Images of broken light

I hardly ever watch TV anymore.

I just lost interest, like I lost interest in everything else.

But that doesn't sound right, because I LOVE TV, just like I LOVE playing piano, and drawing, and all the other things I stopped doing.

But anyway, my TV stays off.

I do, however, have the first three seasons of Glee on my iPod.

Let me just say, I was there first. First episode, first season onward. I'd be watching the show, and I'd say, "Chelsea, come here, come here!"

And she'd come running, and then turn away in disgust when she saw it was Glee I wanted her to see.

Then, last year, the brat decided all of a sudden that the show was cool, she downloaded all my episodes and all my Glee CD's - don't start, I know I'm a Gleek - and pretended like she'd been a fan all along.

Whatever.

So now, of course, because I don't watch anything anymore, she knows more than me. I didn't watch the last part of Season 3 or any of Season 4. I know what happens, but I haven't watched it. I just can't.

Here's the bad part.

This summer I was telling my mother about Cory Monteith's death and how perfect he was on Glee and how much he'll be missed, and my mom says, "That sounds like a show I would like, let me take it home."

So my mom took my precious iPod, and didn't give it back for three weeks.

It gets worse.

When she picked me up every morning, she was watching Glee on the iPod, with her little headphones in. Then she proceeded to drive me to work. While she watched Glee. Okay... wait. While she hypothetically watched Glee.

So there I am, a terrified passenger, "Mom, PLEASE, put that away, it's illegal."

Here's Mom's logic, "No, texting and driving is illegal. I'm not texting. I'm only watching."

Three weeks this went on. Okay wait...three weeks this allegedly went on.

She just turned 61. You would think that would be old enough for some sense, right?

So finally, she stops bringing it in the car, and I want it back. Every day, I want it back. Every day, she says, 'Oh sorry...I was watching the Michael episode, I forgot.'

Three days in a row of that. You know, I feel very sorry for Dwayne. This flaky, forgetful, personality trait was handed straight down to all three of us from Moma.

No wonder he looks so frustrated when we get in the car 45 minutes late sometimes.

FINALLY I get my iPod back, but not without us watching the Michael episode one more time. It's Mom's favorite because they sing the Jackson 5 song 'ABC' which she loves, and my favorite because they sing Michael's 'Man in the Mirror' which I love.

And now Goodman 1 and Goodman 3 are badgering Goodman 2 to get season 4 downloaded so they can watch in full for season 5 starting this week.

But...but...I don't even watch TV anymore! Well, hardly ever. Well, okay I watched the Emmy's. I sold out.

But I'm cancelling my cable...bye bye TV...

What day is it? Oh, it's Migraine Monday, as usual, nothing to see here, carry on...

I am overwhelmed.

I am...swimming in a silvery liquid that doesn't let me go very far.

I am crushed.

I can't breathe.

My heart is in my throat.

I want to crumble to the floor and weep.

I want to run, and run, and run, and never come back.

I don't want to be here anymore.

I don't want to be here anymore.

I am overwhelmed.

And now, finally, I am crying.

Fifteen pills.

I counted 'em. All in all, I will have swallowed fifteen pills today.

I say 'will have' because I haven't taken the Ambien yet.

I get made fun of often by my friends and family. I'm low-key, laid back, and I speak slowly. I have a southern slur. When I talk to customers over the phone who are from New York, I can hear their impatience. "Will she ever get this sentence out?!" LOL...

I say 'wow' and 'cool' a lot.

The point is, everyone thinks I'm on drugs. And I am. But not the kind that everyone thinks I'm on.

And the realization that today I will have swallowed fifteen pills has me just a little down.

Yes, I was hospitalized twice last year. But I'm getting stronger every day. I'm making a comeback. Do I REALLY need all this?

I don't want to be an idiot who starts feeling better, stops taking her medicine, and then has a catastrophe happen.

So...never mind then. Carry on.

On a completely unrelated note, I wonder if doctors get some kind of kickback from pharmaceutical companies?

Annie's Song

My beautiful Annie

I've rarely talked about my Annie in this blog, maybe a mention here or there...I've been remiss!

Every family has a black sheep, one who bucks the status quo and does her own thing, and that's my beautiful cousin Annie. I was always the oddball they didn't understand, but I was malleable. Annie, malleable? Never!

We have a family event every two weeks or so, or at least once a month. All 14 of us are expected to attend. The first time Annie didn't show up, I was shocked. You mean not showing up was an option?

Annie has tattoos. An ankh on her back, a huge tribal tattoo on her arm, a panther on her leg. I made the mistake of asking why she had a lizard tattoo on her leg and she didn't speak to me for hours. IT'S A PANTHER, NOT A LIZARD!!! 

Annie has a nose ring.

Only Annie is allowed any of these privileges. My grandmother would have spanked me with the yardstick for the second time in my life if I had showed up with a nose ring and tattoos. But I wouldn't, anyway, because long ago my grandfather told me I wasn't allowed. I guess Annie didn't get 'the talk'.

My mother and Annie's mother are sisters, so, due to the way my grandmother raised all of us, Annie and I might as well have been sisters, we grew up so close to each other. I was her maid of honor, and her beautiful little girl calls me 'Aunt Michelle'.

In the month that my grandmother died, Annie and I both ended up in the same treatment facility. Annie was admitted a few days before I was released. When I think back on it, our mothers had just lost their mother, and their daughters were in the hospital. We didn't make it easy on them, did we?

While my reaction to Moma's death was nearly killing myself by falling into the black hole of depression and never resurfacing, Annie's reaction was to dive deep into drugs to numb the pain.

We're both doing better now. I still have a ways to go, but I'm so much better than I was. Annie lives in the country in a bona fide farmhouse which is too far away for my liking, but she's become so capable, I'm so proud of her. She's a wonderful mother.

She'll be 29 in a couple weeks; and always my beautiful Annie.

