I bring you a waster of time.
I found this because I'm up late reading. I say reading, but I really mean consulting The Oracle (aka the internets). The Bean has been doing some very odd things, leading Simon and I to have this conversation a lot:
"That was a seizure."
"She's fine.
...
...
Do you think she had a seizure?"
"That's totally a seizure"
"She's fine."
She has a Doctor's appointment next week,so barring a really obvious seizure-y event, we'll have a big fun visit then, I'm sure, complete with EXTRA FUN BLOOD DRAWS YEAH BABY! I don't want her to have to have any more of those. No sir. It just makes me sick. I have to be the big bad mom and hold her down, then I have to be the strong comforting mom who gets her to stop screaming.
I'm sick of having to do hard mom and strong mom things. I'm also sick of all the uncertainty that being Bean's mom seems to require. No one's certain why she doesn't talk. Whether she'll have other learning problems. This visit will be more of the same. I'll describe her spells and no one will be certain if they're seizures, and tests will have to be done, and even if they decide they were seizures, chances are no one will know if she'll have more, or if they'll be getting worse or better as time goes on. No one will know if there's a connection between one thing and another. I'm sick of it.
I'm feeling slightly "sick" anyhow. Like I'm at the end of my tether, but for no real reason. I'm getting my stuff done, but I feel like I've got something hanging over my head. Like I've got a paper due tomorrow and I haven't started yet. It's making me crazy because, like, Hey! No Paper! But yeah, still the stress. I don't understand why the stress. I think I need some spliff.
ASIDE:
I just decided I'm going to call my farmer friend "Myfarmer", because that's her email address, and we all had a giggle over it and proceeded to tease her a little about it when she told us what she'd chosen.
THAT'S THAT THEN:
So I told Myfarmer that if I got some we'd go smoke behind her barn and then laugh at the kids all afternoon. Like I could get ahold of anything, or could afford it if I did find a source. Sigh. Sometimes I think I'm the only one in this one hole town who isn't hooked up. Honestly though,it's been years and years. I don't even know if I can remember the last time I toked. I never could smoke a lot- too hard on my lungs, and I don't think it's very good for the rest of you either, but it sure was fun.
I suppose I could make do with a good laugh instead. Harold and Kumar Two comes out soon, doesn't it? That shit's funny, even when you watch it twice. I watched "Dude, Where's my car" expecting it to be pee yer pants funny again, but it faded to being just generally funny. It was funny enough that I wanted to make matching t-shirts for Simon and I that said "Dude" and "Sweet" on the back, but he said he didn't like the movie That much, and there you have it.
Why do you have to pass it on the left hand side?
ephelba
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
What I'm doing these days.
* Obviously, I haven't been subjecting you to bad writing. Seriously, the Bug's birth story was so poorly written I'm tempted to delete it, but its poorly-written-ness is a testament to the state of my brain, so I'll leave it stand.
* Have been playing Zelda, Twilight Princess. The Boy and Simon are too. Sometimes we bond as one or the other of us tries to figure out a sticky problem. Sometimes we yell something to the effect of "Jump Back Bitch" when one or the other of us gets too bossy . The Boy, especially, tends to become a sort of back-seat-driver when he sees us going about something the wrong way.
It's very fun to have the boy in the room when we discover something he hadn't found, or do something he said couldn't be done. We're continually trying to explain to him that there are no real risks in this game, it being, well, a GAME, and so he should just try everything. What could it hurt? He tends to get hung up on what he thinks should happen, or on not wasting bombs or arrows. When us old fogeys find something his outrage is palpable. And sometimes earsplitting. It's a hoot.
Note: the designers of the game put a lovely feature on the menu screen that keeps tabs of how long you've played. That way, when you get together with your gaming friends, you can say "My penis is bigger because I finished the game in twenty hours and five minutes with only the original three hearts...blahblahblah." For the rest of us mortals it serves other purposes. For Boy it is an unfailing record of the fact that he did, as a matter of fact, play for more than an hour today, and needs to get his ass up and do something else. For me it serves as a record of how much time I've spent not doing laundry, not doing the bills, not cooking and not cleaning. It's a measure of how guilty I need to be. I'm trying to change my view of it, and start using it as a timer like the Boy does. There shouldn't be anything wrong with playing for a little everyday if I'm doing my other stuff too.
Right?
It's definitely served as an object lesson that if you work on something a little at a time the hours add up, because Boy and I have both been putzing at it a bit here and there and have accrued more than forty hours. And no, we haven't finished the game yet, and yes, yours is probably bigger- bite me.
* Let's see. I've also been looking up old friends on the internet. I think I always do that around New Years. Seems like I always find the same ones, which is good, but I'm also hoping that one day I'll find my best friend from elementary school, or some more of my good friends from the first time I went to college...
