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Various

“DUDE I AM, LIKE, SO DRUNK.” Here we have a sentence that I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually said in 40+ years of life, mostly because I can count the times when I’ve truly been inebriated on one hand with fingers left over. I don’t actually like being drunk. I like occasionally being a degree or two more cheerful than I can manage on my own, but thanks to being a relatively small person and infrequent imbiber, one drink is all that takes. Perfect.

I know no one wants to hear me continue to bitch and moan about The Tragedy Of Stupid Medication, but I have been off the supposed Wonder Drug (why yes, it made me wonder if my doctor was trying to kill me) for about a week and I STILL FEEL DRUNK. Perhaps if I enjoyed this feeling, was a heavier drinker, or was otherwise a little more risky in my proclivities, this wouldn’t be a problem. As it is, it’s a big freaking problem. I hate everyone and everything even more than normal and THAT is a feat in itself, I’m pretty sure. Also I need to drink a pot of coffee anytime I need to drive anywhere.

My doc picked a shiny new Wonder Drug to put me on, and I’m not going to lie—I haven’t even picked it up, yet. I’m afraid to take it. This may have been the worst medication experience I’ve ever had and it’s enough to make a person believe that roots and berries were good enough for our ancestors and so probably just drinking some hippie tea or something will be fine. (more…)

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Nightmare hangovers

I have never actually been an addict of any kind (uhhhh… eating all the chocolate in the house so that there’s not any chocolate in the house to tempt me doesn’t count on that score, right?), so this may be completely off base, but I think the process of going off this stupid medication that never actually worked for me has been a lot like withdrawal. (Maybe. I have no idea, like I said, but hey, I’m a squeaky-clean, middle-aged, middle-class woman who saw Trainspotting once. Or something.)

Basically, you know, I’m fine, and it’s no big deal. Except that while I was taking this med, I was exhausted all the time and had a lot of trouble sleeping. Now that I’ve been weaning down, I’m a lot less tired than I was (though still tired, because hey, WHY NOT), but when I sleep, good lord, I have the most vivid, disturbing dreams. I wake up every morning and from every nap in a cold sweat, trying to discern reality from nightmare, as some horrible scenario gradually fades from my consciousness.

This, of course, means that my doctor said “Go down in dosage this much for one week, then this much for another week, then decrease by half” or somesuch, and after the first few days of heightened technicolor dreamscapes I took the proposed weaning schedule and tossed it in favor of being off the meds in about half the time. (more…)

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Relaxing?

Otto and I have a quaint little Monday morning routine, and it goes like this: My alarm goes off, and I commence slapping my clock in sleepy annoyance, and Otto says, “Why does Monday morning always come so EARLY?” I grunt in response, and thus our love carries us through another week.

Oh, wait. Actually it’s COFFEE that carries us through another week. That charming exchange we have every Monday morning is just that precious little reminder that when you truly love someone, you forgive them for trying to have a conversation with you before you’ve had your coffee. And then you pack a lunch for your beloved and you don’t spit in it or anything. Because TRUE LOVE.

I think the problem is that every week, we have this idea that the weekend is going to be relaxing, and then every weekend we think OOH! AAH! NO WORK! Now we can do OTHER STUFF! And then the “other stuff” ends up being just as tiring as work, and/or we stay up late, forgetting that we are old and require a lot of sleep.

Let me just grab another cup of coffee and tell you all about the weekend. (more…)

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Inconveniences of the dull and boring

“Our life is boring,” I told Otto after dinner last night. “I have nothing to blog about!”

“We should go on more adventures,” he replied. That Otto, he’s a problem solver. Though he seemed a little miffed when I declined his offer to leave the dirty dishes on the table, the children in their rooms, and grab the dog and drive off into the sunset. I’m not saying it wasn’t tempting, just that I was afraid the kids might eventually track us down. (Also, I hadn’t finished my laundry, and you should never run away without a sizable stash of clean undies.)

I just want to make it clear that I know I am
1) boring
2) relatively privileged
and
3) whining.

I KNOW. That’s not going to stop me, though. (more…)

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Things which are ridiculous

My toenails; more specifically, my inability to paint them properly.
I believe in painted toenails. I don’t know why, because I almost never paint my fingernails and rarely wear makeup. I’m not exactly a get-dolled-up-regularly type, is my point. And yet, to me, summer = painted toenails. And given that I am far too cheap/lazy to get professional pedicures—hey, I have polish and passable eye/hand coordination—I do my own feet here at home. I am never either drunk or blind before I set out to prettify my feet, AND YET! What the heck is my problem? I manage to BOTH slop polish all over my toes AND miss entire sections of nails altogether.

I have been painting my nails for something like 30 years. You’d think I would’ve figured it out by now…? And when I paint someone ELSE’s nails—like on the rare occasions when Chickadee will allow me to do hers—I’m fine. This leads me to believe it’s some sort of angle issue, but I’m pretty bendy and not tall, really, so it’s not like my feet are all that far away.