My cube...no, really...

So, this is my desk at work. Doesn't it look cozy?

It has all the comforts of home: my astronaut, my kitty and NWF calendars, my UK stuff (Big Blue Madness is coming up and it'll be time to change out my poster-yay!), my diet Pepsi and of course my daughter and kitty pics. 

There's a weird thing about working in cubicle-land. We spend half of our awake time here, with our only reprieve the weekend. We spend more time with work people than we do with most of our friends and loved ones. 

If I need to remember something, I put it on my work calendar. If someone needs to email me something vitally important, I give my work email. I'm pretty on top of things at work. It's just the rest of the time that I'm such a disaster. 

I really love my job, my company and my co-workers, and it's really a dilemma. In the past couple years I've seen four of my friends get fired. FIRED! And these were all people with 20-25 years of seniority in the company. 

Granted, the firings were just. But now I'm so paranoid about everything I do, AND I look around at my friends and wonder, who's next?

(For the curious: 

Friends 1 and 2: Friend 1 borrowed a controlled substance. Friend 2 gave it back to her when she got her Rx refilled. ILLEGAL!, and this all happened on company property.

Friend 3: Missed work approximately 485 times in a 6-month period and got 484 warnings. That last time did her in. 

Friend 4: Her second job was as a realtor. Spent lots of time at work looking up listings, doing realtor stuff, etc., on company time. Big no-no.)

So yeah, I'm trying to be very good. 

I probably shouldn't be writing this at work. 

Oh my gosh, there's a bad person living inside me. 

I'M ON BREAK! I'M ON BREAK!

I have to go now...

Those days are gone...

Toast Strips

'We gotta do something about this food situation.'

Heh.

I am hungry.

I've always been a picky eater.

I grew up in Kentucky at my grandma's table and was expected to eat what she made. Luckily, my brother got there first and paved the way for me. There were epic battles between John and Moma at the table, Moma not letting him up until he ate his food, and John falling asleep at the table after sitting there for hours.

So by the time I came along, it was just much easier to let me eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead of argue about it.

I don't LIKE beans and cornbread.
I won't eat fried chicken.
I hate green beans.
I never, ever eat ham.
Just thinking about broccoli casserole makes me sick.
I don't eat barbecue.
I don't like spaghetti. I don't like ice cream. 
I don't like fruits and vegetables. 
I don't eat beef or pork.
And now my neurologist has taken me off of chocolate and any kind of nuts, including my all-time favorite, peanut butter.

So I've basically been living on strawberry Pop-Tarts and microwave popcorn.
And buttered toast.

Sometimes for supper I'll have a frozen Totino's cheese pizza.

See! We gotta do something about this food situation!

So okay. Let's make a shopping list of the things I will tolerate that might be more healthy than Pop-Tarts:

• Salmon (baked or grilled...both yummy)
• Tuna (I'll share with my cat, we both like this)
• Grapes (the one fruit I can actually tolerate)

Okay, I'm done. If anybody has any other suggestions, please let me know... because I really am very hungry.

We'll carry on...

ovarian.org

In July 2009, my grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Just two years later, in July 2011, she was gone.

We knew nothing at all about ovarian cancer when she was first diagnosed. Then we learned more than we ever wanted.

She had complained of symptoms for months, and we had all thought they were something else. Had we known then...

We have no way of knowing what could have happened. But the fact is, when my grandma was diagnosed, she was already in Stage IV. There are millions of women in America today who still have misconceptions about ovarian cancer, its symptoms and how it's detected.

On Friday, I discovered one of my coworkers held the #1 misconception - I had to let her know there is currently no screening test for ovarian cancer.

Three things to know:

1. They do NOT screen for ovarian cancer during a pap test. 
2. It can be hereditary. It can be linked with breast cancer. Know your family history.
3. Symptoms: bloating, feeling full, abdominal pain, frequency of urination - if they last longer than two weeks, see your doctor immediately.

I don't want anyone else to go through the pain my grandmother went through, or the pain we felt as we watched her slowly slip away. Please communicate this information with your loved ones; please help beat this terrible disease.

Let time forgive the past...

One of my uncles posted a thing on Facebook a couple weeks ago, it said something like, 'People never remember the million times you've helped them, only the one time you don't.'

I told him that wasn't true. I remember all the help I've gotten to get me where I am today. Especially the help I never even asked for...

I've told a few stories already on this blog about how amazing people can be. NO ONE gets where they are by themselves.

When I went to pay for gas that one time with $.85 in change, and the lady in line behind me was horrified and put an extra $5 in my tank...I'll never forget that.

When I was forced up onto a curb and had a blowout right in front of Churchill Downs and a real-life jockey, strongly smelling of horse, came to my rescue...I'll never forget that.

When I had a meltdown at my desk a few years back, dissolved in tears, and no one knew what to do with me... I didn't know the lady who took me in her arms and kept murmuring, "Peace...peace...," until I calmed down...but I'll never forget her.

I'm terrible at interviews. Take my inability to look people in the eye, plus crippling shyness and terrible awkwardness...and that would explain it. But somehow I have a pretty good job that I actually like.

I will take responsibility for some of it...I did work hard to get my degree, even though it has nothing at all do with my job. Philosophy and accounting are about as far apart as you can get. HAHAHAHA...

But the main reason I am where I am today is because people have helped me along the way. I have failed a dozen interviews...but all of the jobs I have actually gotten have been because I knew somebody, and they knew I needed a job, and they recommended me to someone else.

Just little things, but vitally important to me. I remember them all. I wouldn't be here without them.

Michelle's Tales, Part Three, and please don't hate me...

In fact, why don't we go incognito...

So, HYPOTHETICALLY, in 1998, let's say I temporarily lost my mind, got blinded by dollar signs, and quit my job and school to go to work at an automotive factory.

