 

I found that a rather odd request.  We went in. 

A very nice man took Bubs away as I showed the vet records to the receptionist.  She seemed impressed I'd remembered them. 

The vet came out very quickly and took us into a room.  Bubba was dying of heart failure.  There really wasn't any option.  Needles in his chest?  A couple weeks, at best?  No. 

I told her to let him go.  She left, I bought a diet Dr Pepper from the vending machine.  I absently noted it was a Dixie-Narco.  We have a couple in our location. 

Someone came in and asked what we wanted them to do with the body.  I asked them to *handle* it.  I did that with Frosty.  The body's just an envelope.  The spirit is gone to Heaven. 

They wanted me to pay before they did it.  I wondered it someone had actually run out on the bill after having their pet put down.  [censoreds] lousy pet owner. 

Ron handed over the credit card.  It wasn't too bad.  Less than $200.  I'd definitely pay to relieve Bubba. 

The vet told me, 4 different times, in 4 different ways, this is what she would have done if Bubba were her pet.  I felt better about that. 

I didn't want him to suffer.

Ron played his audio track of Bubba purring and eating treats, while I told the story of Bubba teasing the rottweiler.  The vet petted Bubba and talked nicely to him. 

Then we did it.  It was peaceful.  I kissed Bubba, one more time, in my favorite spot between his ears, and we left. 

I cried.  Of course.  Ron called the cab.  We got in with dry eyes and an empty carrier.  I told Ron, I feel like the carrier is a death hearse.  He suggested, since Baby Girl likes it, to place it on the floor, under the table, with the door open so she can play in it.  I did. 

I used my emergency money to pay for the cab each way - least I could do.  My glasses fund got a big setback but Bubba isn't suffering anymore. 

God, I'll miss him. He was my boy.  He slept with me.  He got on the couch with me while I did my God Time.  He slobbered on my Bible.  He threw up in my bed every time he had a hairball.   I feel sick at the thought of removing the mattress cover. 

Well, that's the end of the mania, that's for sure.  I had a nasty, month-long depression after I lost Frosty. Losing Frosty  I'm sure this will be horrific. 

I did bring a couple Bibles, and gave one to the vet, and one to the cab driver, along with plenty of testimony.  God uses everything - even Bubba's graduation, to bring people to Him. 

God knows Bubba had a good life, spoiled rotten.  Endless food bowl, treats, canned food, outside, pampered and adored. 

I thank God my last memory is a peaceful, deceased cat - not the agonized, tortured one, laboring for breath.  I did the right thing. 

But God, I'll miss him. 

Queasy

OH, I'm so horribly queasy. 

I read an interesting statement somewhere - it said "When you're taking lithium, if you get queasy you need to drink more water".  I think it's right.  It's just hard to drink anything when I feel like I might "blow" any second.  But I'm getting it in. 

I woke up with a pretty bad headache today; excedrin helped, but it was still present, and I had to take more than one dose of painkiller.  A bad headache only needs only dose, pretty bad needs multiple. 

I had to work, and I could, and that's what mattered.  I slept in and had a choice of a shower, or doing my God Time.  Last time I did the shower so this time I did the God Time.  I looked fine - I tried putting some hair gel on the top of my head, around my part.  The hair tends to frizz up in the humidity. I was impressed, it worked pretty well considering I only took a few seconds.  I'm glad I got the 99 Cent store #10 ultimate hold made in America hair gel. 

They have nice, giant bars of soap.  I'm using the Lemon Verbena in the shower.  It is a nice light lemon scent with good lather and bar hardness.  Some stuff, like my acne soap, takes one look at the shower and dissolves.  I get that at the Dollar store, too, along with exfoliating reusable sponges.  I use the exfoliating sponge on my face with the acne soap, and store the soap on top of the bar.  It seems to work fine.  Even at almost 39, I still have oily skin.  So does my Dad, and he's over 70. 

Shower to come later.  One reason I didn't do a video blog.  I took a nap when I got home so my hair is pretty scary. 

Off to the warehouse.  Ron gave me $50 to buy my snack inventory.  I prayed about it (privately, I don't believe in making a big display) and went shopping.  I got 3 boxes of pastry (individually wrapped), 2 boxes of chips (one assorted), a box of Japanese peanuts (my regulars will eat the entire box in a week), a case of assorted cracker/cookies, etc.  I spent $49.75 and gave Ron back his quarter. 

When the budget is tight (and it is, because we just paid sales tax), I "front" the machines.  Each (snack) machine has coils.  Instead of filling the entire coil, I'll fill the first couple coils, only.  The machine appears full, but it isn't.  Even the people from the state suggest this. 

I got Ron some things, also.  We got out and had a very good laugh.  It was Ray again, come to pick us up.  Everytime we go to the warehouse we get Ray.  Ray is a very nice guy and a good driver, and never complains about putting up the merchandise (of course I help). 

We even had a straight trip to work. 

We got it all unloaded and I left Ron with it while I went in the building to get the hand cart.  I literally opened the door (don't forget I still had the headache) and a woman sprayed me in the face with Lysol.  Oh!  It was ghastly.  I could taste it. 

I will leave you to muse on how I felt, getting lysoled the minute I went into work.  Maybe she heard I skipped my shower (but not the deodorant!) this morning. 

I got the cart, put Ron's wheelchair by the door, and loaded the cart.  I walked Ron to the front door (he asked) while pushing the cart.  Then he went off in the wheelchair and I started stocking.  I gave Ron "his" inventory and he did his things (bottled soda and food machine), while I worked on snacks. 

I had done canned soda yesterday.  I knew it was fine.  I tried to make change and literally found $1 in the vending machine.  Talk about depressing.  The machine made $1 in a whole day.  That's where I sigh and leave it all up to God. 

I stocked the snacks, and they looked GOOD.  I was very happy. 

About that time, our time had run out and we had to go.  So, we did.

We just came home.  My head was still throbbing but I didn't whine.  I don't like whiners. 

Ron doesn't whine either.  I often see him rubbing his hand.  He needs to get a thumb joint replacement, but both he and his doctor want to wait until he is in agony, last-resort.  He only has one good hand, so if they screw it up....  I accept that, but I know he hurts a lot.  He never complains, though. 

I'd rather just get it over with - like when I had my ovarian cyst out.  "Let's just get it out" I said.  So, we did, and I'm glad. 

But it's Ron's body, and his decisions. 

Well, the nausea is better.  Drinking more when queasy, taking lithium, really works.

So, we came home.  The driver was a very nice guy. 

I always enjoy seeing Baby Girl come out to greet us.  She's a little love bug.  She's sleeping on the back of the couch right now as Ron snores in the man cave. 

Sometimes I think I married a vampire.  He loves to sleep during the day, awake at night.  I guess, being blind, daytime doesn't matter as much. 

I finally got my debits fixed.  When my account got hacked none of my charity went through.  I had to redo them both.  I had been a little lazy but I finally got that done. 

Yay!  I was happy to do that. 

We're supposed to get a lot of rain tonight, but they've been saying that for a while "A lot of rain" and then it passes us.  We're in a drought, we need more.  All the grass is green, but still we need the water. 

If it does rain, I plan to finish the "People of the Ark" series tomorrow. 

Scruff

Not my best moment: I found myself shouting at a driver today. 

