Nothing Changes

We did move to Michigan.

It sucks.

My mother lives less than a quarter mile away, and when she has any free time or energy she spends it examining my life and telling me what to do. When I don't do what she wants, she frequently comes over and does things "for" me, often when I'm not home so she doesn't have to argue with me.

The best news on that front is that my grandfather is very ill, and she has no time left to molest me and mine.  The worst news on that front is that he is liable to die, and then she will have free time again.

The people here are, in fact, the kind who vote for Trump. They are ignorant fucksticks, like as unto our president himself. I wish I could say something like "But they have big hearts!" but they don't. They're racist and zenophobic and miserly. They take and they don't give. They're proud to be bigots in public again. To be fair, even if I didn't live here where it's all up in my face, I would probably find the political happenings equally horrific.

It is cold. We do have a stove, and we ARE warmer here. The house IS smaller and easier to clean. I have yet to mow the lawn here, and I never will, as grod is my witness. We are raising our own meat, our goats are off getting some loving as I type, and chickens will happen this year. Hopefully gardening will too.

Depression is my buddy here. I have been doing a lot to try and learn my way out of it. You might be able to tell I haven't met with complete success.

I have no job. The man I am married to has no job. I do volunteer tutor at the local library, volunteer as a 4-H art club leader, and I'm always taking the girls places. I keep busy. Somehow I never manage to get enough done on the house and yard, so nothing new there really.

My health has sort of plateaued. It is not as good as I need it to be, so nothing new there either.

We've been here a year now. I feel no need to celebrate. In fact, every holiday feels like a slap in the face. I don't feel like I have anything to celebrate, and much to mourn. Then I feel guilty because so many have so much more to mourn. This is how depression works.

I suppose this is this year's post. A year of living in what mom calls "my little piece of heaven" (FUCKING HA! AS IF) can be summed up as "That sucked".

See you next year, assuming we haven't gone to war with China and had the interwebs EMPed out of existence.

Sigh.

Something New

I'm meant to be working on the house, getting it ready to sell, but I've hit a hump so  I'm going to blog instead. HA! Procrastinating like the pros....

I was just reading my old posts, and I'm struck by how many times I thought I'd figured something out and was going to get better. Well here's something new- I've finally accepted that I get what I get and I can throw fits but it won't change anything. For whatever reason my body is not as energetic as my brain wants it to be. I can skip wheat and dairy (I do) and take supplements (I do) and prescription meds (I do) and all I get is some easing of symptoms. It just doesn't get better, and I appear to be on a sort of slow slide. That's that.

It makes me very, very, very angry.

And that's ok. I have been robbed. It's right to be angry. Then I put on my big girl panties and get things done for as long as I can. I still manage to get a fair amount of things done, just never as much as I'd like.

The good news is that we're moving to Michigan. Mom is having us move into her trailer, which sits on the family property. There will be much less square footage to clean in the house. There will be no mortgage there. No fluoride or chlorine in the water. No rules about mowing the lawn. No prohibitions on chickens or bees or goats or gardening the hell out of native plants (aka weeds, in the city. Oh the fun we had with that). Although the winters are grob awful, there's a wood stove meaning we'll actually be warmer there- we kept the heat set at 55 here. One winter we kept the house warm with a kerosene heater in the living room. We all wore coats inside. It was nasty. Interestingly, we didn't catch any colds that winter, but I digress.

OF course, it's no Shangri-La there. Lots of people of the sort who would vote for Trump are there. Lots. When you meet new people, it's "What church do you go to?" and "What sport do your kids play?" . I will not fit in now any better than I did when I went to high school there.

There are no good jobs there. I hope to get a job subbing at the schools a few days a week, but that would mean Wayne would have to have some kind of job that allowed him to watch the girls on those days.

And of course, I'm moving in with my Mom. A lady I barely know, because she's been in Russia for most of my life. A lady with whom I have issues. I refuse to even ponder how that's going to go down, because it terrifies and tires me, and I'm working so hard on getting this house done. The rest of the family is already there, huddled between piles of boxes. Apparently Simon spend his days on the computer, the girls poke at rocks in the driveway, and Mom fusses a lot. This is the impression I get from here, and it drives me dotty. I need to get up there and put things to rights.  I have to finish here first, which involves a hella lot of painting. I cannot communicate how much painting me and my friends have done. Also electrical work. Also caulking. Also getting rid of things.

