Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Choosing your battles sucks

Monday, September 26, 2011

Back to it

Fall Out
I'm stuck. I want to write about a number of things but my brain says "why don't you hide under your desk and take a nap." That's what I get for this weekend. Yesterday? I ate one time, in the morning, when a friend made me breakfast. That was it, one meal, and then just water and couch time until I went to bed. At 9:15. It was a fun weekend, but one with numerous repercussions and today I reap what I sowed. I'm like that damned grasshopper who sang all summer; today I have to work, take a neighbor on an errand, go to the grocery store, and clean out a guinea pig cage. No after work nap. No relaxing on the sofa watching more bad television. Just chore after chore after chore. Not to mention the need for a bath so that I can shave my wooly mammoth legs. I'm dressed like an old lady today because I had to wear trousers, thought I'd be semi-responsible and not make them jeans, and couldn't be bothered to really give a shit beyond that one stipulation. Honestly? The people I work with should just be happy that I brushed my fucking teeth this morning.

Social Policy
I read an article about how facebook and twitter are causing companies to develop social networking policies. People are griping about their jobs online, getting fired, and suing. Some win, some lose. I'm very careful on both this blog and my facebook page. I never mention my company by name or name the people I work with. I am purposely vague for fear that I'll be discovered and fired. Having read this article, I decided to check the employee handbook to see if there was an established policy. Nope. Nothing about social networking, which I think is fairly relevant. However, I do now know that I am not to store explosives or alcohol in my office and that it really behooves the entire company to not partake of alcohol or narcotics in the office. Honestly, there is an actual paragraph that explains, as though justification were needed, why employees are not to drink at work. Really? Other things I'm not meant to do in the office include: unwanted sexual advances, flirtation, or propositions; offering employment benefits in exchange for sexual favors; visual conduct "including leering" or displaying visual representations such as cartoons or posters, in any workplace location or via a company computer; make verbal sexual advances towards a colleague; or rape a colleague. So, basically, sex, or possibly just non-consensual sex, is a no go at my job. I love employment manuals.

Did you know that I'm an Ophiuchus? I don't even know how to say that word but it represents my zodiac sign. I used to be a Sagittarius, but then some people who care way too much about this bullshit discovered that the stars had moved or something and so I went from a half-horse archer to a snake handler. Yeah, I don't understand it either.

Sunday, September 25, 2011


I did unspeakable things this weekend. OK, I didn't do anything as bad as this, but for me, it was pretty bad. And I am turning over a new leaf because spending Sunday prostrate on the couch, sweating alcohol, smelling like a dog, and stewing in my own filth as I watch tepid murder mysteries on the Hallmark Movie channel is not something I want to do again. Did I have fun? Oh hells yes I had fun. I had a fucking blast and I don't know when last I enjoyed myself so much. But you know what, behaving like a full on hedonist comes with a price and one that I don't want to pay again. Staying up until 5:30 in the morning? What the fuck was that about? Sleeping until 5:30 in the evening to make up for it? Ingesting anything and everything? What the fuck, girl, who are you? So, in an effort to avoid ever feeling like Lindsay Lohan again, I'm going to morph into a reasonable human being again.

Because really, I keep thinking about the debauchery of this weekend and I shake my head and think "really?" And on the off chance that my husband, J, stumbles across this I will just say, for the record, that there was nothing sexual in this lost, wasted weekend. The old girl is still boarded up and out of business.

Oh, and one fun thing: I spoke to a guy who is from Denmark but who has lived in the states so long that he has his Danish accent but sounds like he's from Warren, Ohio. It's like a French person having their French accent but with a southern twang.  And dude is something like 46 years old and firmly believes that he could go to a college football team and be a walk-on kicker.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Growing Pains

Emo Brother

I have been weirdly emotional for the past few weeks. I feel a tremendous about of guilt for feeling like I'm over J so quickly but yet I am weepy and moved to tears very easily. I feel fine but I'm all fucked up. It doesn't make sense.

Yesterday, I started to really miss my older brother in a major way. Not my brother who moved to the UAE, but my other brother, the one I haven't spoken to in a real way for maybe ten or twelve years, the brother who was never really that much my friend. I don't know why, but I missed the hell out of him so tried to call him. He was working so I spoke with his wife, my ever indomitable sister-in-law, who probably regretted picking up the phone seeing as I dissolved into little pieces and puddles. I just wanted to hear his voice.

And I think I do know why I missed him. S is a person from my past. We grew up together and lived under the same roof for eighteen years. We lost our father, experienced pretty poor times, went on family vacations, bickered, fought, and occasionally laughed together. I haven't seen him since our middle brother got married. We don't keep in touch, at all. But we still exist. S is from my past, which is over and done, which makes it safe. S is my history and the certainty that goes along with knowing what happened and how it turned out.