A work pickup is pretty complicated.  The driver can see 3 driveways.  One is marked "entrance".  However, it is the entrance for other parking lot. 

I was standing in the employee entrance/visitor parking parking lot.  I kept seeing him drive up and down the street, waving at him, saw him go in the wrong parking lot, twice.  Then he parked.  AGH. 

I ended up walking about half a mile, carrying my backpack, at high speed.  I was worried he would start driving away from me. 

I yelled at the wrong person, Ron was in the hallway between the stockrooms, talking to the other vendor.  It's a notrious dead zone for cell phones.  I must have called him 10 times, leaving progressively more annoyed messages. 

Ron knows better than to go in a dead spot when we have a ride due, because I call him to come out.  I asked God to help but I didn't really submit my will to Him, so I acted badly. 

I was too caught up in my frustration, and yelled at the driver "Didn't you read the notes!  I've been waiting in the other driveway!  I had to walk all the way over here, from there!" (pointing)  The man, a very nice immigrant, kind of gaped at me. 

"There are no trip notes, ma'am."  I looked at the computer.  Nothing.  Just the address.  The lady Ron talked to last night deleted our pickup notes "Employee Entrance, wife outside waving, 832-123-4567" 

AGH!  I apologized, and told him we needed to go to the other parking lot.  He was nice about it, nicer than I'd have been. 

Then, because Ron still wasn't answering his phone, I had to get out of the vehicle, find Ron, and drag him out by his scruff.  I yelled at him about dead spots and the cell phone, in front of the other vendor. 

Ron objected; the computer said he wasn't due yet, and I told him, again, you can't trust the computer.  He came out and apologized to the driver for making him wait. 

We had a pretty long trip.  A woman lived way out. at the edge of the service area and went almost 20 miles to go work at McDonald's.  Her perfume was so overpowering Ron and I had to open our windows.  I would hate to have her prepare my food. 

We rode with the guy for about an hour total, and I apologized 3 different times, 3 different ways, over the hour.  He sincerely forgave me. 

I would never, unless commanded by God, live off a bus line.  You are totally dependent on paratransit or friends.  With a bus line, if I want to do a handout and Ron doesn't, so what, I can go do it on the bus.  I have 2 great handout spots right there on the bus line.  I need my transportation independence, one thing I am exploring in "Broken", with Jenny. 

After we dropped her (the other client, not Jenny!), we went to Walmart.  I have to admit I was pretty hungry.  I did get the cat treats, snacks for Ron, and I found my coveted generic 2 liter sodas.  I bought several, and some food, ice cream, vitamin C (more later), and "my" shampoo, the Pantene Ultimate 10.  I am impressed.  It actually does what it says it does. 

I can really see improvement at the end of my hair; it's about 18 inches long and the bottom (I cut off the split ends a few weeks ago) can get tangled, rough, and difficult.  Right now it is still soft, styled, and nicely curled.  I'm happy, and I'm the generic queen. 

I buy almost everything generic, except my shampoo, one female item, underwear, and that's it.  They must be doing a good job. 

So, I got my shopping done, still have some money left.  I had to use the self-check; the checker lines were horrendous and very long.  A little kid kept patting my butt as his mother waited behind me. 

I just thought it was cute.  I love medication. 

I started gobbling my corn dog as we waited for our ride, and guess who pulls up?  Our last driver, the one I yelled at. 

I offered him a corn dog, and he thought about it.  [giggle]  Good.  I like to feed the drivers.  He did take a cold bottle of water when we got home.  I caught him smiling at Baby Girl as she frolicked, and I brought in the soda. 

I finished my meal, and took my lithium.  I'm so glad I have it.  Nap time. 

Ron went to the liquor store while I slept, and bought vodka.  Good.  Sounds insane, right?  But the last time he went he bought 151 proof rum.  I was happy to see he went to half strength.  I don't tell him what to buy, the alcoholic groups are clear on that.  I just teased him about the bottle, telling him it was gin. 

I got up and found a case of Bibles on the porch.  I dragged them into my lair and I plan to do some up tonight. 

I know I've got another handout coming, but I don't know when. 

Random thoughts, strung together

I woke up with a migraine so this will be more in the "random thoughts, strung together" category. 

I think what bothers Ron about my weight - I don't seem to mind.  I don't talk about it (mainly because he will get started), but yes, it does bother me.  For now I have accepted it because I have a lot on my plate.  So, he thinks I'm fine with it, he's not, and he wants me to know.  I think, when it comes up next time, I'll tell him "I know my weight bothers you.  It bothers me, too." 

I ate 2 small apples with my dinner last night (a cheap chicken TV dinner with tomato sauce).  I got a migraine from the apples.  I know it's them because I've eaten the TV dinner before. 

I saved my TV dinner tray for Bubba-cat (the black one).  He loves tomato sauce.  I discovered this about a year ago, I had placed the TV dinner tray on the floor, it had a few tablespoons of sauce.  I was depressed and didn't want to get up to dispose of the tray.  Bubba came in, went over to investigate, and began lapping up the sauce.  So, when I have a "tomato saucy" TV dinner, I save the tray for Bubba. 

When I worry about Bubba eating tomato sauce, I remind myself he eats live rats.  If he can eat a live rat, been eating them for a decade, I think he can handle a little sauce.  Besides, Garfield loved lasagne, which has tomato sauce, and Garfield was based on a real orange tabby cat. 

I opened my last bottle of generic Excedrin today "Headache Relief Formula".  I'll need to get some more.   I still have 98 left, but I will not run out of headache pills.  It's working pretty well right now, and has me functional, rather than prostrate in bed vomiting into a bucket. 

Speaking of Bubba eating live rats, I need to get his rabies vaccine.  I don't want that going off. 

Ron didn't want to go to church.  I'm glad, because I am not up for church.  I went once with a migraine and it was pretty awful. 

Catching up on laundry, I have done a load of colors, in the dryer.  I have done a load of "whites" that needed bleach.  Ron got me in the bad habit of mixing up the laundry, and my socks are pretty dingy (I like white cotton ankle socks).  The whites are finishing up, the colors are in the dryer.  Then I have a wool blanket to wash somehow - Bubba vomited on it.  I'm glad the hairball is out of him, he's a sweet boy, and I don't mind, but now I have to wash the blanket.  I bought it for $7, 5 years ago, so I'm not too worried.  After the blanket I have some new underwear to wash (didn't need bleach), and a couple random dark things Ron gave me last night. 

I love my washer.  I hear bad things about the "new" washers, so I'm glad I have my old-style agitating top loader.  My dryer works great, too. 

Thank God I have a guy at work who can repair either, and our vending machine repairman says he has fixed all his own appliances, too.  Thank God for good reliable guys, should I ever need them. 

Since we have fledged mockingbirds in the yard, I had Ron lock the pet door this morning.  Both cats are fine with it.  Bubba is in my bed, and Baby Girl is on top of Ron as he sleeps.  Ron sleeps like a dead man, cats love it.  They can climb up on him and he stays in the same position for hours.  I toss and turn, frequently.  Cats hate it. 

That's it for now. 