I say we, but I really mean my friends. The Loon came all the way out from Michigan and busted hump to get all the drywall stuff done, as well as paint and paint and caulk and paint. My other dear friend (that I haven't named here yet) made this project her new nine to five, and has been out here painting and painting and keeping me going. Other friends drop by and paint when they have spare time, or watch children for us, or lend us tools. I absolutely couldn't do this without them. I really don't want to leave them behind. It feels like every five years I leave my people and start over. This is also why we're choosing Michigan- because we've decided to quit doing that. We're tired of pulling up stakes and starting over.

I suppose that's enough of that. Gotta go get some more paint in my hair.

Wish me luck,
Ephelba

FB Status Updates I never posted, but really wanted to.

The children's favorite bathtub toy is the mildew that gets flushed out of the inside of their other bathtub toys. Best. Mom. Ever.

I think religion says "This is the right thing to do.  That is the wrong thing to do.  You must do whatever it takes to do the right things and not do the wrong things.  Hurt yourself, the people you love, don't be true to yourself if it means that the right things get done".  I don't have religion, so I think you should not hurt yourself or anybody else, and you should be true to yourself, and if something meets those requirements, that's how you know it's the right thing.

My dog is scared of My farts.

You're all being pwned by like-farmers.  STOP IT!  BAD FACEBOOKER!  BADBADBAD!!!!1!

The best part about sleeping in your clothes is that you can go to work in your pajamas.

Really, the only people who are capable of cutting you to the bone are the ones that you love.  

Sometimes FB make me feel lonelier than ever, because when no one responds to my posts I know it's because FB hasn't shown them to anyone, because no one has interest in me.  It's the FB catch 22.

Sometimes FB makes me feel the love more than ever, because I post a comment and someone I didn't even know hits the like button.  In a set of more than six billion people, there exists at least one other person who agrees with me.

Someone is wrong on the internet again.  Make them stop.

I actually DO find your pictures of lunch interesting.

The Bug: "Let's get a Christmas tree."
Me: "We can't afford one.  We'll have to make something like one."
The Bug: "PLEEEEEESE"
Me: "It's not like it's an option and I'm holding out on you.  Do you want breakfasts, or do you want a Christmas tree?"
The Bug: " A Christmas tree."

(Which I can't post because people will think I'm whiny, but honestly I thought it was funny...)

What a weekend I had......

Ever have one of those days when you miss a dose of Pristique and you're possibly premenstrual anyways, and you lose how handfuls of your sanity but somehow the loss escapes your perception because it's all apeshit up in there anyways, and really, if you've got a room full to bursting with monkeys, and then 30 of them run off, you notice the volumes been reduced, but you really couldn't be bothered with an exact number.  There were more, there are now less, but you're still dodging poo so you best get on with it, not counting monkeys.  Which is all to say I knew I was having A BAD DAY, but it wasn't really until today that I look back on this weekend and say "Who does that?".  I will tell you.  A crazy lady does that.  I thank Science for my meds, and am glad they make such an apparent difference, but am also now Dubious of my ability to assess my perception.  I feel a need to go get my mental "temperature" taken.  

Which is not to say I'm seeing pink elephants or hearing them talk.  Nor was I then.  It's just that it seemed very real to me that my husband had kicked me out.  And I spent sevenish hours setting in a parking lot thinking about what that meant, and seriously being confused about what had just happened.  I would think that he was mad but hadn't really kicked me out- he wouldn't do that because he's my husband and he loves me (The actual truth).  Then I would think I was right to leave, and good luck to him trying to do what I do on top of what he does. That'll learn him. Then I would think I was right to leave, but it was because I am so awful.  All the awful things (I thought) he had said were true.   I married a smart, sweet man.  If he thinks I's an ass, I probably is. I must be a huge flaming anus, and I should never go back.  For my family's sake.  Rinse and repeat.  A lot.  

Today, it's all so clear.  And the difference between the reality and my perception is all so vast.  And the power of this drug so scary- I take the smallest dose, and I missed one dose for sure- possibly two, but no more.  I had asked my doctor about trying to get off of it, but she said I should just go down to every other day, etc.  I can not imagine what my life would look like after a month of cycling through sanity windows.  

ASIDE-

There are no titrated dosing strengths for weaning off with.  There is no liquid version.  You can't chop one up because it's made like an onion, with enteric coatings preventing the good stuff from hitting you all at once.  You can't dissolve one to make a  liquid dose for that reason- it would all dump in and get used up in one spurt- you'd have to take sips of it day and night.  I'd need some sort of life style that would allow me to spend every other day ALONE, or in a drug induced stupor, or something.  I would go so far as to say it makes one wish one hadn't taken it, only damn, it works better than anything else I've tried.  

