Through a Fog of Mucus

Sick as a dog!
Sick as a dog!
sick as a dog . . . .

Now why do we say that? Does a dog get any sicker than any other animal? Where's the compassion? Where's the feeling? Where's the love?

Had to go into work though, even though I thought my ribs were breaking with each cough. Seems Julie, the chick who really runs PAC is leaving and it's all me now. Today was her last day. And I didn't manage speech until about 4pm this afternoon.

I don't need the job. I don't need the money. I don't need the stress. What is wrong with me???

My Heart

Every single night, when I finally put the book down because the ambien is making the words fuzzed, I reach over and stare at the picture of my mother that is next to my bed, flip off the light and I put my head on the pillow and listen to my heart.

It beats so intense that I am afraid Robert can hear it. The power of it is felt from one side of my skull to the other while my eyes sting in a kind of sadistic relief. It is a furious throb that seems to echo "One down . . .One down . . ."

I can feel myself measuring time, a countdown. To what? Nothing good. Like a bell tolling . . . there are a hundred possibilities that whisper soft; Robert gone? Rob or Jarred hurt? The government taken over?? Moral Collapse? Being alone. Totally alone.

"Gather ye rosebuds while you may . . . "

There is something coming . . .I can only ignore that fact until I put my head down and count the heartbeats.

It ain't good.

Now I have to go coax sleep.

I Feel Ill

The 'Friends of Hillary Clinton' called my phone!

They wanted to make sure that I was going to vote for change.

The 'friends of Hillary Clinton' were actually talking on my phone.

They were in my house . . . dripping liberalism . . . .

My phone allowed the 'friends of Hillary Clinton speak!' The whole dining room heard it!


I'm thinking of getting a new phone. Maybe a new number. The old one seems so defiled.

Fool Me Once . . .

Sitting here waiting for our new kid to come over. We're having an exchange student stay until May. And why in the world didn't I say no? I am and will forever be a pushover.

Last night we had people over and got to talking about how I let people take advantage of me. The person who 'warned'me that was all angry because he was afraid I would regret the stuff I do to help out people who've taken advantage of him.

But you know, so what? So what if they do? So what if I get rooked?

In the scheme of things, does it really matter?

Isn't watching out for me Gods job?

My time

I am so much better with my time when Robert's gone and I have a job. I just am more productive. While I do miss the reading time, still, it's better than waking up and saying 'What in the world am I going to do today?'

I used to be excited for Mondays because they were laundry day and then Tuesday's because they were bathroom days. Pretty sad when a toilet bowl gives you a sense of importance, huh?

And I can't get my spell check to work on this dashboard. Now I don't have the time to even try to figure it out.

A Whole New World

I guess I've gone back to work. Robert is like NEVER home. And the horses are too hard to get on by myself. And I can only watch the Waltons for so long before I just don't care about John Boy or Mary Ellen any more. And I'm not good at cleaning. And I put all my movies into albums so they're not in my face to watch anymore.

Besides . . .

God really needs me in this place and I guess that takes care of all arguments against it.

It's nice to feel needed . And wanted.

While I was Goin Through Jaci's Pictures . . .

A while ago Jaci told me that there were pictures on her blog of her when she was little and then growing up. And I meant to look at them, but never got around to it. Until today.

I thought it was Cynthia. The pictures of Jaci as a little girl and the little girl I tried so hard to adopt were so close, they could be sisters. It brought back a lot of stuff I thought I'd 'gotten over'.

The question is this: Did I love Cynthia because she looked like Jaci? Or do I love Jaci now because she looks like Cynthia?

I guess the answer is 'Yeah.'.

Brandee

Isn't she pretty?

When I was in England, I got to talk to Brandeelots more than usual. Got to watch her and Rob and her and Kaia and her and Ava. The instant messaging thing just don't cut it.

I miss her and Rob.

Thanks, Jacki

I was reading Jaci's blog yeaterday and remembered everything she said.

I know that feeling of 'screaming bored' at just staying at the house with kids that are unable to carry on a conversation. The desperate clinging to Robert when he came home because I was ready to kill to talk to someone who would talk back. Before I got into the Church, I was so lonley.

So, I began my new book because those feelings are part of that. Because Jaci reminded me of those times. And because I just might be able to publish something that makes people go; "YEAH! I know what you're saying! Preach it!"

Lola Faye Showers

Lola Faye is gone.

Wow. She was the first person who helped us when we moved here in 1996. She had an article in the christian woman magazine at the same time i had my short story 'The Madaris Clinic'. She used to blast me with her little quips - whether I needed it or not. When we went to sing for here last Saturday, I can see here there, tiny, so fragile and smiling. And when she wore purple, it lit up her face like a rainbow. She glowed.

The thing I can't seem to shake is when she came up to Robert, the leukemia advanced, the pain unreal and said that ". . . something had to be done." When he asked what he could do for her, she said, serious as a judge: "The smell of the crickets in the kitchen! Robert, as an elder, you must do something."

Age fever

We were at Andy and Amy's unloading things for the yard sell tomorrow (insert heavy sigh here) and I was listening to Andy try to get through life with the mountain cedar ripping his body to shreds. His throat was all clogged and his face was all 'sickey' and he just wasn't moving with his usual spring.

. . . and then . . .

Then I laughed because I have absolutley no 'spring' anymore - in fact, I'm like a drought ridden August day. I live in a perpetual 'sickey' face because of age and horses and age. And my throat was awffly clogged too - from all the dust on my stuff!

At least Andy gets to feel better when the cedar blows away.



*sigh*