A lot about black women

I've been getting those "happy Christmas cards, we just have such a glorious life" in the mail. 

Sometimes they make me mad.  Sometimes I think no one can have that good a life.  Sometimes I mentally write my own card: "Heather battled more frequent episodes of depression as Ron continued his slow and steady slide into alcoholism.  Sales continued to plummet, leading to increased worry about finances.  Biscuit continues to vomit everywhere, including Heather's bed.  Torbie scared Heather by developing a bladder infection this summer, costing nearly $300."  You get the idea. 

I won't be doing a year in review this year.  Too depressing.  Ron has back surgery, long recovery, thousands of dollars out of pocket, and it didn't work.  In fact, his back is worse, so bad even the radiologist seems amazed he is functioning. 

I got up, with the headache.  Yay me.  Fed Biscuit.  Took my shower.  I didn't take one yesterday so I needed it.  My hair actually looked OK but I could tell it would be getting greasy if I didn't get it this morning. 

I had a very interesting discussion with a black woman one day, about her hair.  And mine.  I explained my hair gets very greasy if I don't wash it pretty much every day.  She said her hair doesn't get greasy, and it will get too brittle if she does wash it every day.  So she can't, and I have to.  I found that interesting.  It's not often "we" can have these discussions. 

I will never forget my shock when one black woman told me "Most of what you see on us (black women) is not our real hair."  She explained about wigs and weaves as I gaped in shock.  She said it is very common for a black woman to slap her hair if the glue holding her hair in place is itching.  She doesn't want to dislodge the glue, or the hair, by scratching so she has to slap at it.  It explained a lot of formerly unfathomable behavior to me.  Personally, I like a black woman in braids, or natural hair.  They've mastered that in a way white women can only attempt. 

I admire and respect black women.  My first experience with a black woman, over a period of years she ran "my" daycare.  She was very competent, professional, kind, and caring.  A really nice change from my drunken, neglectful, mother.  I'm sure I was a real PITA but she was always very kind.  A friend once gave me a lecture about being a "strong black woman" when Ron was going through a bad phase back in 1994.  A black woman, he told me, was strong and stood by her man.  She took care of her own emotional needs if he couldn't.  She didn't quit just because times got tough.  It was what I needed to hear. 

My continued experience (a lot of black women on the paratransit service) has shown they are very emotionally strong, hard workers, and kind.  I could do a lot worse than to know them. 

So, back to work.  I went to Sam's and got all our supplies.  I got Ron a hot dog.  The manager doesn't like Ron because he's always complaining, not that I blame her. 

Jack came and we got the truck loaded.  We went to work and unloaded.  It was supposed to be a "park it" sort of day, just shove everything in there and park it, but it didn't work that way.  They gave us about twice the time we asked for.  I did pastry, sold one right off the cart in fact, and then did "big chips".  I helped Ron.  If I have enough time, I can help Ron with his work, even though it would probably be faster just to do it myself.  But Ron needs to do something and I want to respect what he can do.  I put all the drinks in the fridge.  I made sure the fridge wasn't pressed against the wall, we had some problems with that, and it was affecting the fridge. 

Got all that done.  I ate a bag of pretzel pieces but otherwise stayed on plan. 

I hadn't taken my antidepressant due to the vicious headache.  I only just killed it by taking 3 aspirin.  It's interesting, all the painkillers, you only take one or two, but aspirin you can take 3, every 6 hours.  At least according to my Walmart generic label. 

I had more energy than usual due to not taking my pills - and this is where it gets dangerous.  It is very easy to skip more and more often, I imagine, once you have started.  If my headache ever abates, I will take it, if I can't, I can't.  But I will take it bright and early tomorrow. 

Now I want some chips.  I'll be back. 

I "can't" take my antidepressant when I have a bad headache, because it makes the vessels in my head clamp down, causing, or provoking, a headache.  It does this every day.  The one time I tried taking my antidepressant with a bad headache, I went straight to "migraine" and vomited everything up anyway. 

Since I had some energy, I wrapped the outside faucets, watered the purple wandering jew, watered the jasmine, and clipped a blanket around the base of the jasmine.  The "purple things" have persisted through 14 years of home ownership.  Nothing kills them, not drought, heat, or cold.  They don't get bugs.  They just grow.  My yard guy whacks them whenever he comes to visit.  Now I'm ready for the cold snap. 

Watering a plant makes it better able to withstand bad weather.  I could probably make some spiritual thing about that, but truth is, I didn't do my God Time today. 

Then I went inside and took a nap.  Ron was asleep when I got up at 3.  Since I still had some energy (not manic, I think, just a lack of grogginess from the antidepressant), I stripped the bed.  I put everything in the washer on "soak".  Then I made up the bed with the heated mattress pad and a fresh set of sheets.  That done, I did my blog and message boards. 

Not a bad day's work. 

I will call Dad in 45 minutes and see if he feels like talking. 

Since the cold snap is coming tomorrow Ron doesn't want to go anywhere.  And I am craving a hamburger. 

I might get a cheeseburger pizza.