* Been watching my friend's farm. It's been doing this:
that is, it's been having sheep. And a horse and donkeys and cats and chickens. The chickens are just about my favorite, but I don't have a picture of them yet, so you'll have to content yourself with the cats.
* I've decided that since I was a very successful office worker I should try to apply the skills I used there to my home life, and see if it doesn't help me get my shit together. I've been feeling sentimental about my old office. I had an office. An entire office to myself, where I organized and worked and kept things neat and tidy. It was a tiny universe whose workings I got to govern to a degree I haven't managed anywhere else in my life ever. Isn't that odd? I mean, I'm the mom of this house, so why doesn't it run more like I want it to? You could argue that the other four people here have something to do with it, but I disagree, because basically we all want the same thing. We'd all like to be able to see the floor, and have said floor be clean enough it doesn't turn our socks brown. We'd all like to have our laundry washed and then put away, instead of heaped into an over-full basket in the laundry room. We'd all like to eat dinner by six. I just can't figure out why this is so damn hard.
Stage one of my "Run it like an Office" plan is to use my daily planner like I did in the work world. I'd sit down every morning and plan out what I needed to get done that day in writing. I don't know why, but this does wonders for me, and it seems to helping in the two days I've tried it so far. I'll let you know how it goes.
* Lastly, as usual, I've been discovering odd things on youtube. Such as this:
You gotta love that.
Wow. This was a bit longer than I had intended. Shit, how bout I make it even longer and put in some gratuitous baby pics.
There now.
Going to go be a good witch,
ephelba
* Have been playing Zelda, Twilight Princess. The Boy and Simon are too. Sometimes we bond as one or the other of us tries to figure out a sticky problem. Sometimes we yell something to the effect of "Jump Back Bitch" when one or the other of us gets too bossy . The Boy, especially, tends to become a sort of back-seat-driver when he sees us going about something the wrong way.
It's very fun to have the boy in the room when we discover something he hadn't found, or do something he said couldn't be done. We're continually trying to explain to him that there are no real risks in this game, it being, well, a GAME, and so he should just try everything. What could it hurt? He tends to get hung up on what he thinks should happen, or on not wasting bombs or arrows. When us old fogeys find something his outrage is palpable. And sometimes earsplitting. It's a hoot.
Note: the designers of the game put a lovely feature on the menu screen that keeps tabs of how long you've played. That way, when you get together with your gaming friends, you can say "My penis is bigger because I finished the game in twenty hours and five minutes with only the original three hearts...blahblahblah." For the rest of us mortals it serves other purposes. For Boy it is an unfailing record of the fact that he did, as a matter of fact, play for more than an hour today, and needs to get his ass up and do something else. For me it serves as a record of how much time I've spent not doing laundry, not doing the bills, not cooking and not cleaning. It's a measure of how guilty I need to be. I'm trying to change my view of it, and start using it as a timer like the Boy does. There shouldn't be anything wrong with playing for a little everyday if I'm doing my other stuff too.
Right?
It's definitely served as an object lesson that if you work on something a little at a time the hours add up, because Boy and I have both been putzing at it a bit here and there and have accrued more than forty hours. And no, we haven't finished the game yet, and yes, yours is probably bigger- bite me.
* Let's see. I've also been looking up old friends on the internet. I think I always do that around New Years. Seems like I always find the same ones, which is good, but I'm also hoping that one day I'll find my best friend from elementary school, or some more of my good friends from the first time I went to college...
* Been watching my friend's farm. It's been doing this:
that is, it's been having sheep. And a horse and donkeys and cats and chickens. The chickens are just about my favorite, but I don't have a picture of them yet, so you'll have to content yourself with the cats.
* I've decided that since I was a very successful office worker I should try to apply the skills I used there to my home life, and see if it doesn't help me get my shit together. I've been feeling sentimental about my old office. I had an office. An entire office to myself, where I organized and worked and kept things neat and tidy. It was a tiny universe whose workings I got to govern to a degree I haven't managed anywhere else in my life ever. Isn't that odd? I mean, I'm the mom of this house, so why doesn't it run more like I want it to? You could argue that the other four people here have something to do with it, but I disagree, because basically we all want the same thing. We'd all like to be able to see the floor, and have said floor be clean enough it doesn't turn our socks brown. We'd all like to have our laundry washed and then put away, instead of heaped into an over-full basket in the laundry room. We'd all like to eat dinner by six. I just can't figure out why this is so damn hard.
Stage one of my "Run it like an Office" plan is to use my daily planner like I did in the work world. I'd sit down every morning and plan out what I needed to get done that day in writing. I don't know why, but this does wonders for me, and it seems to helping in the two days I've tried it so far. I'll let you know how it goes.
* Lastly, as usual, I've been discovering odd things on youtube. Such as this:
You gotta love that.
Wow. This was a bit longer than I had intended. Shit, how bout I make it even longer and put in some gratuitous baby pics.
There now.
Going to go be a good witch,
ephelba
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