I'd been working full time, going to U of L full time, being a single mom full time... and suddenly magical factory money was being offered to me on a silver platter. It seemed like a dream come true.

(sigh)

Factory work really isn't that hard. It can be very hot in the summer. You stand for up to 10-12 hours a day, so it's very hard on your feet. You can get carpal tunnel in all kinds of weird places based on what kind of job you might have on the line.

What I wasn't prepared for, though, was that it was MIND-NUMBINGLY BORING.

I've always been able to entertain myself. But not there. You couldn't drift off into your thoughts in the factory, because if you lost focus for a second you might get run over by a truck or sliced in half by some sheet metal or knocked out by an air gun.

So you had to stay alert the whole 12 hours you were trapped there in the most mind-numbingly boring job on the planet.

My first four weeks, I worked in all kinds of different places around the plant...driving trucks off the lot, stamping VINs on the engines, pulling carpets for the cabs, walking the aisles and collecting cardboard - really fun stuff.

My fifth week, they put me on the steering column.

This is where it gets good. Or sad.

There are some jobs that are more important than other jobs. Making sure the steering column is bolted in properly is one of the important jobs.

So important, in fact, that the line automatically shuts down if the air gun doesn't lock, signifying that the screw didn't bolt the column in.

So what's more important, making sure a bunch of steering columns get bolted in properly, or that the line does not shut down, because stopping the line means loss of production?

Hmmm...

Well, according to the foremans at this company that shall not be named, making sure the company did not lose money was more important than any possible future 'incident' that might be caused from faulty workmanship.

So there I am, struggling with the stupid airgun to get this stupid steering column locked in, and THE LINE STARTS MOVING AGAIN.

A foreman shows up next to me and hands me this tool-thingy and says, we can't have this line shut down. Stay with this truck and work your way back using this.

Excuse me? I had trouble using the airgun so you expect me to be able to do it manually with this ridiculous tool-thingy? (I still don't even know what the thing was!)

I'm really not incompetent. The line was stopped for less than a minute. I think the foreman had an issue with me.

But, I do the best I can with that truck, and then this truck, and this truck... I realize I may never get back to my station and none of these trucks have been properly 'locked' in. I ask Omar for help, and I get union-speak in return, "I'm sorry, that's not in my job description."

Hmph.

Finally, I get back to where I belong. I'm very upset. I finish out my shift. And that Friday, I'm officially laid off.

I was upset at first. I was off the whole summer. But it was really a blessing in disguise. I got hired back at my old company in a much better job. I went back to school and got my degree.

I got called back by the factory, they were officially hiring all the people they had laid off. I very happily told them 'NO'.

Then...

ABOUT A YEAR LATER, THERE WAS A BIG RECALL ON **** TRUCKS, DUE TO A PROBLEM WITH THE STEERING COLUMN NOT BEING PROPERLY BOLTED IN.

I am not kidding.

Throwback Thursday...

This is me, my mom and my brother, looking extremely tanned for some reason. That must have been the year we went outside. 

This is little Johnny and little Michelle. I'm the one in a dress. Everyone calls my brother Johnny, except for me. My nephew's name is Johnny, too. Yep, I always have to clarify, "Wait, do you mean Big Johnny or Little Johnny?"

This is one of my senior high school pictures. When Dwayne and I started dating, I remember him pulling his wallet out and I saw this picture in there. It was five years after graduation! I didn't even remember giving that to him...but he carried it five years, waiting for me. 

Another graduation picture. This one doesn't look like me at all. They made a huge thing of it and took it on their mall tour. That was my 15 minutes. 

This is my mom and my grandma being absolutely adorable. Every picture I see of my grandma, my heart seizes a little, I miss her so much. 

And one last one, because I am never done talking about Chelsea or my kitty on this journal, here they are! Both very young, and with very different reactions to the snow...

Love you all...

I hate boxes, part three

I am a dust speck...

It was hard to talk in The Place, and that's all they wanted me to do...talk talk talk all the time. How did this make me feel, how did that make me feel, and what did I think about that?

And god forbid I slipped and said something personal...they latched on to that like a dog with a bone.

For some reason they kept going back to my childhood, wanting to talk about me growing up with an alcoholic father.

It took a very long time for me to even admit that much about my family... and going into detail about it? NO. NEVER.

But they just kept at me, and kept at me.

Denial is a funny thing. I always knew, objectively, that my family was different. When my dad was out in the field, my mom, my brother and I breathed easy - we were happy. It wasn't like that when my dad was home.

So even when my dad missed my high school and college graduations, and several birthdays, and dropped off the face of the earth for a few years - even then, I still couldn't quite admit to myself that there was a problem.

And then one December he showed up again, terribly skinny, full of apologies as usual, but this time, with a different story, something about crack cocaine.

I distinctly remember now how my mind skipped right over that part. I understand now - that's how denial works. You hear it, you can even repeat it back to someone, but you don't really believe it.

The next month, in January 2001, my grandmother received a phone call from my uncle. He was at the University Hospital trauma center downtown, and he was calling because my father had been shot.

My brother, sister-in-law, Dwayne and I rushed downtown to the hospital. Uncle Gary met us down there...he had no idea how it happened. We were sitting in the E/R waiting room when the detectives came in.

One of the detectives said, "Do you know anything about your father and his association with A? Your father was found with This Substance in his possession."

That's when my world came crashing down. I don't remember anything else the detectives said. I didn't care what they said. I was broken. I had just come to the realization that my father was an alcoholic and a drug addict.

So you'd think after an epiphany like that, something would change, right? But nothing did, really, except for maybe my perception of my world.

I sat in the hospital room for days, waiting for my dad to wake up. It took a very long time. The doctors said it took longer than it should have because they had to keep him sedated due to dt's.

My brother and I had a visit while we were waiting...from Al-Anon. It seems everyone but me knew my father had a problem. They gave us literature. I was very excited but John said he wasn't going to any groups. Oh.