ALL DONE-

The ratio of letters typed to mistakes made is becoming verrrr leedle, so Imma say good night. 

Night,

ephelba

PS

The girls have been hunting weasles in our yard.  They made a weasle trap with a nest and a fake wooden egg.  I can't tell if they seriously believe there will be weasles, or could be weasles, or are already weasles lurking in our yard just out of view.  I will not let them use a real egg.  

The trouble with diary gaps is that you feel like you need to fill them.   You can't.

I tutor math for 12 hours a week.  Somehow the thought of offering my services outside of a school setting didn't occur to me until just now.  Anyways, I really enjoy the mother fucking hell out of it.  I think it may be a little like being an adrenaline junkie- you only have one student, and you make up problems and show examples in this massive effort to get the kiddo to have an Aha! moment.  Watching things make sense to someone and then having them go on to getting problems right is an amazing high.

Which is not to say that's what always happens, but the search for the next fix is nicely satisfying in its own right.

Been doing the dairy/wheat free thing for about a month now.  The difference is incredible.  Yesterday and today I didn't even think about taking a nap- life was happening and I was doing things and I got to the end of the day and realized I hadn't spent any effort at all trying not to nap.  Since I'm rolling with the addiction metaphors today, this change of events is akin to a heroin addict not thinking of the lovely glow at all for an entire day.  I'm trying to decide if it's worth it to test whether it's the wheat or the dairy.  I'd like one of them back, but not enough to go back to feeling as poorly as I did.

I put together a clothes rack for the girls yesterday.  Whenever I put their clothes in their dresser they end up pulling them all out to see what they have.  I HATE (!!!!11!1!) washing clothes that haven't been worn since their last washing.  I'm hoping that if the clothes are on hangers then they'll be able to decide what to wear without casting everything to the four corners of their room.

The Boy has cleaned his room! On his own! Of his own volition! Which is not to say I hadn't asked him to, but he decided enough was enough without me delivering an ultimatum.  Also, this may be the very first time he cleaned the entire room without any help from me.  Which is not to say I clean his room.  Usually he requires some sort of encouragement or assistance when he realizes what a Large Chore he has made for himself, but htis time he got himself over the hump.  I finally feel like he might have absorbed some of the things I've been trying for 16 years to teach him :)

Alright then.  Lots to do.  I'm off to do it!
ephelba

Poppy and I tell the girls at every available opportunity that smart people are the kind of people who make mistakes and then learn from them.

This Christmas I made a great mistake.  The children were all going to be home every day, and I had a ton of Christmas things to do, so I thought I would take one of my magic pills (Nuvigil) every day for a week, then crash on Christmas.  I didn't even make it three days.  If you don't have it to give, no amount of uppers will create it.  The result was that I crashed in a very real way on the Thursday before Christmas.  I threw a fit, I think it was on Friday, which involved me feeling more than a little suicidal, because, really, what's the fucking point of sleeping through your life?  This is a Stage.  I go through this Stage, then typically I pull my bootstraps up and Consult the Oracle.  Not that it has ever really helped my symptoms, but if you're looking for the latest research then you're Doing Something to try to fix things, and that means Hope.  Also, you can research on the couch.

This time the latest research mentioned they thing mast cells are involved.  I also read an interesting paper that suggested Quercetin and Chondroitin could be used to sort of muffle the mast cells, but quercetin is difficult to absorb.

Armed with this info, I slept as much as I could for, like, four days.  Then I bought some new goods. And now, after week of trying my new regimen, I can say that it's made a measurable huge difference.  I'm not cured.  Things are still off and weird, but I can truly say that I feel like I might be healing, and that next week I might feel better than I do this week.

Nothing very witty or insightful to say.  I just wanted to mark the point at which Thing Got Better, in case  it turns out to be true.

Love,
ephelba

PS
If you have chronic fatigue syndrome and wonder what my regimen is, I'll share:) Just email me.

In which I consider apologizing in advance, then don't.

Wow. So I've been stewing hard on this for some days now, and I think I'm ready to serve it up.

I have a unique view of xianity, having been raised in that camp and made to study the bible hard. I've been listening to some xians have their say in their own space for a while now, and I've decided that this, being my space, is an appropriate place to have my say.

