May 4, 2010
Friction
I just don’t understand why, when people who have been part of the same group of friends for a long time start choosing different ways of life, there has to enter an element of criticism.
How is it possible for people to not understand that one size does not fit all?
Of course, I am not innocent, either. Because I cannot help but feel sorry for people who are so close-minded that they cannot bring themselves to accept alternative paths to happiness. When, in fact, they might be happier being close-minded, than they would be if they let themselves think about other choices, and thus, they are in fact doing what is best for them. So.
I guess I should work on that.
April 16, 2010
Breathe.
When I moved into my condo, everything seemed perfect. Granted, there was a lot of new stuff, and new-carpet smell and new-carpet lint and just generally getting used to things, but it was all pretty cool, and the home inspector had even checked out my condenser, etc. up on the roof.
Which he was able to do, because there is a roof access panel just outside my unit. He did all of that, pronounced it fine, and then I went ahead and got a home warranty anyway.
A few months ago, the access panel had changed. It now sports a sign and a padlock, and the sign directs anyone needing access to the roof to call the property management company to have someone come out there.
A few weeks ago, the smell of death started entering my little abode. I walked in, and WOW did it smell… chemical-y. I thought it might be my brand-new tv, offgassing. But, no, because I took the tv out and no change. And then I did this fun thing where I would go outside for a while, and then run inside and sniff things to see if they could be the source of the smell. And then go back outside… etc., etc.
W says it smells like mothballs. To me, it reminds me vaguely of turpentine with notes of lighter fluid. I haven’t been feeling entirely well, and it seriously smells.
Oh! And then, it got cold. And I turned on the heat, as opposed to the fan/AC, because it was cold. And the smell started to go away.
So, I called to schedule an appointment for my central AC, through the home warranty people, who scheduled it for a few days later. And then I called the condo management company, so they could unlock the padlock.
And not only did they not call me back, but they then tried to tell me that I would have to reschedule my AC appointment for Monday, because that particular property manager is in training until then, and won’t be able to come out and unlock the padlock. Because apparently, there is no one else covering his accounts for the three days that he’s in training. Perhaps these are magic keys, usable only by the Anointed Property Manager?
But no, because when I raised the point that the fumes were actually making me ill, and that I was pretty sure that not opening the access panel in a close-to-emergent situation kind of meant that they weren’t actually managing the property and therefore weren’t actually doing the thing they were hired to do, they decided to graciously allow me to go to their office and pick up the keys and unlock the access panel myself. FANtastic.
I’m going to go breathe some more. Hopefully, sometime soon, it will involve air that smells of humidity and pollen, and nothing else.
April 13, 2010
Q
It’s been suggested that not only have I not been getting enough sleep, but that I’ve been getting crappy sleep, as I’ve mentioned before.
Apparently, there are those who think that parrying my sleep-boxing efforts is neither fun nor normal. Hmph!
So, I opted to take a little “Acetaminophen PM” without the Acetaminophen part, and let me tell you – that shit will knock you out. It will make you fall asleep, and it will MAKE YOU SLEEP for at least 10 hours.
After which, you will still feel as though you are drugged. I can’t explain this feeling to someone who’s not experienced it, but it’s a complete lack of control over some aspect of your physical person. For me, the two days following the two nights where I took a little PM help felt like I was in a fog that I’d never get out of. Never. Until I did, but at that point I was already on edge and irritable because I’d thoroughly freaked myself out by wondering if I would ALWAYS feel as though I was just aware enough to know how unaware I was. Knowing that I should not operate heavy machinery, not even 12 hours after I’d take one tiny green gelcap.
So. I don’t think I’ll be taking that again, at least not during the week, not unless I have nearly 12 hours to spend horizontal amongst the covers.
And we’re back to the drawing board, because although I technically feel better having not taken the PM and thus gotten roughly 4.5 hours of sleep, I still don’t feel great.
What helps you sleep?
April 8, 2010
BEEEEEEES!