When my dad woke up, I told him about all the people who had visited and all the things they said. I explained his body was clean now and the hardest part, the dt's, was over.

My dad said he wasn't an alcoholic, he could quit whenever he wanted. He said he knew what an alcoholic was, because his father was one, and he was nothing like him. Oh.

So now my dad has a bullet lodged in his back, but he's otherwise recovered. We rarely talk. It's hard to talk to someone on the phone when their speech is so slurred from drinking you can't understand what they're saying.

My brother outright refuses to speak with my father at all. I've forgiven dad for what happened in our childhood. I don't think my brother ever will.

I don't know why The Place wanted to hear things like this. It's my story, but not really. It was just a turning point in my life...when the scales fell from my eyes and I saw some things as they really were.

I'm still probably blind in a lot of other areas.

If you'll believe in me I'll still believe

artwork by Eugene John Hughes

(sigh)
(sigh)
(sigh)

Chelsea the daughter went to the zoo and I don't have anyone to plaaaaay with.

All Josie the kitty wants to do is sleep.

Dwayne the boyfriend is complaining about not being able to move or some such nonsense. (Like RA and being confined to a wheelchair is such a big deal! ... Kidding...kidding!)

And Chelsea's best friend the front-room floor-sleeping computer bandwidth-stealer is, you guessed it, on the computer.

I'm loooooooooonely.

(sigh)

...

Okay, I'm back. I was interrupted by Dwayne, who decided to talk to me after all. I told him I was doing a blog post and he wanted to know my nom de plume... What? 

When Dwayne asks weird questions, he's always leading into something. This time, it's because he'd been watching Craig Ferguson talk about JK Rowling's new novel that she'd released under a different name. 

Dwayne said, "Why do you think she did that?"

I said, "Well obviously, because there is still a glass ceiling keeping women from making as much money as men, etc., etc."

I was on a roll, too, when Dwayne stopped me. 

"We are talking about JK Rowling, right? You do know she probably made more money off the Harry Potter books than any author has on any books, ever?"

I hate to lose, even if we're not having an argument.  So I feebly offered up,

"Well, why do you think she used initials instead of her real name to begin with? Huh?"

Dwayne bugs me. He's the only one who can consistently counter my arguments. Soooooo annoying.

He's my inspiration. A year ago at this time he was walking. Well limping, painfully, but still walking.

Today, he can't go anywhere without the wheelchair. He just turned 46 this week.

He lives in constant pain, but he's still always there for me.

Except...well, Patty Griffin is coming to town next month. I love Patty Griffin. If you've ever looked at my profile, there's three things listed under music...two I've already talked about, and Patty Griffin.

Anyway, he's there for me EXCEPT when it comes to things he doesn't want to do, then he pulls the RA card.

"I can't go. I can't walk down there."

"I'll push your wheelchair."

"I can't sit for that long."

"Well, crap."

That's usually where the discussion ends. :)

I love my Dwayne. You just wait until he gets his new knees...

I am what I am...

Metallica Through The Never

So I am really excited about this new Metallica film coming out, right? But I think I'm the only one...

I can usually depend on Chelsea to back me up on all things Metallica. I did raise her right, after all. But she went all bah, humbug on me...if it's not the real thing, she's not interested, apparently.

I dragged Dwayne out at midnight to see the last Metallica movie...this was like ten years ago or something and he is still complaining about it. Dwayne's music tastes are more toward Stevie Wonder, James Brown, and other things that I don't like. My tastes are more eclectic, I like a lot of indie music, songwriter stuff. And Metallica.

Way, way, way before Dwayne and I started dating...I was just a 16-year old girl who was only allowed to go to concerts if I went with my big brother. Now that I think about it, my poor brother! He was 21 years old, going to concerts with his best friends Rich and Dwayne, and being forced to take his little sister and her friends.

That's how we saw Aerosmith back in the day, and Bon Jovi...and how I distinctly remember a drunken 21-year old Dwayne hitting on one of my 16-year old friends (my brother had made it clear that I was off limits, LOL). Ugh.

Concerts. You go to so many in your life, it's hard to keep track of all that you've been to, right? I believe the last one I went to was last summer, when I saw Kris Kristofferson at the Iroquois Amphitheatre. It was outside. In the summer. Meaning I would never have voluntarily chosen to go, but my grandpa had bought the tickets and asked me specifically to go with him...so I went, and it was awesome spending some one-on-one time with him.

The only time I've seen Metallica in concert was in 1992. They happened to come to town when I was four months pregnant with Chelsea. I had no choice. I had to go. What if it was my only chance? Is that scandalous? A pregnant unwed teenager at a Metallica concert?

Sounds like a show on MTV.

But anyway, this has been a very rambling post, and I think I had a point... I have two great musical loves. My first is and always will be Dolly Parton - I've seen her in concert three times, her music makes me happy. My second is Metallica - for 25 years and counting their music has made me happy (don't ask me how), and I'm going to see the movie if I have to go BY MYSELF.

So there.

The nightingale won't sing for us; or, I'm baaack...

Did I mention I'm seeing a new neurologist? This is my third one and I'm really hoping she'll be The One.

On my first appointment, the doctor gave me SIX new prescriptions, told me to throw out my Excedrin Migraine and Advil, and no more peanut butter. At all.

That's right, I said NO MORE PEANUT BUTTER.

Since then, I've also had to cut out chocolate, cut out any kind of nut or nut product altogether, cut down Diet Pepsi to two a day, and increase water to at least four bottles a day, but eight would be better.

But who cares, my mind got stuck on no peanut butter and I still haven't recovered.

If one could have a food religion, mine would be peanut butter. JIF Crunchy Peanut Butter, to be exact.

I had at least three jars of it stashed in my room for emergencies. A couple of days after the doctor's verdict, I was tearing through the kitchen in the middle of the night. Cabinets opening and closing, pots rattling, you name it...and in walks Chelsea.