BOING

Ron and I talked.  To him, my weight is a big deal, but not massive.  I told him I find it hurtful when he goes on like that, and reminded him that weight gain is listed as a side effect on all 3 of my medications.  I don't think he knew that - or had received it.  I understand this is a big deal to him, but I need to figure out what's going on with my lithium level.  I am due to be tested soon.  Once I get my results, I may be able to cut my dose.  If I can cut my dose I will have more energy and motivation; if not I will have to figure out how to work with what I've got. 

I told him I was also battling depression; I am.  My mania lasted quite a while, 6 weeks I think.  It lasted long enough for my family visit, thank God. 

It also means I may have an equally long depression (I didn't tell Ron).  I just said, it's important for me to focus on positive things when I'm battling depression. 

We decided to "take a walk" in the wheelchair.  It turned out to be a good idea.  Some of the neighbors really made us appreciate our near neighbors.  I saw lots of interesting houses and people, got some exercise, fresh air, and companionship. 

I told Ron this would be a good idea to do daily.  He agreed. 

However, I am a little worried about the wheelchair.  After our last "wheelchair" handout, as I pushed him home, we heard an alarming BOING, and the wheelchair shifted alarmingly.  The wheelchair began to wobble.  Today Ron figured out we've lost a spoke. 

This wheelchair has spokes, like a bicycle.  Maybe 30 on each wheel.  Ron says it is fine, we can afford to drive without it. 

"Ron" I told him "I'm worried the wheel will fall off, you'll fall out and hit your head, and bleed everywhere as everyone comes rushing to help.  Then it's off to the emergency room and explaining how this happened." 

He laughed at me, kindly, and told me I have a vivid imagination.  I admit it, I do.  He says we are fine, and if he's wrong he's the one who will suffer. 

But, we made it home again with no problems.  I just pray, if we do lose the chair, it happens close to home. 

"Too Fat"

Ron's talked about this in public, to other people, so I don't see any violation of boundaries.

He told me, in all seriousness today, he thought I should weigh 120 pounds.  He means it. 

He told me he doesn't find me attractive at this weight, I need to lose weight.  Ron, I told him, you didn't find me attractive when I weighed 60 pounds less than I do now. 

Let me find an example.  Waiting for that to load.  There it is, to the left.  I think I have a nice figure and a pretty flat stomach, in the photo.  I am healthy and I like my face. 

At any rate, everyone else, and complete strangers, said I looked "good". 

This is "too fat, needs to lose 50 pounds" according to Ron, today. 

I think anyone can say, that's a pretty healthy body. 

What makes this painful for me, and Ron knows this - I had severe body issues as a teen.  I was diagnosed as anorexic.  I saw myself as "fat" and tried to get under 100 pounds.  I am 67 inches tall - 5 foot 7.  At minimum, I have heard I need to be at least 140. 

He said I looked fine until I moved in with him. Then I was too flat and maybe we could get plastic surgery to pump me up.  I was also "too bony" at about 140 pounds. 

See the hypocrisy?  He's already told me he doesn't like me at 140, yet he wants me to weigh 20 pounds less?   

So, I gained weight.  My figure filled out a little, and for one moment in time Ron might have been happy.  But Mr Fast Food for dinner, let's buy some chips, I want ice cream, I hate to walk... we both gained weight. 

I NEVER complained about his weight gain.  I complained it was hard to find 40 inch waist, 28 inseam pants (at least back then it was hard), but I never complained about his weight or appearance.  I did object when he shaved off his moustache, I thought it looked ghastly.  He grew it back.  He was working full time and didn't exercise, other than walking a few blocks to the commuter train station every day.

He, however, complained bitterly about my weight and constantly belittled my food choices.  He would take me out to dinner at Burger King.  Then, after I had begun eating, he would complain about my food choices, the whole time he's shoveling back half the fries, with his gut straining at his pants. 

He would tell me exercise didn't work, don't bother.  I ate a lot of processed low fat foods, sadly thinking they would "help".  I didn't understand carbohydrates. 

When we came to Texas, I was about a size 18.  Running our own business made us both gain weight. Ron topped out at 230.  I went up a few more sizes. 

Ron was getting more and more vehement about my weight.  If I didn't lose weight, he threatened, he would start looking at other women - as in "leaving me for another woman". 

Desperate to please him (this is before I grew a backbone) I did everything I could.  I found that exercising about an hour a day, and eating very little protein, helped a little, but I became anemic.  I added some weights to my routine.  I was burning more calories but stuck at the same weight. 

Ron kept telling me I had better lose weight, or else.  "I don't want to live with my mother" he told me "She was always overweight and I won't live with a fat woman." 

At one point, I bitterly wondered when he would leave, I was so miserable.  I hoped he would leave me because of my weight - my life was hell.  I was working myself to death, no appreciation, working for $8 an hour doing a $20 an hour job, working as his accountant, assistant manager, deli manager, cook, you name it.  I helped supervise the employees, pointing out when one was wearing profane t-shirts to work, and another refused to wear hair nets. 

He "helped" by telling me stories of previous girlfriends and their weight loss, how one had lost a lot of weight by walking for hours every night, with his help.  He never did that with me.  When we went for an "exercise walk" he always complained his feet hurt, and I was going too fast.  She could lose the weight, why couldn't I?  She was also a perfect housekeeper and a better cook, all his customers said so. 

Times like this, even before I knew I was crazy, I just wanted to glue his tongue.  Shut up! 

Ron really believes in comparing me to other woman, judging me, and telling me I'm not up to his standards.  If I'm not up to his standards, I don't deserve affection - not even a hug.  Or, he will give me a hug and then make a big production - "Oh, it's so awful to touch you".  I can't think of the last time he has touched me without complaining about my weight. 

"[When you miss it enough] you will lose weight" he tells me. 

I'm sure some of you, and I do wonder this too, "Why did I ever marry him?"   I figured, after the accident, my overwhelming demonstration of love and devotion would sweep his judgements away.  He would realize what was important - a loyal, loving woman.   He would build me up instead of tearing me down. 

I was wrong. 

He doesn't realize what I have seen a long time ago: judging and rejecting me like this opens up a huge door to the other man.  You know, the one who loves me just the way I are (grin).  The one who would never dream of making a critical comment or comparing me to someone else.  The guy with a perfectly working body. 

I am very, very careful as a result. 

I told Ron some of this today: "Ron" I told him "Have I ever gotten on your back because your right arm doesn't work?  Have I ever once complained about pushing you in the wheelchair?  Have I ever once told you 'I wish you could see'"  [one time only he backed up the toilet and I told him "I wish you could clean this up"]

He indignantly replied he couldn't do anything about his physical problems.  Things were different. 

No, Ron, they're not.  I am taking near-toxic levels of a very potent drug (lithium).  It causes weight gain and water retention.  Horrendous fatigue, brain fog, lack of concentration.  Could cause coma and death.  I require a nap, and at least 10 hours of sleep every night. 

Let's talk about the haldol.  I love the stuff, it gets rid of the noise in my head.  Headaches, fatigue, dizziness.  Now, let's imagine I'm squatting under a barbell and I get a dizzy spell.  Ron can't spot.  That could get ugly.  I'm also at risk for seizure, cancer, and heart problems (and I have a family history).  Do I really want to take that for a run? 

It's antidepressant time.  Due to an SSRI allergy, I now take bupropion.  Heart trouble, seizure, weight gain, migraines, regular headaches, and falls.  I go through 100 count bottle of OTC headache tablets every few months. 