[Somewhat-related digressions: Anyone else keep buying pretty colors in different brands because they're cheap and then getting annoyed when they chip? OPI + MIR = BFF 4EVAH. I am currently sporting Lincoln Park After Dark both to pretend Fall has actually arrived and because the stuff I had on before this was a different brand and was all chipped up by the time I took it off. Also---random recommendation ahoy---am I the last person on earth to learn about Gooey? I appreciate how it keeps the (good) polish on my nails even while I'm scraping it off the surrounding skin.] (more…)

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Cranky

I am cranky. [I am going to spare you a thousand-odd words about said crankiness, because really, the only thing worse than someone cranky is that cranky person trying to justify said crankiness. I HAVE MANY FEELS. Mostly they feel like throwing tantrums. Being a grownup often sucks, it turns out.]

Know what’s good for an advanced case of poormeitis? Baking. Yay! Here, I made you some healthy cookies you can eat for breakfast. You could make some for yourself/your kids and say thank you, if you wanted. Or if you wanted to pretend to be one of my kids, you could just eat them while glowering at me and expounding on the many ways in which I am the most horrible person on the planet. Either way. They’re versatile!

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While I was peeing

(Wouldn’t that be a good name for a sitcom? Or a novel? I think it has a certain ring to it.)

Mostly today I have been busy drinking all of the water in the world and then, you know, flushing it out of my uncooperative bladder. But saying “I spent all day peeing” seems a little crass, even for me.

So here! I made you some delicious gluten-free multigrain pancakes! I did not make them WHILE I was peeing, of course. That would be gross. I made them for you earlier this week, and given how busy I am with my bladder today, it seemed like a good time to share the recipe so that I would stop talking about peeing. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be done with this particular bit of life experience.

Until then: pancakes. Much better than pee. Yay!

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Things I do when I should be working

The thing about working from home is that—while those of you working in offices may recognize when you’re wasting work time via, say, watching cat videos online—my time slippage is a lot more insidious than it used to be. That goes double now that we’re back to school, because hey, sometimes Monkey really needs me to help him with his work, y’know?

There’s too many possible rabbit holes in my day, here. Because Monkey really needs me to help him with his work and THEN he has to show me this new thing in Minecraft OR he can’t find a syllabus and so I HAVE to orchestrate a clean-up mission. OR it occurs to me that I should probably get dinner started and then it seems like a GREAT time to try a new recipe even though I have a million things I really ought to be doing, instead.

[Sidebar: Remember the whole "Oh, hey, SURPRISE! Chickie has ADHD!" thing? I'm now reading Smart But Scattered Teens and... holy Chickadee. Holy Monkey. HOLY ME. I can't decide whether to be pleased with myself for not being a hot mess 100% of the time or aggravated that I still wander off when I see something shiny to this day. Executive dysfunction: A family affair!] (more…)

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It turns out that being a grownup is a grind

I spent most of the last week trying really hard not to whine about not feeling well, because there is little more annoying than listening to a grown-ass adult complain because she has the sniffles. But I didn’t feeeeeeeel goooooooood and that was HARD. Because of the sniffling. And the feeling yucky. And wah wah wah. The truth is that I always get sick after I travel, and that was WEEKS AGO, now, and instead of getting full-blown, plague-level sick right away, I was just kind of stuck in this Victorian-fainting-couch level of feeling unwell for weeks, not getting better, but not really getting worse, either. Basically I had a cold.

And then last Friday I woke up with an awful earache, because I am three. Naturally I handled this situation with maturity and aplomb, which is to say that I stayed in my pajamas for two days, whining about how I AM TOO OLD FOR AN EAR INFECTION. I also took a lot of drugs (legal ones; nothing fun) and ate all the vitamin C in the world and drank a lot of water. I bemoaned my fate as The First Person Ever With The Cold That Would Never Go Away. And then yesterday I woke up feeling fine.

I should’ve been elated, but instead I was 1) slightly embarrassed by all the carrying on I’d been doing and 2) annoyed that this meant I no longer had an excuse to avoid being productive. (more…)

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You don’t know until you do it

I had a nice chat with one of Monkey’s virtual teachers this year (uh, she is not virtual, she’s a real person—a real teacher—but she works with the Virtual School, I mean) wherein I said something in passing about how this is our third year of homeschooling, and she uttered the dreaded phrase:

“Oh, I just DON’T KNOW HOW PEOPLE DO IT. I could NEVER homeschool my kids!”

I have an arsenal of standard responses to such statements: that I didn’t think I could until I did, that one of my kids is still in public school, that we utilize a lot of resources like Virtual School, and—my personal favorite, as it really gets to the heart of the matter—that I never planned to, but with Monkey’s particular set of needs being incompatible with a conventional middle school classroom, I simply didn’t have a choice.

But the truth is that a huge part of the reason I hate that phrase is because I probably said it to homeschoolers, myself, a hundred times before we found ourselves homeschooling. The implication is admiration, but the subtext is disbelief that anyone could survive it. (more…)

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