"Mommy...what are you doing?"

"I KNOW there's some peanut butter in here! WHERE IS IT?!"

Poor Chelsea. I wonder what it's like to have a crazy mother?

"Mommy, I got rid of all the peanut butter. I know you have no self control. It's all gone."

(sob) "I don't believe youuuuuuuu."

So yeah...she somehow found all the peanut butter and got rid of it. Including all the jars I'd hidden away in my room.

I'm very unhappy about this dietary change.

Anyway, second appointment with the doctor this week, she wrote me MORE prescriptions, AND she took over my Vicodin RX from my primary care doctor. Which meant I had to sign a contract stating I won't sell my pills on the backside of Churchill Downs anymore.

Bummer...my new doctor is taking away all my favorite things.

But really, let's hope my migraines get better, because if I don't show improvement by next appointment, she's going to discuss BOTOX with me.

They use botox to treat migraines now.

Not on me, I don't think. Injecting toxin right into my brain? I'm already kind of...you know... It's just not a good idea.

So I'm following all the rules.

But I really, really miss Reese's Cups.

Wish I was cool like this...

Dean, Sammy, Frank

Well, except for the cigarettes, of course. We must be politically correct.

I LOST MY COOL YESTERDAY. I was justified! But it was still very strange...I have the reputation for being laid back to the point of being dead. That's partly me, and partly very strong pharmaceuticals. 

But Thursday morning, my mom informed me my internet bill had gone from its usual $50 a month to $200 last month. Apparently SOMEONE in my house caused us to go over our limit by streaming stuff, and it wasn't me.

HINT: The culprit is daughter's best friend, sleeps on the living room floor and is on the internet 23 hours a day.

So I got to work, texted Chelsea, told her we would have to cancel the internet for a while, and wow, did things get going then. 

Texts from Chelsea. 

Texts from my mom. 

Texts to my mom. 

Texts to Chelsea. 

Approximately 800 phone calls from Chelsea. While I'm at work. On Thursday, our busiest day. 

At one point, and this is where I lost my cool, I raised my voice on the phone to a customer. I'm very ashamed. Even if she was a mean heartless bad word. 

So I'm telling my coworkers how I need my mom to call and cancel my internet and finally Mark says what apparently everyone's been thinking. 

"Michelle. It's your house. Your internet. You are paying for it. YOU can call and cancel it."

Oh. 

Oh. 

So I did. Right then. And it worked.

I actually accomplished something like a normal grown-up, like I used to be. 

I was really quite proud of myself, until I got home and realized I HAD NO INTERNET. 

So yay, I cut off the hemorrhage of money flowing directly into AT&T's coffers; but boooo, I'm typing this on little tiny keys on my iPhone. 

I have a different company coming out to install that doesn't have an internet cap, so we should be good now...except they won't be here until Monday. Labor Day. Really? Apparently that's a popular day to actually work, because of the overtime. 

That's all! I have no idea how this post looks because I'm on my phooooooone. No internet. No money, related to the no internet thing! NO COOL, because I lost it this week. 

I still have my kitty. She's cute. 

Michelle's Tales, Part Two, and I swear I am not making this bizarre thing up... I wish...

So, I'm at work the other day, and I get one of these emails about 'real people' who are dumb as rocks, and here's the story of one:

"Several years ago, we had an intern who was none too swift.

One day she was typing and turned to a secretary and said, 'I'm almost out of typing paper. What do I do?'

'Just use paper from the photocopier,' the secretary told her.

With that, the intern took her last remaining blank piece of paper, put it on the photocopier and proceeded to make five 'blank' copies.

Brunette, by the way!!"

Ouch.

Right through the heart.

How did my own personal story travel twenty years and who knows how many computers until it made its way back to my desk?

The lady who copied blank paper because she needed more paper…

That was me. First office job. Okay, being my regular self.

Someone must have heard me tell that story. I do not think I've ever written it down, have I?

Unless there’s ANOTHER person out there who did that besides me.

Surely not!!!????

In my defense, I was very young.

VERY YOUNG, OKAY?!

Michelle's Tales, Part One

This is a pretty close approximation to what my hair looks like.

So,
I was blow drying my hair before work in the fourth floor restroom in my building.  I do this every day.  (It saves time, it doesn't tangle my long curls, I have more room.)

To be fair, I am the only person I've ever seen do this, but on the other hand, I HAVE been doing it every day for years. 

On this particular day, someone took offense. 

I'd just finished drying and flipped my hair back, and realized someone was in there with me.

Here's what happened next:

Mean Lady: You can't be serious. 

Me: Huh?

(I've always been quick on the uptake.)

Mean Lady: You're not seriously DRYING YOUR HAIR in here. 

Me (looking around to see if she was talking to someone else): Um. 

Mean Lady: This is outrageous. That can't be sanitary. 

Me (finally catching up): Um, we're in the bathroom. 

Mean Lady: I'm going to report this!!!

And with that, Mean Lady stormed out of the bathroom. 

I took a moment to compose myself... I had genuine visions of ending up like TV's Dr. Green, being beat half to death in the bathroom in E/R. Then I strolled out to the elevator where, yay, Mean Lady was also waiting. 

We waited in silence, got on the elevator in silence, rode to my floor in silence, where I stepped off and never saw her again. 

I think of her though, still, over two years later, every morning when I blow dry my hair in that same fourth floor restroom.

(sigh) I'm still waiting for building management to come have me arrested. It takes just one person to ruin all your fun. :)

Put up a fight...

Now that I'm in the process of getting better, I'm realizing I have no idea how to jump back into my former life.

I have no idea about my bills...no checking account...I'm not even clear on what I bring home every week, because Mom handles all my finances. How do I get that back?

I could call Britney Spears up, but I think her father is STILL handling her money.

