So far we have:
Wolfie
lil'Wolfie
Lesli
Kassha
Mrs. Kassha
Zelrig
& Nob
Last night was when it all started, and like so many things, it all happened at once. The downstairs toilet started backing up and gracefully rolling raw sewage onto floor, which then traveled in a slow but determined manner into the laundry room...giving all the dirty clothes on the floor that extra push towards needing to be washed right away!, and eventually meandering into the kitchen where things like raw sewage are enemies to be vanquished as quickly as possible. Of course, an after-hours emergency call to a plumber couldn't be the end of all that seemed to happen at once.
The middle child needed retrieving from football practice leaving me with the incessantly barking huge dog, the strange snake-bearing man in my front yard, the 2 other children, and the impending delivery of a pizza.
The pizza made its appearance just as the husband and middle son arrived, adding to the bedlam. As I juggled dogs, an excited son who wanted to tell me all about his day, a daughter who kept wandering off as I was trying to hand her pizzas & drinks, a husband who was attempting to get past me to get into the house, aaaand sign and tip the delivery guy the phone, of course, started to ring.
After getting everyone and thing into the house the husband answred it. Woohoo! An oppertunity to take part in a Town Hall meeting with our Congressman. I knew what this meant to him, so I assured him I could handle everything else. Which I managed fairly well, really. Lesli called to say she was on her way, the snake-bearing plumbing guy walked in and seemed as shocked to see me as I was to see him (mostly I was surprised by his youth and his openness...my fears of the stranger evaporated). While juggling the Town Hall on the phone the husband found some plumbing access point that had been expertly squirrelled away under the front bushes and the ivy ground cover. This avoided major surgy on the house's plumbing and, instead, it underwent an outpatient procedure (saving us a few hundred dollars along the way).
The plumber left, happy not to have had to come in to the house of children, computer games, and barking dogs just before Lesli arrived.
It would be hard to exagerate how grateful I am for her. She's a remarkable woman in her own right, and has a large gentle and kind heart. I remember her coming in, I remember going into the living room to try and help fold laundry and to tell her the goodnews about Little Man (after all, I think a lot of the confidence he found in reading came from her private lessons)...the next thing I remember is counting by twos, somewhere around 60, I think. Lesli was hugging me from behind, leaned awkwardly over the back of my office chair. The numbers didn't come easily, but she helped. I had a moment of being embarassed, even though I knew it wasn't a bad attack...but I dismissed it quickly, I didn't have any energy for being embarassed. We talked a bit while I came out of it and when she went to help the husband herd the children towards bed he came in to see if I was ok with her having seen that, and with her help. I had another moment of wondering if I should have been ok with it, or if I should be ashamed. I am ok, though...my friend saw the truth. She didn't run away, she still loves me...maybe loves me more since she can understand a bit more now. God gives us gifts of light even in the darkest of shadows, we just have to be willing to open our eyes and see beyond the black that seems to hover before our eyes.
I know she left at somepoint to go get Nob from the airport, and I went to bed. I took a mildly dodgy combonantion of meds, but after reading on the Net I'm certain it was well within the safe zone.
I woke this morning to my wonderful husband and the dogs, well, dogpiling me. His kisses tasted of coffee, which definately helped me shake off the last of the cobwebs. I went downstairs and said goodmorning to Nob while the husband brought me a cup of coffee.
*sigh* Unfortunately, I'm suddenly tired and I'm meant to be recouping before even more people show up. Everyone went to dinner without me, and no one made a fuss about it...which was wonderful! Some of these people are really good friends.
Hooray for the Information Age
Friday, October 10, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Shake, Rattle, & Klonopin
Back in the world of the living, I seem to spend a good bit of my time watching the world roll by like a bored kid in the backseat on a long road trip. Days click by like so many telephone posts along the roadside, a quick dark moment breaking up the monotony of the long dried fields behind them.
It's remarkable how well that analogy actually works. I remember being that kid in the backseat, my chin resting on the top of the door while my nose left a distinct smudge on the window. Sometimes beyond the telephone posts there would be a house. I'd train my eyes on every detail I could, trying to put together an idea of what kind of people lived there...what their story was. The brain works quickly, which is good if you're trying to take in every car, the color of the curtains, and the condition of the roof as you're going 70+ mph down the highway.