He doesn't get it - I seem fine.  He doesn't realize how much I pay to be "fine".  He doesn't want to hear it - he won't accept it if I try to tell him.  He just starts shouting at God. 

So, I'm stuck in a paradox.  I'm under a huge burden of fatigue, brain fog, et al from my medication.  I don't have the energy to work out or even eat unprocessed foods.  A lot of foods I used to eat (peanut butter, cheese, etc) now give me migraines.  I'm staggering around with a big load on my back. 

And there's Ron, throwing rocks at me, shouting at me for being fat and unattractive, telling me I have to conform to an ideal he would find repulsive.  It drives me nuts. 

Look at me: yes, I may be fat but it's clear I don't hate him:

 The picture was taken this week.  I have also maintained my current weight for over a year now. 

 

 



 

I just don't get it

Sometimes I'll complain about the neighbor kids.  "That's what children do" my aunt will gently chide.  Another time, she told me a story about a neighbor who "Didn't understand little boys".  My aunt had 4. 

I always get the feeling she would like to tell me "You lack understanding because you are not a parent".  No, I'm not.  I don't want to be a parent, even by proxy. 

Do I hate kids?  No, but I lack the patience and understanding that only comes with parenthood.  I understand that, just as I understand I will never parent a child. 

So many times I hear "My life changed forever when they put the baby in my arms".  I bet it did, and I mean that in a positive way.  They experience and unfailing trust and love from their children, something I won't experience. 

Right now, I should add, the neighbor kids are quiet.  They wanted to play, I wanted a nap.  The kids won.  The neighbors do all the can to wear out the kids, away from or inside the home, so they don't run around wreaking havoc. 

To a parent, a child is a precious gift from God. 

To me, a child is a loud, semi-controlled variable.  One that can injure itself, my property, or my pets.  It keeps me up when I want to to sleep.  Not a very popular viewpoint.  They tend to make me anxious, at least at home. 

Ironically, I used to love kids.  Let's talk about loud.  I worked in a church nursery, wrangling a dozen toddlers every Sunday, with the help of one adult (I was a teenager).  I had a blast, and was actually asked to babysit (however Mom delicately got me out of that) on several occasions.  One little boy didn't want to leave, he was having so much fun.  Funny to think he's almost 30 now.

I made friends with a lot of the neighbor kids when we lived near work; I'd talk to them and show them how to garden.  I gave them flowers, candy, and treats. 

However, due to some conflicts (parents were neglecting toddlers and leaving them outside, unattended, in the street.  One of my drivers almost ran over a child) the kids were told to avoid me. They would come up to me while I ran and call me names. 

One strange little boy started screaming at me that Ron should be dead, why wasn't he dead.  I later concluded out his father was the witness we sought to Ron's accident.  That, I could understand.  They were afraid of getting sued and/or losing a job.   However letting your kid run around screaming "My Daddy saw your husband fall down and act like he was dead!  Why wasn't he dead?" is probably the very WORST way to keep a low profile. 

All I could see, my caring for my little friends had turned on me, horribly.  People were threatening to beat me up, calling me names, screaming at me, and trying to run me ove.  They killed my cat. 

I decided at some point, without even thinking it, that kids just weren't worth it.  They were dangerous little troublemakers - ones that just caused me grief. 

The renter's kids sure enforced that.  They had no sense of boundaries, always coming in my yard without permission.  They'd pull boards off the fence, and broke Ron's gate, climbing over it.  I'd catch them staring in my windows (yes, I had the blinds closed, and down).  They weren't even ashamed when I'd catch them.  I do suspect some of those "kids", now a lot older, may have played a role in the robbery. 

Now those kids are gone (praise God) the other ones stay out of my yard, but I still tense up when I hear children playing nearby.  I wonder if that will ever change. 

In the meantime - kids.  I just don't get it. 

The hair-a-dox

While adding a photo to my slideshow (look right), I noticed an interesting paradox.  I have long hair when I'm fat, short hair when I'm not. 

I have no idea how this happens.  I do know, once, I got tired of washing my long hair after every workout and cut it off.  Maybe that's it - long hair is hard to maintain when I'm working out.

The last time I had long hair (2006-9, I think), I had to wash my hair with either a cheap detergent shampoo (I still do that if it's greasy) or a 2-in-one conditioning shampoo.  Then I'd apply the 3 minute conditioner and clip it up on top of my hair while I finished bathing.  I'd unclip it and rinse it out. 

I still use a hair clip in the shower, it's very useful.  Nowadays, I wash with either a 2-in-1 (The Pantene 10 stuff if my hair is basically clean) or the detergent shampoo, then I do another wash with the Pantene Ultimate 10.  Usually I don't put the leave-in conditioner, I don't find I need it. 

I just wonder if I'll ever have a skinny photo, with long hair. 

Try

"You did WHAT?" Ron bellowed. 

I sighed.  "I forgot the wheelchair".  Our driver, hunched over the steering wheel in rush-hour traffic, carefully didn't look at either of us. 

Ron had asked me to bring the wheelchair.  I forgot.  I put it under "properly medicated".  At 4 lithium a day, my short term memory is shot.  Or maybe some of it's the  Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.  At any rate, the wheelchair was in the house and not in the back of the vehicle. 

Ron was pretty unhappy.  I had to enforce a few boundaries. 

I don't think I've written them out: 

Do not touch me when you're angry, or I will remove your hand.  I will guide you but don't grab me.  Put your hand on my elbow and I will take you where you need to go.  Anything else is out. 

Do not call me names, or I will walk away. 

Do not shout at me, or I will walk away. 

Don't ask me to remember things.  If you want something done you will have to do it.  [Ron has to carry my work keys and badge, and handle every important paper, because I can't remember them]. 

I went back a couple of times (I waited about 5 minutes each time), and when Ron had calmed down we did our business.  He realized it didn't really matter, we could borrow the work wheelchair for the "important" tasks. 

And we did. 

An hour after the drama, we were back to normal.  I had boundaries and I didn't die.  Ron didn't hate me.  We both learned a lot.  I'm pretty proud of us. 

I'm going to have memory issues because of my brain problems. 

He's going to have "temper" issues to to his brain damage. 

But we can work around, if we try. 

The Alternative

I got up early yesterday and hit the ground running.  I was exhausted. 

I found myself going to bed at 6 PM.  I was exhausted.  I needed to rest.  Why stay up?  I slept nearly 12 hours and still woke up tired. 

Welcome to bipolar.  I did some research.  1 in 4 of us, or at best, 1 in 5, don't make it out alive.  We lose more people than breast cancer (23%); but you don't see special ribbons and "Race for the meds".  We don't have a special awareness month or any of that. 

In fact, if we try to tell someone we have the disease, they can turn it around and use it against us as a weapon.  "Well, you're crazy".  I can see why many do not divulge their illness. 

I was sexually harrassed; the guy said "No one will believe you, you're crazy".  When I told someone (not my husband, who did believe me), he said "Are you taking your pills?  Maybe you misunderstood."  Meaning, don't bother me. 

I am sure if I were ever the victim of a crime, my illness would be used against me by the opposing attorney.  Something to consider. 

In my case, Ron and I had had a lot of very public drama.  People knew something was seriously wrong.  After my diagnosis I decided to share. 