OMG did I just compare myself to Britney Spears? Surely I'm not that crazy?

And now there's whispering in the back of my head...'no, you're WAY more crazy than she ever was!'

I just want to buy stuff on the internet, and be able to order pizza.

Okay, maybe she should keep handling my money a little while longer.

Driving? No. Music? No.

How can I want to get better and hold myself back at the same time?

In the name of love...

It was Chelsea's first trip to DC, my third.

But even though it was her first trip, she was a way-cool eighth-grader. Way too cool to be excited over the stuff we saw. YAWNED at the Air&Space Museum, Reservoir, White House Tour (and this was after 9/11...tours were hard to come by). She showed mild excitement when Marine One lifted off with the President inside.

But that was it. I figured I was doomed to be the only one excited on this trip. Then we visited the Lincoln Memorial. Taking pictures, acting like tourists, and suddenly, Chelsea is FREAKING OUT.

'MOMMY, Look at this, is this it, is this where he stood?!'

Then, I start freaking out.

How is it that in the times I'd visited before, I missed that stone?

I got it then. Chelsea had been saving her excitement for the big things. This qualified.

I don't know how long we stood there, looking out over the Reflecting Pool, thinking about MLK, having a dream, and the man, and movement, who changed all our lives for the better.

You can find Martin Luther King, Jr's 'I Have A Dream' speech here...

'Tis a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury...

Signifying nothing, right?

How many of these do you have rattling around in your head? At work, when I'm stuck in a meeting and the pretty tree outside the conference room just won't do, I run down the list:

Books of the Bible
States & Capitals
Countries of the world via their country code
All the Bible verses I can remember
Hamlet speeches
Macbeth speeches
Julius Caesar speeches
Canterbury Tales Prologue in Middle English
Declaration of Independence
Prologue to the Constitution
Gettysburg Address
Favorite poems (Updike, Dickinson, Thomas, Brooks...)
Lyrics to Metallica and Dolly Parton songs
and etc., etc., the list goes on.

I have so much useless information in my head, and I think all the time, what will I do when I lose it? When the Alzheimer's comes, or the drugs inevitably fry my brain...how will I cope with losing all that makes me, me?

I think we all have that fear, or, even worse, we fear we will lose ourselves and not even know we are gone.

What useless knowledge do you (hopefully) have embedded in your brain?

Choices color all I've all done...

Hi.

I am a blue square.

I've never fit in with the red squares that surround me. I'm used to it.

I've actually learned to be proud of it.

It hasn't always been easy. Even today, after years of learning to assimilate and, alternatively, develop a thick skin, I cringe when I open my mouth and say the wrong thing to people.

I get blank looks A LOT. ALL THE TIME.

The people closest to me pat me on the head and say I'm special.

I swear, I'm smart. I'm fairly lucid.

I'm just BLUE, not RED.

That is all.

:)

Michelle's Annual Day Out, It's the State Fair!

Chelsea, me and Mom at the Kentucky State Fair yesterday

There's actually one time every year when I willingly leave my cave and subject myself to the sun (sort of) and the crowds (unfortunately)...the Kentucky State Fair!

Weird, right? But I've never NOT gone to the fair as long as I've lived here, so...as my 'issues' have come up, I cope. Meaning, I stick to the inside exhibits as much as I can, I rest a lot, and I try not to freak out by the thousands of people that are surrounding me. I NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT.

We always make the fair a family event. Who doesn't? Today it was me, Mom and Chelsea. My brother and his family, and my aunt were supposed to meet us there. The reason they're not in the picture above? Because my mom, who picked up me and Chelsea, decreed that we were leaving at 10 a.m.

Really? Chels and I don't usually even THINK about getting up on Saturdays before 2 or 3 p.m. - like all the other normal people in the world. Needless to say, we got to the fair at the crack of dawn today and took the above picture, while my aunt finally rolled in about 4 p.m., and my brother's crew got there a couple hours after that.

So, sort of a family event LOL. We had a mother-daughter-daughter day. Which is perfect because we're so much alike, our favorite is the photography/artwork section, where we spent most of the day.  We're finally at an age - 21, 40, 61 - where spending the whole day together isn't torture...it's a pleasure.

We visited the 'Mules& Jacks'. We looked at the photography and art. We lunched. We looked at Raptor Rehabilitation, and saw the eagles and the owls. Walked and walked and walked, then Mom ditched us for Aunt Sondra, then Chelsea ditched me for shiny things, and I rested. Then Chelsea retrieved me, we visited the Fairness booth, the Al-Anon booth, the KyNect booth, skipped about a thousand other booths, and went back to the art and looked at every single thing and STILL had to wait an eon before Aunt Sondra would let Mom come back to us.     
       

Not that we object to Aunt Sondra, we just didn't want to go looking for them. I was tired.

Watched a live cooking show about Kentucky beef that convinced me to go back OFF the beef. I went back on it last year after my surgery to help get my iron back up, but I can't do it anymore. I'll just take more pills. What's one more pill?

I forgot to add the migraine that got worse and worse as the day went on. Don't worry, it happens every year at the fair. I expect it and prepare for it, I bring my pills and everything. I think it's a combination of the sunlight, the noise, the anxiety... Whatever it is...it took four Vicodin to make it through the day. Not all at once! Spaced out...we were there a loooooong time.

Before we leave I always get a funnel cake and a corn dog. I know, I'm a risk-taker. I figured the corn-dog was my last hurrah before leaving beef behind for good. I was perfectly happy with these stellar dietary choices when Chelsea comes up behind me with DEEP FRIED OREOS.

Oh. my. gosh. I never thought I would try something like that but I did and now I have a new religion. And I only had one! I don't know how you could possibly eat more than one...it might put you into a diabetic coma. Soooo worth it, IMHO.