I say the analogy works because my days are like that monotonous drive, and when a day is different it's much like one of those rare houses. I drink in the detail like a dry sponge. Which is painful, really. I remember smearing my nose across the glass trying to keep those houses in sight as long as I could, and then I'd sigh and go back to center...watching the telephone posts.
When I know something different is coming it's terrifying, while it goes on I usually have a great time (or at least handle myself like a normal human without much...if any...effort), and when it's gone...as I start to dry out again I sink in on myself.
Have you ever purchased a sponge that's pre-moistened? They do that so it won't look pathetic and unattractive, btw. So you take it home and use it. It works great. In the first couple of uses the odd mildly bubbly stuff they use to keep it puffy in the package washes out. Let's say this is a kitchen sponge, so it gets a good bit of use. The first week or so it doesn't ever really dry out. Then something happens and it sits for a couple of days on the edge of the sink. When you come back to it the center, where it's been squeezed out so many times, is nearly flat and the ends curl up slightly...and the whole thing is sort of crusty and brittle. Then you chuck it into the dish-water and after a few minutes it's reformed, but it's puffier than before. It's left to dry out a couple more times over the next month, and each time it's rehydrated the spaces designed to hold water are weaker. It starts to fray a bit, right along the edges and eventually it begins to tear. I'm betting you see my point. Sucks being a sponge. ;)
This weekend we'll have people to the house. I love people, I love entertaining...I'm damn good at it. Problem is, I've already started to tear a bit, and the anticipation of being rehydrated keeps sending me into blind panic. Litterally blind, I see big patches of white, my mouth tastes like I've been chewing aluminum foil, and I shake. Granted I shake nearly all the time now. Xanex doesn't stop the shaking, it helps the terror, but not the shaking. So, not exactly against Dr.'s orders, I've gone back to my old friend Klonopin when I start looking like a frigging parkenson's patient. As it is I can't eat in public anymore, I can't trust my hands not to start shaking badly enough to land whatever was meant for my mouth in my lap.
It's remarkable how well that analogy actually works. I remember being that kid in the backseat, my chin resting on the top of the door while my nose left a distinct smudge on the window. Sometimes beyond the telephone posts there would be a house. I'd train my eyes on every detail I could, trying to put together an idea of what kind of people lived there...what their story was. The brain works quickly, which is good if you're trying to take in every car, the color of the curtains, and the condition of the roof as you're going 70+ mph down the highway.
I say the analogy works because my days are like that monotonous drive, and when a day is different it's much like one of those rare houses. I drink in the detail like a dry sponge. Which is painful, really. I remember smearing my nose across the glass trying to keep those houses in sight as long as I could, and then I'd sigh and go back to center...watching the telephone posts.
When I know something different is coming it's terrifying, while it goes on I usually have a great time (or at least handle myself like a normal human without much...if any...effort), and when it's gone...as I start to dry out again I sink in on myself.
Have you ever purchased a sponge that's pre-moistened? They do that so it won't look pathetic and unattractive, btw. So you take it home and use it. It works great. In the first couple of uses the odd mildly bubbly stuff they use to keep it puffy in the package washes out. Let's say this is a kitchen sponge, so it gets a good bit of use. The first week or so it doesn't ever really dry out. Then something happens and it sits for a couple of days on the edge of the sink. When you come back to it the center, where it's been squeezed out so many times, is nearly flat and the ends curl up slightly...and the whole thing is sort of crusty and brittle. Then you chuck it into the dish-water and after a few minutes it's reformed, but it's puffier than before. It's left to dry out a couple more times over the next month, and each time it's rehydrated the spaces designed to hold water are weaker. It starts to fray a bit, right along the edges and eventually it begins to tear. I'm betting you see my point. Sucks being a sponge. ;)
This weekend we'll have people to the house. I love people, I love entertaining...I'm damn good at it. Problem is, I've already started to tear a bit, and the anticipation of being rehydrated keeps sending me into blind panic. Litterally blind, I see big patches of white, my mouth tastes like I've been chewing aluminum foil, and I shake. Granted I shake nearly all the time now. Xanex doesn't stop the shaking, it helps the terror, but not the shaking. So, not exactly against Dr.'s orders, I've gone back to my old friend Klonopin when I start looking like a frigging parkenson's patient. As it is I can't eat in public anymore, I can't trust my hands not to start shaking badly enough to land whatever was meant for my mouth in my lap.
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