I selected the biggest gossip in the plant.  I swore him to secrecy and "confided" I had bipolar disorder.  He nodded and swore it would remain a secret. 

As planned, the whole plant, all 900 some employees, knew by the end of the week. I figured if I asked someone to tell, they wouldn't, but if I made it a deep and confidential secret they would spread it like butter. 

A few years later, a postal worker came and asked me some questions about psychotic features.  I told her I had them, and they were not a big deal.  Just tell the doctor and he will add a new pill.  You'll be as good as new in no time.  She thanked me and left. 

I have always wanted to be the kind of person I needed after my diagnosis, a succesful, stable, informed mentor.  I hope I have been that person, both here and in person. 

Yes.  I have a lot of fatigue. 

Yes.  I have brain fog and memory issues. 

Yes, I gained weight. 

Yes.  I have a dry mouth and need to pee all the time. 

But, as Dad always said "It's better than the alternative".

23% dead from breast cancer.
25% dead from Bipolar. 
 
I bet you have a pink thing somewhere in your house, to support those poor victims. 

Dumb Phone

So, Ron and I "stood" in the middle of the phone store.  Ron, in his wheelchair, me in my workboots (of course I was fully dressed).  We "looked" at the phones. 

"What is the most expensive?"  I told him, showed him, and frankly told him it scared the crap out of me.  I went over to the other end "This is the cheapest" I showed him a basic flip phone with a camera.  "I like this". 

Ron objected.  It wasn't as nice as my LG Sentio, I should have something nice.  Was there anything I liked? 

I saw a "texter" type cell phone with a slide out keyboard, and showed it to Ron.  "They've got this"  I looked at the menus "But I'd rather have the basic one". 

Why? 

Well, it's simpler.  These days I need something simple.  Was I sure?  Yes.  OK. 

So we got it.  It will cost him $2 a month. 

I don't think the technician understood the problem with the old phone until she tried to open my contacts (boy, I'm so glad I weeded out some old, embarrasing photos).  It went to weather.  She was clicking her tongue in frustration, sighing, and gritting her teeth.  I tried not to laugh.  That must have been what I've looked like for the last week! 

Eventually, she got my contacts switched.  Actually, while she was TRYING I went across the food court at the mall.  I got takeout and came back. 

So, I'm trying to figure out my dumb phone, which doesn't get online, check the weather, or any of that.  I'm fine with that. 

At the end of the day, I want to make and recieve phone calls, do an occasional text or picture message.  I can do that - when I figure it out. 

God bless the manual. 

Splat

When I'm depressed, I'm always looking forward to the mania.  When I'm manic, I'm dreading, watching for, depression. 

It may be coming.  Time will tell. 

Ron is pretty loose, talking on the phone. He had a lot to say to God, earlier, but he was surprisingly nice when my cell phone died. 

"Ron" is a verb in our house.  "To Ron" means "To render an electronic device useless".  "He Ronned it".  I don't allow him near my computer. 

However, I'm pretty hard on my cell phones.  I dropped one in an unused toilet.  I drop them (more than one, and sometimes more than once).  Ron had a cell phone in his coat when he was hit by a car.  It survived the accident, only to die when I dropped it a few months later. The last one lasted about 15 months, a pretty good timeline.  They only live a year or so.

Ron has had his cell phone for years.  It was mine first, we got it in 2006 I think.  I remember having it on a trip to visit my sister.  I got my first "smartish" phone in 2010.  I killed it by dropping it a year later, it was OK for months and then one day the touch screen didn't touch.  That's pretty much what happened this time - I dropped it in December (I made it over a year without dropping) and then SPLAT.  It was fine until Galveston, when I set it down on the ground.  I surrounded it with bread and eager seagulls ran around on top of the phone. 

That was the end of the phone.  They didn't defecate, but apparently it's bad for seagulls to walk on a phone. 

Who'd have thought?  Next time, I told Ron, if he wants to hear the seagulls up close we will buy a cheap digital voice recorder and set THAT on the ground, instead. 

He was very nice about getting a new phone, but a little annoyed the call kept going to India.  He asked for "someone without an accent" (meaning, from America).  We got a nice guy. 

So, I have no idea what kind of phone I'm getting.  It does text and do photos, which is what I really wanted.  I didn't like the internet, and the email updates were pretty annoying.  So, I'm sure I'll like whatever I get. 

The technician kept thinking RON wanted a new phone, since his is over 7 years old and mine is a little over a year.  No, he told them, he likes his old phone. 

I can sort of make calls on mine, if someone calls and hangs up I can call them back.  I can't check texts, and I finally started texting with my family (Ron got a better plan last month).  Ron was pretty happy, the new phone is only $2 a month, with a $10 down payment.  I had to keep telling him no, I don't need all that. 

So, we got me a new phone.  Ron was awesome.  I just helped him "treat" Baby Girl.  I contribute by putting treats right by Ron's ear.  She sniffs her way over, he can hear the whole thing, the sniffing, the licking, and the crunching, as the whiskers tickle his ear.  He giggles the whole time. 

Of course I took some treats to "The Big Black Gnarl".  Ron's name for Bubba.  It's a really long story.  One day Ron had a few beers and was sitting on the porch.  He started yelling for a Big Black Gnarl, and a black guy walking by glared at him.  I told Ron, just call him "Gnarl" or "Bubba" when you are outside.  "BBG" can only be an inside name or you're going to get your butt kicked one day. 

Bubba's real name, is actually "Mr Black" but we never address him as such. 

Oh, and Bubba threw up in my bed while I was gone.  Hairball.  Yuck. 

I'm still manic now, obviously. 

So, we had today off.  The repairman could only come tomorrow.  Alright, we accept our day off. 

Besides, it's going to be awful tomorrow and I would rather work than have a day off in the rain. 

We slept in, and I slept great.  No music.  The people behind me appear to have moved in, and praise God, seem to be quiet. 

I got up and took my shower, the usual.  Started my cycle.  So glad I don't have that hassle while traveling.  Everytime I take a trip I seem to have my gift. 

I also seem to be really prone to bladder infections while in Galveston.  I think I beat it this time.  Thank you Lord. 

We went to Walmart.  They got us there early so I had LOTS of time.  I got a pair of bermuda shorts.  Good.  Now I'm set for summer (I have tons of t-shirts).  However, I'm always looking for cute, men's pocket t-shirts.  When I'm stocking, I do a lot of lifting.  I wear my keys and security badge around my neck.  They catch on things, bang on the soda cans, and I worry about damaging my security pass - I must wear it around my neck. 

With a pocket, I can put everything into the pocket and do my stocking.  I look mutated, but I'm OK with that.  I only want to look "hot" for Ron, anyway. 

I love turquoise. I found a lovely turqoise heather (grin) pocket t in "my" size, so I got that.  It will be a nice additiont to the work clothes. 

I try to leave the no-pockets for days off, and the pockets for work.  It's really convenient.

My bras are horribly stretched out and old.  They barely perform.  I found some on clearance, very cute and comfortable.  A few of them cost about as much as the bermudas, but they'll cover me for a year.  Everything, tshirt, shorts, and bras cost about $40.  Definitely in budget, and like I said, I'm fine for clothes now. 

A while back I finally got some new socks, and they have been really nice.  I don't always think about the things I need until they have holes, don't work, or don't fit. 