We left and sat in traffic for about an hour...Mom went the wrong way out of the parking lot, as is her wont, and we somehow hit incoming fair traffic going to a different parking lot. These people were all going to the Toby Keith concert at Freedom Hall. I could tell by the cowboy hats, boots, and red solo cups they were all sporting.

So close to getting home, and I was just waiting...wait for it...there it is! Mom: "So, since we're out, do you want to go somewhere and eat?"

The three of us are so predictable to each other.

Finally, after a nice dinner at O'Charley's, filled with laughter and teasing (mostly at me, as usual, though I did get one in at Mom); and then a quick stop at Kroger (I sat in the car, did you really think anything else?), we made it home.

HOOOOOOOOOOOME...

And that's my day out for the year. Okay, there may be others, under duress, but today is always my choice.

It'll only take me a week or so to recover.

Tears for Flight 1354

I would say that today is one of the hardest days I've ever had to work.

It's hard to lose a coworker.

This morning, two of our pilots got on one of our planes for a 45 minute flight to Birmingham, and then they were gone.

Our management team wouldn't tell us anything beyond what they were telling the news, except they added to us: 'DON'T TALK TO THE MEDIA'.  So we had to watch the news all day, waiting for the names of the pilots.

It's just been a really bad day.

I'm sad.

The Cutthroat World of Michelle's Office

This is where I work. Honestly.

So, a few years ago, a 'friend' of mine at work went out on short-term disability. Don't be alarmed...she did this every year. Only this time, it dragged on, and on...

After eight months or so, her cubicle by the window started looking very inviting. This was a valuable commodity, just going to waste!

So, I claimed it.

This is how you get a desk by the window in my building - you have to be a little sneaky.

So when Kim very surprisingly came back after eleven months out, her stuff had been moved to a different desk. I was very, very apologetic.

She got in little digs, though, about my underhanded method of seat-acquisition, until she got fired a few years later.

I was sad she got fired, but kind of glad, too...I was one of her marks. You know, one of those people that other people who borrow money a lot go up to every week and say, do you have $20, $50, $100, I can borrow? She ended up owing me $1000's of dollars I'll never get back.

I kind of have lots of people out there who owe me money I'll never get back. I have a problem saying no. If I have it, I will give it.

But anyway, back to THE WINDOW.

Since I have moved to the cubicle by THE WINDOW, it has caused me so much grief, it's almost enough to make me want to move...almost, but not quite.

I like the shades DOWN. I have headaches. I don't want sunlight. It HURTS.

But then Mark comes in. He loves sunlight. He pulls the shades one-third of the way up.

I wait one minute, stand up, and pull the shades back down. I go downstairs, get my breakfast, come back up, and the shade's back up.

Mark is laughing.

'Michelle, can't we just have it up a little?'

'Well, I guess, but the glare will kill us, and the heat...what about waiting until the sun gets to the other side.'
'(sigh) Okay...' (This is said very sadly).

I don't know how any work gets done because of the window drama.

When it rains, the shades open because no one has seen rain before, ever.

When it snows, you might as well shut the computers off for the day.

When the window washers are out there, it's all over.  Same goes for when the roofers are working across the street.

And there's always catty remarks from people who want to sit there...They say, 'Well if I sat there I'd have the shades up...she doesn't deserve that seat!'

And I'm thinking very uncharitably, it is so hot over here by the window and you already have hot flashes, no way could you last over here... I try to nip that unkind thinking in the bud but it sneaks out before I can stop it.

Apparently I'm really not that nice.

So that's where we are now.

I work in cubicle-land, where I send very nicely-worded emails all day to people in the US and Canada and the UK and India and the Philippines for the international brokerage side of my large shipping corporation. I avoid making calls as much as possible, EMAILS ARE SO MUCH BETTER!!!

And I LOVE where I sit, in the corner, with a window on one side, where no one can really see me, and I'm hidden away.  Except for when people come to look out the window when it rains, or it's windy, or it snows...sigh...

I love ALMOST all seven billion of you...

Does it matter if I'm cis or noncis?

What about black or white?

Female or male?

Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Jew, Muslim?

Chinese? Indian? American? Nigerian? Brazilian? German? Russian? Iranian?

I can reduce myself to a hundred parts and each one is sure to offend someone on this planet. 

I'm offended by things, too. When the Iranian president denies the Holocaust, it hurts. When the Supreme Court says some parts of the Voting Rights Act are no longer needed, it hurts. And when the Russian president says gays in his country will be arrested, it really hurts. 

It's been less than eighty years since the Holocaust. It's clear some world leaders have forgotten. 

The mantra of Holocaust survivors was, "Testify. Never forget."

I don't think the climate of hate we're seeing today is helpful in securing a positive, permanent change in the world. 

And isn't that what we want? To move towards a safe place for everyone to live?

Instead of me being offended by my neighbor because he is a cis white male Christian American, I can celebrate his difference. HE CAN'T HELP WHO HE IS. 

Snarking continually on how white men are the bane of society, on how the US is behind the rest of the world in virtually everything, on how awful Democrats are, on how awful Republicans are, and how my opinion doesn't matter because I'm a straight girl from Kentucky - it is all self-defeating. 

The name-calling and hate-spewing is causing us to overlook the issue at hand. I don't hate you, and I don't think you really hate me. Why are we wasting our time pretending to hate each other?

I want to be safe. I want you to be safe. I want my family, and your family, and all of our families to be safe.

Millions of people standing together for the safety of our families is a far more powerful testament than the dissonance of a billion voices shouting in hate.

I am human. Nothing else matters. I have the right to be safe.

So does everyone else.

It's our duty to protect the safety of our fellow humans when someone or something is trying to take it away.

See Pastor Niemoller's poem here...

Edit: Have you heard about this? Shouldn't the international community intervene in the case of Russia, BEFORE another genocide occurs?

So show me family...

We're going through tough times here in the Ville, and I guess they could be linked directly back to me and my migraine.