The last time I was stung, I lived in an apartment complex where the parking lot had little sections of grass separating parking areas. I stepped on one of these on the way to my car, and was stung 5 or 6 times by yellowjackets.
It completely freaked me out, and I HURT, but it wasn’t so bad.
Apparently, I’m becoming more allergic.
There is a small, perfectly round hole about 16 inches from the balcony floor, next to my front door. Bees fly in and out of that hole. And normally, these bees aren’t supposed to be overly inclined to sting.
But apparently, that’s not something you tell a bee before it’s had its morning coffee, should you happen to run into it as you’re heading to work.
OW.
I’m going back to bed.
April 2, 2010
Stew stew stew*… oh, Beef Bourguinon, you say?
It’s been one of those weeks.
Because work has been … work. And I’ve been feeling like the state of my health is being dictated by a magic 8-ball: “Reply hazy, try again.”
Because they did, today. Try again. Poke poke, let’s just take a little of this… and we’ll call you in a week.
And then my brain finally processes the passive-aggression of someone who’s kind of in a mutual circle of friends, and I realize I’m not her cup of tea.
Then… then! I get Dr. Taggart to do my taxes. As you may recall, I bought a spiffy little place to live in last year, and I was ALL KINDS OF EXCITED to get a tax refund. Except that because I made approximately $20 more than the income cap for the rebate that was in place at the time I bought, and because I cashed some bonds and therefore had capital gain income that went towards the down payment, I got bubkus.
And let’s not even get into capital gains taxes, shall we?
But… it’s gorgeous out. And work is work, but it’s better than it was, and looking up. And I’ll hear back in a week, and the doc said it didn’t look bad. And … well, not only do I have a place to live, but I have pretty amazing parents who are being very helpful on multiple fronts.
This week started out looking like stew. But now I’m looking for a nice Meritage to go along with my Bourguinon.
*Whose bright idea was it to create a name for a food that has EW in it? I mean, really. I know presentation isn’t everything, but surely someone could’ve done better than “stew”.
March 25, 2010
Biannual Tango
Longer ago than I care to admit, I had some minor surgery to remove some cancerous cells.
Seriously. Compared to what other people go through when THEY have cancer, this was nothing. In fact, the doctors all seemed to avoid saying that I had cancer, likely because the category in which I fell indicated that it was barely over the cusp of becoming cancer.
So, I had biopsies, then an outpatient procedure, and then a truckload of monitoring for a year or two after. And then I had a year, maybe two, of apparent normalcy.
The problem is, abnormal cells don’t walk around with large signs announcing their presence to doctors. They can hide, sometimes. And so, the biannual tango began.
It starts with a regular visit. And the usual tests are run. And then two weeks later, I get phone call, and the results come back “abnormal”. And so I go back, and get biopsied. And then I wait a few more weeks. And then they tell me that it’s not great, but it’s not the end of the world, and if I could just come back in 6 months, they’ll check me again. Dip, turn.
And then I go. And the usual tests are run. And then two weeks later I get a phone call, and the results come back “abnormal”. And so I go back, and I get biopsied. And then I wait a few more weeks. And then they tell me that it’s still not great, but it’s not the end of the world, and if I could just come back in 6 months, they’ll check me again.
6 7 8 and 1…
I have no idea what I would do with all of my spare time, if it all just went away. Maybe some dancing lessons.
February 23, 2010
“And Timing, as they say, is everything.”
~ The Hour of the Octopus, Joel Rosenberg*
(1) I decide to give up cable television, retaining only my internet connection.
(1)(a) I have an absurdly easy time doing this at the cable retail location, and return home to find the things working that should be, and not working that shouldn’t.
(1)(b) I am subsequently billed for all of my previous services, instead of just the one that I’ve decided to keep.
(1)(c) I plot revenge.
(2) My television decides to be cranky, making an odd, high-pitched noise when I turn it on, and refusing to keep the screen functional for more than a second or two before blinking off. Note that the television is still ON at this point, it’s just a blank screen emitting that flourescent-bulb whine.