I don't feel guilty, and it's great to actually buy affordable things I need, when manic.  God knows I needed them. 

Speaking of things I needed, I completely forgot canned cat food and dry cat treats.  They'll live. 

I couldn't find generic soda, so I didn't buy it.  I bought some decaf iced tea mix, I love that stuff.  I drink 2 quarts every night. 

I figured out I drink, on average, between one and a half, to two gallons of liquid every day.  Lithium is diuretic and I have always been a "camel."  Ron thinks camels are very thirsty, for some reason.

I had just enough time to buy some sausage/pancakes on a stick. They looked good and are cheap.  They taste good, too.  I have to be careful with sausage, it can make me really queasy these days.  I also got some sausage biscuits and a medium frozen pizza.  The pizza was only $4.  The last one was delicious. 

I was done, I checked out.  Our ride came pretty quickly, and we went home.  We later went to the bookstore and checked the vending machine.  It needs 3 cases.  We came home and I took a nap. 

Bubba joined me.  I slept great. 

How about some photos?

Peaceful

"Why is it" I told Ron bitterly "We always have horrific terrror attacks during our vacation?" 

Mom and Dad got to town on Saturday.  We went to church on Sunday, I did a small Bible Handout, and then we went to lunch.  They dropped us off at home and I went to bed. 

I didn't sleep as well as I would have liked, but found out I don't have as many problems with "the music" (the music that may or may not be present) if I turn up the volume on my noisemaker.  I got up, took my shower, and made sure my bags were packed. 

We were going to Galveston.  Since Mom and Dad wanted to go to the "nice" restaurant, I brought my little black dress.  Happily it is synthetic and packs well.  I brought sandals, wore my workboots, and took my foam slip on shoes (fake crocs).  I brought a few changes of clothes and a few items for Ron. 

Cell phone chargers, medication, blah, blah. 

Then, off to work.  When I got to work I realized I had forgotten the crackers.  I'd bought them but had my hands full with Ron, 2 backpacks (he wanted his own bag), and a tote bag. 

We had some trials at work on Monday.  One machine was down.  Another one went down as I serviced it.  We got them going again.  I was happy leaving the machines, because they looked OK, especially after I stocked a dozen cases of soda. 

I got the sandwiches, bought some chips from the other vendor, and off we went. 

We got to Galveston in an hour.  In a car.  Car people can travel very quickly.  For Ron and I it's Metrolift to the bus station, and then the bus to Galveston.  Then a cab to the hotel. 

We just went straight to the hotel "Come back" they told us.  We got custard and ate it, watching the water.  The custard did not agree with me, later. 

I fed some seagulls - shocking and out of character, I know.  It's not a trip without seagulls.  I just love the racket they make.  We got a few snacks and drinks for later (I wanted to stay hydrated).  In fact, that's a good idea. 

I'm back.  The weather was lovely, warm and humid, overcast, and breezy.  We could smell the seaweed and the fresh, salty air.  The beaches were pretty clear and the sand was nicely packed. 

The lifegaurds got a kick out of watching me feed the birds.  I'd hold a slice of bread in the air, coaxing the seagulls.  They'd come by and rip chunks off it, but some would grab the whole slice and drop it on the sand, to the delight of the lazy seagulls crowded at my feet.  They'd make a cacaphony as they fought over the precious bread. 

We went back to the hotel, checked in, and Ron took a nap.  I took a nice shower.  It's a cheap hotel, but clean, and near the beach.  They have a fantastic showerhead with tons of settings.  I washed my hair on a massage setting, then went to the mist setting.  I got out. 

"God" I wondered "How do I do my hair?"  The usual ponytail didn't seem right, and I didn't want to leave it down - it was breezy and would look like a nest in 2 minutes.  I knew Mom wanted photos.  I looked at the hair clip in my hand. 

I like to clip up my hair, after I wash and condition it.  It stays out of the way and I can wash my back easily. 

Why not clip up my hair?   OK.  Thanks, Lord.  (We're buds, I ask Him about everything).  I got dressed, but my hair wasn't really dry.  The hotel had provided a hairdryer, bolted to the wall.  I dried my hair for a little bit (I never do this, in fact Ron appropriated my old hair dryer for defrosting the freezer).  I used to make some really "big hair" in the 80's and early 90's, when my hair was short, and I could use a little volume in the front.  I bent over and dried my hair upside down for a couple minutes.  When I stood up I had a huge halo, extending almost a foot around my head.  I laughed, got it tamed (I had some nice front volume, though), and clipped it up.  It behaved very nicely. 

Then I got Ron up, made him put on a buttondown with his twill slacks, and off we went to dinner.  That's when Mom told me about the race bombing. 

Columbine happened on our first long vacation, back in 1999.  Ron and I had each accrued 2 weeks of vacation, and we intended to use them all.  We came to Texas, and spent most of it in Galveston.  Disaster hit, flags went to half mast (like today), and it was a rather odd vacation.  It was the only time we ever got 2 weeks, too. 

We had a lovely dinner.  I had the fried everything plate and gave the oysters to Mom.  Ron had the shrimp brochette.  He liked the finger food aspect, I didn't have to cut up his food for him (remember he only has one functional hand).  Dad had crab cakes and Mom had a seafood and pasta thing.  Mom and I split a dessert. 

Back to our rooms, and bed.  I tend to get up pretty early. 

I didn't sleep as well as I would have liked.  The bed was fine.  The hotel was pretty quiet.  Ron and I specifically aim to go to Galveston on weeknights during school.  It's a lot more peaceful. 

However, my cell phone got evil and sent me an email alert in the middle of the night, even though I had turned it off.  Then the garbage truck came by at 3 AM. 

I got up around 5:20. Ron had been up all night anyway, reading a book.  I got dressed, packed everything, and went to the beach. I had a nice hour to myself.  Seagulls, water, beach. 

Mom and Dad got up, we got some breakfast and went to the fishing pier.  If you live in the Houston area, the one on 61st street.  I was crushed the old one was ruined by Hurricane Ike, and delighted they rebuilt it. 

No, I don't fish, but they have an observation deck for tourists if you buy something.  We did.  Mom got some nice candid shots of the fishing.  I just enjoyed it (that's where I spent my birthday in 2011).  It's really nice. 

Then we came back and got Ron, went to the beach.  Ron stayed in the car with Dad and I fed seagulls nearby.  Dad enjoyed watching from a distance while Mom got shots.  She's very good.  I'll be putting them up when I get them.

Ron really enjoyed hearing them.  I threw slices of bread against the Seawall, under the car window (the road is about 15 feet above the sand, along the top of the Seawall).  Ron could hear the squabbling very clearly.  He was having the time of his life.  So was I. 

Mom and Dad seemed to be having fun, too.  I like that about myself, when I go to Galveston I can eat value meals, stay in a cheap motel, get a loaf of bread, and have the time of my life.  I like to think I am a simple person. 

After that we drove around a little bit and left the Island.  We got some fast food on the way home. 

Pretty soon we're home!  Yay! 

Ron's cat raced to meet him.  I thought they were adorable. 

We put everything up and Mom and Dad left.  I quietly confided my cell phone was being wierd.  Ron asked me to reboot it one more time (I had, a couple times, by then).  If not I can get a new one on our plan. 

Hopefully the same kind. 