My migraine and I missed a day of work this week (unpaid), and my migraine and I missed a day and a half of work last week (unpaid). We've really been spending a lot of time together, my migraine and I.
A 20%+ reduction in my paycheck every week is enough to freak my accountant out, and she doesn't have the benefit of nice calming anti-anxiety pills like I do.

And so every day when she picks me up and takes me to work - my accountant is also my morning chauffeur, who also happens to be my mother - I have to hear in full detail about my money problems and how I don't make it easy on her and if I keep it up I'll just have to move back in with her, and she doesn't take cats.

We can't ever ever let that happen, of course. Because 1) I love my mother, but living with her was really awful!, and 2) I love my kitty, and I could never give her up!

Things were much better before Dwayne got laid off, and then his RA got so advanced. He's still waiting for his disability hearing. He has to use canes, walkers, wheelchairs...it's shocking how much it has progressed in two years, and he's only 45. My grandpa, who is 83 and had brain surgery seven months ago, can still make it across the room faster than Dwayne can. I don't understand how he still hasn't been approved...it's a mystery.

The other thing is that I'm kind of supporting me, Chelsea and her best friend until they get jobs. Chelsea had a job but quit to go to school but then sat out a semester so now she has no job and no school but she is looking for a job now until school starts back. Her best friend was kind of kicked out by his family and had nowhere to go so I said he could stay here until he got a job and found somewhere to go.

I won't mention how long he's been here. Let's just say maybe our Christmas decorations were still up.

I'm kind of his mother figure now. He came out to me yesterday as transgender. So now I have to call her, her. And she.

I had noticed that she had pretty nail polish on her toes for a few weeks now, but you know me...I see something, I think, oh, and then it's gone. IT'S MICHELLE'S WORLD.

I don't know how easy it may be for her job hunting as obviously trans, because she has a deep voice still. I know that Louisville has the Fairness Act, but can employers find ways around that? I'm just worried about her, this is a great town but it isn't New York or San Fran where she might have more help available.

But she has me! Even though we're very low on funds, we have lots of love! And we have, you know, the internet.

p.s. My migraine and I will be going to work together from now on. We will no longer be staying at home. Even if I go and just sit there at my desk in silent death, I will get up and go. So I can bring home that $150/day.

Unless I won the lottery tonight, I'll be sure to let you all know.

Keep your head up...

Lollapalooza is streaming live this weekend...it's almost as good as being there.

Going to concerts, something I used to love to do, is a thing of my past. My life is work, home, sleep.

I feel like I live a false existence. I've always had a lot of things - I spread my interests around. Books. Art. Writing. Music.

But in the past few years, while my world crumbled, all of my things went away.

Who was I?

I'm not saying that we're defined by what we do or what we like...but it's been a struggle to stay awake when I bore myself to sleep.

I used to be able to sit in silence for hours...but that was my choice. When the choice was taken from me because my mind couldn't come up with anything, it was agony.

I've been building myself back up.

I thought books would come back to me first, because they were my first and greatest love. But books have been holding out on me. I can reread my favorites...and short stories are easy. But anything new that requires any deep thinking is still beyond me.

Art is a distant memory. My new self has shaky hands and blurry vision. I can appreciate art, but I can no longer create it.

The writing is coming back to me. It's unexpected...I thought I would be blocked forever. I don't know how long it will last, and I'm taking advantage of it while I can.

I miss my music. I miss it so much. My keyboard and my violin and my guitar all sit in the corner of my room, collecting dust. I haven't touched them in over two years. I CAN'T.

I would sit and play for hours. It seems like it's one of my biggest hurdles. How hard can it be to just grab an instrument and start playing?

I'm working on it.

Now I'm going back to pretending I'm at Lollapalooza... live feeds are wonderful things.

He's my brother...

Me, Carol, John, Moma - 1991

Try to ignore the hair and clothing...we thought we were in style. :)

That's me, my sister-in-law, my big brother and my grandmother up there, at my brother's graduation from drill sergeant school at Ft.Something or Other in 1991.

I may have said something about my brother before in the past nine years on this blog... He IS my big brother, after all, and I think big brothers come with a secret manual or something, called 'How To Torture Your Little Sister Her Whole Life.'

They may think the same thing about us.

So we're at a family party earlier this month, and John, Chelsea, Dwayne and I are hiding down in the basement away from the annoying cousins (even though my brother and I bicker endlessly, we are also very very similar. That may be why we bicker endlessly.)

Deciding this is as good a time as any, I hand my brother the list of '20 Things About My Brother' that I had just posted on Twitter. ALL TRUE.
Here they are:

1. Loud
2. Good dad
3. Obnoxious
4. Obsessive
5. Protective
6. Former drill sergeant
7. Refuses to lose
8. Loud
9. Obnoxious
10. Able to make sisters, nieces, aunts, mothers, cousins and grandmothers cry
11. Charming to everyone but his family
12. My rock when we were growing up
13. Loud
14. Obnoxious
15. One of the best men I know
16. Can be a big jerk
17. A great big brother
18. An annoying big brother
19. Loud and obnoxious
20. Loves me

He reads it over, hands it back, and says, "I can't believe you said all those mean things about me!"

"What mean things? I said a lot of good things! And it's all true!"

"Not all of it."

"What isn't true?"

"I'm not obnoxious."

With that declaration, Dwayne, Chelsea and I all shouted in laughter. We couldn't help it. Look obnoxious up in the dictionary, you'll see my brother.

We went upstairs and he told on me to my mom. My mom said, "Wait, when you used to run around with Rich, didn't you use to call yourselves 'Loud and Obnoxious'? In fact, wasn't Rich 'Loud', and you were 'Obnoxious'?"

I love it when my mom takes my side.  Even now when we're 40 and 45 and we regress 35 years in her presence.

I also really do love my big brother, I don't know what I'd do without him.