And I just craved that last night. I received notification from my physician's office that my iron stores are low and so that is why my blood count was screwy. Anemia, take iron, no big deal. I was relieved, obviously, but it still triggered something in me that caused me to flip the fuck out. The future is uncertain and unknown and it terrifies me. I don't know what is going to happen with my disease. I don't know what is going to happen with my marriage. My follow up appointment looms ahead of me and J is constantly on my mind, his absence and my silence gaping like a cavern just in view. I can see it, I know it is there, but I'm trying my hardest to stay still and not take even one step forward because I don't think I can handle the depth of that cavern.

I never appreciated how awesome the past really is, the fact that it is over. It's like finishing a suspenseful novel or movie and feeling a sense of relief when it is done and you know what happened. I think I view S as a reminder that things have been awful before and that we have both gotten through it. Like I said, our father died and we saw tough times. But we got through it and we both saw our own personal shitty times later in life. His wife had part of her leg amputated due to cancer for fuck's sake. And that is still going on. She is doing well but it is never over. This too shall pass and no matter hard it gets and no matter how painful, I'll deal with it. What other choice do I have?

I need to just suck it up now. I need to just remind myself that getting hysterical isn't going to help anything. Yes, talking to my extremely kind neighbor last night, crying and being allowed to just get it out, was nice and helpful, but I need to get my shit together. The diagnosis was made in June - it isn't going to change so I need to just fucking deal with it. The separation... well, that I don't know about. But I need to remember that I do have a life and that I should probably live it, not just cry and hide.

And, most importantly, I need to do these things that I tell myself, not just write them down.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Babies with fake IDs

Aren't you a pretty little thing!
Someone mistook me for a child the other night. Wait, let me go back a few beats.

I am very interested in the Bible and Christian religions. Yes, I'm a militant atheist with no doubt in my mind that there is no super natural power or anything beyond what we have here on earth. But I also have a very academic interest in religion in general and Christian faiths in particular (mainly because you have to start somewhere and Christianity has always been all around me). I recently sat and chatted with my very nice neighbor, G, who is Pentecostal. She loaned me a few books and then, when I asked her what her beliefs were, invited me to her church on Sunday. As it was an evening service, I said "sure." It was quite the experience given that the last few times I've been in church have been for weddings. I don't know when I was last in attendance for an actual service, but I do know it was nothing like this. The choir was up and running when we arrived and the assembly was on its communal feet, clapping, singing, hands raised towards Heaven (I'm presuming). The Pentecostals appear to be quite expressive and vocal in their worship.

It was nice and I'm glad I went because I took lessons from the sermon that are very applicable to secular life. I may even go again. I filled out a visitor's card and everything. And that's how I found out that I'd been mistaken for a child.

On Monday there was a knocking on my door that was quite persistent (I only answered after the third knock and only because I figured it had to be an emergency [I wasn't exactly ignoring anybody, but I was in the bath and it wasn't exactly convenient]). Turned out to be someone from the church, with my neighbor, bringing me a little thank you gift for having attended the church the night before. It was then that she said "I did see you with G, but I thought you were a child." G assured me that this lady only saw me from the back and I have to assume that she only saw me sitting down. I'm not an Amazonian but, at 5'7, I think I'm rather taller than the average child. Or else I'm shrinking. And not only did she think I was a child, but a child with 'great hair.' Interesting.

Sleep and I are getting through the growing pains and figuring things out. Yesterday, when my alarm sounded, I shut it off as if to say "thank you but no, I'm not getting up right now." And when I say I shut it off, I mean I turned off one alarm, unlocked my cell phone, and dismissed that alarm as well. I have only a vague memory of doing this but it was done and thus I awoke at 8 a.m. when I was meant to begin my work day. Not very good at all. And that extra hour of sleep didn't do me much good based on how tired I was all day.

Last night I took a bath with some sleepy time bath bubbles (courtesy of a friend) and drank some vodka and this helped me fall asleep and stay asleep. I am still dead tired today, but at least I made it to work on time. My goal is to be able to get to sleep by 11 p.m., without any aids (alcoholic or otherwise) and sleep throughout the night. Like I used to before MS and the separation. K told me that she stopped sleeping properly in 2003, when her marital strife began. She is now remarried, has a baby, and life is good, but she said she still doesn't sleep like she used to. I hope that isn't where I'm headed. It's been two months of insomnia, semi-insomnia, sleeping through my alarm, and being constantly tired. The Provigil comes in handy during the work day but I would much prefer just being able to sleep properly. I miss it.