Ron went to bed.  When he's home, he's in bed.  He confided he loves to hear me talking to Baby Girl. "I love to hear you two". I thought that was cute.  Of course I talk to the cats.  I don't think anything of it, but Ron told me he loves it. 

I'm glad I can make him happy.  She's pretty cute, and you know how much I love my Bubba (that big, fat, handsome, black cat). 

I got a nap.  Oh, I slept so well.  When I woke up Bubba was next to me, grooming himself.  I always sleep so well with a cat in the bed. 

So I got up, did my God Time (I didn't get it this morning) and turned on my computer. 

Obviously I couldn't announce I was out of town - that's just stupid.  But, I'm home now, and it was a good trip. 

I think my parents found it nice and peaceful. 

The best moment

"I can't imagine anything worse" I told Ron "Than bombing marathon runners at the finish line.  That's the happiest place on Earth."  I sighed. 

I don't consider myself a runner anymore, even though I ran a half marathon (13.1 miles) back in 2004. You can see the race photos in the slide show.  One is taken at the halfway point, and then the finish line photo.  I was really happy because I had beaten my goal time by half an hour - half an hour faster than I thought.  I was delighted. 

After a breathless, adrenaline fueled phone call to Ron, I walked around for a while afterward, in a happy glow.  3:02:50 I had done it, and done it better than I hoped.  It was one of the best moments of my life. 

Then someone turned that moment into the worst moment of their lives.  That's abominable.  It's like bombing a daycare. 

I continued, talking to Ron "They are very physical people, they are always pushing themselve to go better and faster." I turned to my parents "Someone like Ron, if he gets a little worse, so what?"  They objected, so I explained "Ron isn't out there running miles a day.  He doesn't need to run, so it doesn't matter if he can". 

[Side note, even before Ron's accident he was not athletic.  He walked a lot to work and home, but that was a means to an end, not something he did for pleasure.  Years before that we had taken nice long walks and a hike or two, but not in a long while.  Neither of us was accustomed to it at the time of his accident - so we didn't really lose it.  Ron walking became Ron in the wheelchair but it wasn't a horrible transition.]

Now imagine someone - the best time of their life is the time spent out there running.  Maybe they run on a nature trail.  Maybe some of them run through their cities.  Some run along a beach (I see that everytime I go to Galveston), through the woods, or the desert.  It's the high point of their day - that run.  And now, a lot of them don't have it due to their injuries.  That's going to be hell - a very special hell for them.

One a "normal" person can't understand.  They need to run, and it's gone.  Some of them may never run again - I heard some of the injuries are horrific. 

I'm sure we'll have some "blade running" heroes.  Marathon runners are a special kind of tough. 

Of course I am praying for them and their families.  Of course I pray they turn to God.  I am very glad my chuch (Calvary Chapel) will be right there lending aid and comfort to the hurting. 

And, as commanded in the Bible, I'm praying for whoever do this.  I, personally, would like them to rot in hell. 

God says pray for them, though, so I will.  It will probably run along the lines of "Take care of them" until He softens my heart. 

I will be praying for the victims and their families every day. That's a given. 

I finally got a photo!

Mom made me a collage.  :) 

I'm up for the Challenge

Huh.  Blogger changed the format. 

A minute ago, I was stacking Bibles on my bookcase.  I'd had 60 whole Bibles, 3 cases, but I handed them all out in the last week.   I got some more today and put them in the vacant spot. 

As I stepped back from the bookcase, I had to laugh, because, facing me, three times over, were the words "Are YOU up for the challenge?" 

You see, back in 2005 Thomas Nelson did the Million Bible Challenge.  By 2010, they had sold six million of the Bibles - they are sold pretty much at cost with some evangelism material inside.  I  have handed out hundreds.  I like them.  The recipients like them.  It's a solid translation and even the KJV only crowd can bend a little for a New King James. 

In fact, my personal Bible is a NKJV.  It's a compact size, softcover, in a case I bought separately.  I have the case stuffed with scripture booklets and various tracts.  I think the Bible cost me less than $10. After "The water bottle incident" it was unfit for giveaway but it's fine for personal use. 

Anyway, I laughed, because through God I'm up for the challenge.  In fact, here's what I did today.  Got up early.  I heard the music again last night but Ron figured that out. 

All things considered, I slept OK.  I got up, turned on the dryer, took my shower, cleaned the shower, and did my God Time.  Then I took the clean clothes out of the just-stopped dryer and hung them up, except for my handout orange t-shirt (pictures coming).  It is impossible to miss. 

I paired that with my cargo shorts and wore that to church, because I handout planned after.  Mom and Dad came over, they're in town.  It was great to see them. 

We went to church.  Nice not to have to hassle with Metrolift!  I had all my handout material in the trunk. 

After church, my handout spot was empty so I did it while Mom and Dad watched, narrating for Mom.  Mom got a kick out of the one driver - she wouldn't touch the Bible but her passenger wanted one. So, the driver made me put it in through the sunroof.  I did. 

I handed out a lot of Spanish, too.  That is a great corner for Spanish.  I could probably bring a whole case of Spanish for distribution.  I had singles, couples, and whole families wanting Spanish, and I was happy to provide. 

I had plenty of English, too.  Mom says I gave two to some men driving a church van!  She found that pretty funny. 

Then we went to lunch.  I was so thrilled to see my favorite waitress at the taqueria.  Mom and Dad loved their food and we gobbled ours, too.  I made sure they got the "double" so they'd have leftovers. 

Mom and Dad came back to the house, she got some really cute photos of Baby Girl.  Bubba is not a fan of the papparazi.  He never allows her to take his photo. 

But, she got plenty of Baby Girl.  She told me she had 40 of Ron feeding Baby Girl treats. 

They left and I tried to take a nap, but the kids next door decided to play with the soccer ball.  They kicked it into the side of our house a few times and Ron got upset.  About that time the father came out and started yelling in Spanish, so I don't think he was too happy either.  They stopped. 

Now, I'm not a parent but my aunt had 4 boys, and she says "little boys have a lot of energy" so I guess it's normal.  I try to be tolerant because, in many other ways, they are very good neighbors.  Most importantly to me, they tolerate the cats. 

I saw a really scary "neighbor" on one of those house-flipping shows, and I turned it off thanking God he lived thousands of miles away! 

Speaking of neighbors, someone is moving into the house behind us.  They are renting.  It was posted for about $1,200 a month, for a 4 bedroom.  That's about equivalent to an apartment, in this zip code (a 3 bedroom apartment/townhome runs about a thousand a month).

I know we couldn't rent a 3 bedroom anything in a decent area for $750 a month (about what we pay with taxes and insurance).  As it is, the mortgage is about $450.  Very reasonable. 

During church, the pastor was talking: we praise God a lot after He delivers us, but we never thank him for the deliverance to come.   We act like He's forgotten us and will let us down (my take). 

Good point.  So, instead of worrying about the new neighbors, I will try to focus on thanking God for them ahead of time. 

Worst case, Ron has the address if he needs to call in a noise complaint.  Speaking of, last night he figured out the source of the very low bass notes we hear all night, every night. 

He went for a little walk, with his cane. It wore him out.  It is very loud where our street intersects the main street, but as the goes either direction on the main street it dims.  Across the bayou, in the industrial park, they have a new building.  Whatever they are doing in that business they are playing some really LOUD music every night.  They must have a night shift; but it explains why it is so loud every night, all night. 