Right now I'm thinking about Jesus, and what he'd do. Methinks he'd go out and do what needed doing. If he didn't want mothers murdering babies, maybe he could ask his sweet omnipotent dadoo to quit imparting the spark of life to the wombs of mothers who aren't in a good place for child rearing. You know the type, those neer-do well floozies that get raped by their fathers, or the un-wed 14 year olds in favelas, or that most evil of beings, a woman who couldn't keep her knees together and has decided things are so bad that she'll accept the possible shame, the risk of the procedure and pay the not inconsiderable financial cost to murder a child she thinks she shouldn't have. At the very least, maybe his dad could use his grace to allow women's wombs to reabsorb their young in stressful times, like rabbits.

Since his dad seems prone to ignoring good sense*, I'm betting Jesus would go out and create safe environments for mothers to raise their children, complete with meaningful work and safe, supportive, nourishing environs to raise their kids in. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd even hand out condoms in high schools and city streets. I sincerely and utterly doubt that he would ever shoulder a sign that looked like (trigger warning - graphic images of murdered babies, complete with bloody severed limbs) these. He certainly wouldn't shoulder the burden of pointing out to other people (with penises, who already agreed with him) how much sense he made while real breathing women were deciding whether murdering their baby really wasn't the best option. And "I know that I know" that he'd certainly sit in utter silence while those who had already murdered told their story, whether they felt sweet relief or sadness or guilt or all three or none of the above, because he was cool like that.

In fact, when the bible mentions Jesus hanging out with the kinds of people who pontificate about god, he ends up kicking their asses. Like, physically and on the church steps.

Of course, I'm assuming he'd even give a damn. I mean, I find it interesting that although women have been sticking twigs up their hoohas since they figured out what was going on up there, Jesus didn't bother mentioning it. I mean, the bible gets pretty specific on what kind of sleeping with men is not cool, and whether it's ok to eat four legged insects** and how evil cheese burgers are, but murdering children, and (again, trigger warning, graphic coroner's photo of a n4ked w0man) frequently their moms, doesn't warrant a mention.

Maybe he just figured he ought to mind his own business.

Feeling much better now,

ephelba***

* Also, quite possibly, because he's imaginary. But that's just my certainty. Your milage may vary.

** You gotta love you some Leviticus.

*** Comments turned off. This is my space, and I don't feel like sharing with xians today, so I'm going to pull a Cartman and not share with anybody.

Huh.

It would seem that health things are still improving. I'm not sure if it's real or not. Sometimes when you want something very badly you can make yourself believe in things that aren't there.

I dreamed that Simon called a family meeting to tell me I was pudgy. I told Simon about this when I woke up, and he asked, "Was it a happy dream?".

Ummmm, that would be "No".

Yesterday was a marathon day. Simon and I are sharing a car, so I drove him into work at 4:30, then came home and took a little nap, and then got up and made lunches for everybody, breakfasts for everybody, got everybody up and into the car and drove to Baltimore. Dropped the Boy off, drove back, stopped at Trader Joe's on the way, stopped to let a friend's dogs out, stopped at home to let my dogs out, went to pick Wayne up, came home, showered, went to work, then came home to take care of chores and kill a bunny.

See, we've acquired a Jack Russel sometime between that post I didn't write about moving into our new house and that other post I did write about not posting posts. He's a hoot. He does all the Jack Russelly things, like hunt, dig, and chew things that squeek. This has enabled him to find a rabbit's nest in our neighbor's yard, dig under the fence to steal a bunny, then, umm, damage it. Damage it, but not kill it. You should know, baby bunnies are notoriously difficult to raise because you have to have a grown up rabbit available to provide poops to feed the baby so you can culture their stomachs with the bugs they need to digest grass. Gross, but true. So not having a grown rabbit, or a way of treating the damage that Bingo did to it, I decided a quick death would be better than a slow one.

It is remarkably difficult to dispatch a cute, helpless animal. I don't mean difficult as in tricky to manage, I mean heartbreaking. Disturbing. I'll spare you the details and hope that you never find yourself in the same situation. That said, I found myself in the throes of inappropriate humor last night, humming "Kill the rabbit" and imagining new nicknames for myself. A dear friend who moved away used to call me Amy the Atheist, but I suppose I can expand the moniker to Amy the Atheist Bunny Killer, which makes me seems fearsome.

The latest good news is that I seem to have found Simon a granny car. It's a 96 toyota with only 78000 miles on it. Woohoo! We'll see if that pans out.

Boy is now at his other family's house, playing with his other sisters and brother, getting to know another set of parents. I'll have to devote a post to this subject soon. In the meantime, we miss him already and can't wait to have him back.

Workin hard or hardly workin,

ephelba