(3) I mention this to my parents, who inform me that they have an exact replica of my television, save that their copy works! And since they’re giving it away, I’m welcome to it – so long as I let them know, since they were thinking about donating it soonish.
(4) I remember to email them 5 days after this offer is made.
(5) They reply, informing me that the television is now gone and I really should have gotten back to them sooner.
(6) I decide to accept that there must be some logic in their thought process, and that a call to my cell phone prior to actually giving it away would have been entirely too taxing for them, and that this is, in fact, all my fault.
(7) I also wonder if said cable company has messed with my non-functioning unit in an effort to get me to see that unless I have a television that works, one that is fully supplied with all of the cable it could ever want to keep it happy and healthy, I will be cranky and miserable.
(8) I decide that my workout DVDs will play just as well on my laptop, and extend my longest digit in something of a salute, in the general direction of said cable company, which will be getting a phone call later to confirm my decision and ask for my refund.
(9) I also decide that if I ever go back to the land of small-screen pop culture, I’ll see about Fios or satellite.
*For my fellow fantasy lit nerds, if you haven’t read this guy yet, DO. He’s not George R. R. Martin or anything, but he’s good, and original, and limits his recaps of previous works to a paragraph or two here or there, instead of letting it take up close to 55% of subsequent books (I’m looking at you, Mssrs. Jordan and Goodkind). This book isn’t connected to his other big series, but is dryly amusing in its own right.
February 22, 2010
You know what I’d like?
I’d like to go more than 4 months without getting food poisoning. Although at least yesterday’s was more of a very strong *dislike* reaction to breakfast sausage, rather than a full-blown course of agony. But still. I can have sushi, soft-boiled eggs, ceviche, and all manner of so-called “risky” foods, but the stuff that gets me is lamb (cross-contaminated with salmonella, thanks!) or not-previously-frozen breakfast sausage.
I’d like to be able to get my mail from various sources without it being violently jammed into my mailbox by a postal worker for whom my condo is close to the end of the route. I understand that he or she is tired, and I understand that it must be very annoying to carry tons of junk mail all day, and I understand that it might be more time-consuming to wrap each person’s mail into a bundle with the magazines on the outside and smaller pieces on the inside, but I also kind of thought that me getting my mail at least implied getting it intact, and not crumpled into unrecognizable balls of paper.
I’d like to get a full night’s sleep, for real. One from which I awaken feeling refreshed and ready to start the day, rather than even more tired – as though I’d spent the night sleep-fighting a monster comprised of jersey sheets and synthetic down.
I’d also like a hedgehog. For a pet. Because how could you NOT?
January 26, 2010
Catch-22
I get it. If you’re frustrated with me, you have two choices. One, you can tell me that you’re frustrated with me, and you can be honest about it, and you can hurt my feelings.
Or, you can deal with the frustrating things over and over again, and not say anything, and resent me.
And if we’re the kind of people who are supposed to be able to talk to each other about things, I definitely want you to choose the first option, I really do.
But if, towards the end of that conversation, you have reason to believe that I’m feeling pretty awful about things?
It wouldn’t kill you to give me a hug, or a word or two of encouragement.
I’m just sayin’.
December 17, 2009
Did I not mention? Because I should have mentioned…
…that I have a final round of playoffs tonight. I’m a little nervous, because I think this team has started to think of me as Someone Who Wins. Which I kind of have been for this team, this season… but *I* don’t see myself as SWW, certainly not someone who does so reliably.
At least, not without alcohol.
Anyway, I’m at least somewhat improved today – my joints are merely whimpering in protest, as opposed to screaming. However, I would like to point out to WMATA that they can pretend the 8-10 minutes between trains on the orange line is due to a malfunctioning train if they want, but those of us who experience this phenomenon whether there’s a malfunction or not would really rather not be patronized.
So, Metro: If you’re going to make it so that the cars are completely full after EFC, with nary a space for a human until we’ve started offloading again at Rosslyn, just be honest and tell us so. If nothing else, it will give us a reason to get a head start on the contortionist classes that will allow passengers to fit between the overhead bar and the ceiling.
Seeking John Galt 