It makes me wonder about the amplifier.  It must be huge.  We plan to find out the address and then we can either go by and politely tell them "You are keeping up your neighbors" with Ron looking blind and pathetic in the wheelchair (his word, pathetic); or just call in a noise complaint. 

The police must get really tired of us. 

They will have a party the day we get raptured!   "The pests are gone!" 

I am really happy God let my mania prolong, long enough that I could do 3 handouts and show Mom and Dad - they loved watching me work.  I feel like the Handouts are my job.  Working for Ron pays the bills. 

I got more Bibles, and have been told more are coming.  I really need some Children's, and Spanish.  I don't feel led to get the Spanish Children's because they need to learn to read English anyway. 

So, Bible Boxes, yes, I am up for the challenge.  God's strength is made perfect in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9), so that means He can do a lot! 

I am convinced I could not do this if I were "normal".  I think it takes a special kind of crazy, broken, person to do a Bible Handout. 

Not an enemy

I could still hear the bass notes on the music, pretty low, last night.  I also had a terrible time sleeping.  I think the latter related more to my consumption of a Diet Dr Pepper around 6 PM.  I know better than to do that.  I lay in bed vowing I would not have any caffeine after 11 AM. 

I stuck to that today, and managed to get a pretty good nap too.   

When Ron woke up I told him about the racket, and how I'd gone over to ask them to turn it off.  Ron was horrified.  "You did what?  Never, EVER, do that!  They could have been... grabbed off the street..." (telling Ron it was only 8:15 PM didn't help).  "ALWAYS wake me up.  Always!" 

I was shocked he was so upset.  I didn't think it was a big deal.  Admittedly, with FAS, I am pretty clueless on a lot of social rules.  I was about 30 before I figured out people didn't really want to know how I was doing, they wanted to hear "Good" only. 

Now and then Ron surprises me, and that was a moment.  I realized at that moment Ron is very protective of me. 

I guess you could say we are mutually protective.  I'm sure some expert could find some interesting labels for our relationship; I know we are co dependent and interdependent, because we each have different strengths.  I can see, he's blind.  He can "brain" where I can't.  I have the physical strength he lacks. 

Ron was a big help with me, cleaning.  I know he finally understands I lack the brain hardware to be the tidy person he wants.  It's not a will issue, it's a "can" issue - so he was very helpful.  He wanted to clean off the table (tools).  I asked him to do it, because they are tools, and asked him to find a place.  I got him a 5-gallon bucket, he loaded it up, put some stuff in his cabinet, and the table looks OK now.  He was a little indignant when I cleaned the litter boxes - "Ask me and I will always do it" he said.  Awesome. 

I feel like I have a team-mate now and not an enemy. 

"I'm going to lose my temper".

I'm pretty pleased with how I handled myself. 

As you may know, I always seem to have some kind of hassle around the Bible Handouts.  I'm used to that.  It can be all kinds of things.  Maniacally barking dogs.  Ron "off the chain".  Both.  [eek face]  I'm sick.  Ron's sick.  Someone I love is sick.  Problems with the cats - like when Bubba proudly lets live rats loose in my bedroom. 

You get the idea.  Drama.  Hate it. 

Sooooo.  We'll call them #3.  #3 used to be a nice Asian family, with an elderly exemption.  Apparently, they are renting now, because a young latino family lives there. 

Let me be clear: I love the 3 latino families living directly by me.  They are great. 

However, these guys are more "ghetto".  They like to play loud ooom-pah-pah music all night long (literally).  The first time they turned it off when they saw me, obviously tracking the music.  It was 5 AM.  Tracking backwards, it was probably the night they moved in.  The second time, Ron just called the police. 

Tonight, Ron was asleep.  I thought, well, maybe they will understand.  So, I walked over, pretty upset.  Ron and I pay a lot of money to live in a quiet neighborhood, and then some renter wants to come in and muck it all up. 

But this post isn't about them.  Because Baby Girl came with me, following me like a faithful puppy.  They didn't see her.  I worked very hard at maintaining my composure. 

They were in the house with the door open; the truck doors open, and the music blaring.  I walked up the door and said "Excuse me, could you please turn down your music?  I live 2 blocks away and I can hear it in my house.  I need to get up at 4 AM."  The young lady assured me they would turn it down, and of course they didn't. 

Baby Girl returned with me, frisking through the yard.  I had to grin at her.  It is really hard to be angry when I've got a frolicking kitten.

And the music is off...

Because, when I got home, I called the police.  They were very busy, I told them I hated to bother them, and politely asked them to go talk to #3  "I went over and asked them politely, and if I go back I'll lose my temper".  I am probably still on the books as "crazy" after that incident 2 years ago. 

He said he'd get someone right out, and they did, because the music is off.  Now I can go to bed.  I'm not saying the place has to be a morgue, but I don't want to hear your music when I'm lying in bed, with my noisemaker on, in my house, 2 blocks away.  I think that is a reasonable request.  None of my other neighbors is compelled to act that way. 

I am certain it is awful and a horrible witness to hope they move out soon.  I will have to pray for them, maybe send them some Bibles in Spanish.  They just seem like dumb young kids who don't understand that some people need to get up early on the weekend. 

But I do, and I need my sleep. 

Another ghetto handout

All done!  I handed out 54! 

I had brought more, Spanish, because I HATE it when they ask if I have Spanish, and I do, but I left it at home.  I'd rather bring an extra 40 or so then run short. 

However, I was wiped out of everything English and about 5 Spanish in, according to my husband, 23 minutes.  They kept me running! 

I had a LOT of people who saw Ron's sign (we were at a T intersection, and he waved his sign to the long arm of the T), pulled into the gas station, and laid on their horns until I ran over and distributed whatever they wanted. 

People go nuts for the Childrens' Bibles - everyone wants them for the kids.  So, at each car, I was doing a couple of adults and a couple of kids, each.  The kids in the backseat love it when I reach a Bible to them, as the parents smile and hold their Bibles. 

I was glad I had brought the Spanish, because I had some takers, including some guys who worked for a painting contractor.  There was a traffic problem that backed up traffic on the other side of the street and I did about 10 Bibles as a result.  I know God did that.

I thought it was interesting, a pastor handed me his card and asked me to pray for him.  His name is Michael. 

The driver who took us to the spot in the ghetto is also a pastor, making some extra money.  We had a very good talk on the way.

We had the wheelchair.  Ron and I bought it from a tool company about 4 years ago.  It's welded steel, heavy but good.  As I pushed him home from the bus stop (we took the bus home, and it's about half a mile to the house), and turned the corner, it made a loud POP and the wheel started to wobble.  I'm glad whatever happened happened right in front of the house.  Ron's going to have a look at it but he thinks it is fine.  If not we can afford to get a new one (they are not expensive). 

I intend to, if Mom wants, to do a small demonstration handout on Sunday after church, in the area near my house (she will feel comfortable there).  I think that will be fun for all of us.  So, please pray on that. 

Oh, and I saw a couple of police cars.  The first had tinted windows, but the second one (I waved at both) waved back and smiled, pointing me out to her partner.  :pound  I thought that was cute. 
As always, I had plenty of gapers and double-takers but I don't mind.  I'll get them on the next handout. 

Thank you for praying!