It would probably help if I stopped emailing all evening. That's become a habit that I need to break for more reasons than one. So I have a new goal for the next few days: after work I will go home, have something to eat, say hey to the pig, and then focus on getting my home in order and keeping it in order. I swear to god I clean the fucking place every day and then I get home from work the next day and, evidently, go to a closet, pull things out at random, and throw them on the floor. Oh, and eat off of seven different kinds of plates. It is absurd that I can't keep order when it is only me for fuck's sake.

I'll start that today.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Monetary Mayhem

Here I was beginning to feel like an adult. I've started making small forays into cooking again. I've gotten better about picking up after myself and keeping my home clean. I'm getting better about remembering what is important and not getting too worked up over things out of my control. I started to feel confident and capable and responsible.

And then I sat down to sort out my finances and panicked. I don't often have this wish, but for a moment, I literally thought "I wish my father were alive, that he was super rich, and that he doted on me." That is my reaction to knowing that I have no money and a lot of bills, that is my solution: fairy godfather.

I hate being poor. I don't have to worry about living in my car or anything, but I do have to monitor my account and worry about overdrafts on a more routine basis than is healthy. And I have to pay bills for mistakes I've made, which is like having someone slap me and call me stupid once a month. My credit card payment is way too high (and those bastards emailed me and wrote me to inform me that I have Even! More! Credit!), I'll be paying my student loans off until I'm dead (at which point they will forgive the debt; I know because I asked), and I'm at the point where I have to make some decisions. I'm going to cancel my gym membership because it is really a luxury that I can't afford right now. I may change my cable set up so that I have fewer channels and a lower bill. Tomorrow I may talk to my doctor about changing my anti depressant to something that is a tier one drug on my health insurance so that I can have a lower copay.

The business of MS kills me because it is so expensive. Is that not the most vapid and ridiculous comment ever? I don't even mean that. What kills me about MS is that I have it, it is presently incurable, and one day I may lose function. But for the purpose of this post, it is the expense. I wrote out my expenses, things like rent and utilities, credit card bills, car insurance, etc. Then I remembered prescription costs and office visits. Tomorrow is $25 because I'm seeing my PCP. October 14 is $35 because it is a specialist. My prescriptions currently cost me about $45 a month. If I continue taking Provigil (which I won't if I don't need it), it will be $95 a month. Once I start treatment, I'll begin taking a drug that is either $30 or $50 a month, so my costs will go to $125 - $145 a month.

I'm OK with eating Ramen. I don't buy a lot of *stuff* so I won't have shopping withdrawal. But I do need to start clipping coupons and thinking about my grocery store trips so that I don't go every day and buy shit I don't need.  I need to pay attention to how much things cost at different pet stores so that I can make sure I'm not spending too much on Johan when I could be saving. Poor Johan. I have to buy him food today.

I think I'll be OK. I used to be really good with money and now that I've made myself face up to it and see my circumstances, I'll probably get back to being fiscally responsible and truly start taking care of myself. But it is going to be difficult and I'm going to be scared for awhile. But I guess that is part of growing up, right?

Saturday, September 17, 2011


I slept quite late today, as I'd been up rather late last night. By 1 p.m. I decided to do something that was at once both very good for me and very, very foolish. I decided I needed to tear myself away from the television and internet (very good) and go for a walk (also very good). After I'd gotten myself ready, face washed, teeth brushed, contacts put in, I decided I'd walk to the library to return a book. Undoubtedly foolish. It was all very nice at first. I was out of my chilly apartment and in the fresh air and sun. But I was half way there when I remembered that the library is two miles north of my apartment and that I'd have to walk that distance back. I was too far to turn around, of course, so I sallied forth. I hadn't remembered the distance so I hadn't brought any water. Fortunately, what I had brought with was an ear band thing, something to keep my ears warm. The weather was lovely but couldn't make up its mind. At times I regretted the long sleeves because I was hot. At others, my ears hurt from the chill. I was constantly trying to sort myself out to be comfortable but it never really worked. Instead, I simply found myself covered in a chilly layer of sweat. Very nice.

The best part of the trip came when I was two thirds of the way home. A blond girl ran past me and suddenly stopped and started walking. At first I thought it was a momentary change because she was doing things I've done myself on the treadmill. She was craning her neck to look at her iPod, which was strapped to her upper arm. Then she took it off and looked at it. But then she wrapped the earphones around it and just kept walking. I spent about ten minutes two or three yards behind her, just walking. It was awkward because I was close enough to feel like I was following her. It got to the point that I decided I would break into a run myself just to get past her. Let this stranger feel weird following me.

I called J last night. I was still very upset about the RBC fear, thinking "I thought the other problem was nothing and it turned out to be MS. I can't think this is nothing any more." So I called him just to let him know what was going on. It was beyond awkward. He sounded out of breath, as though I'd caught him in the middle of something but he spoke to me anyway, even making me laugh. There was a strange pause and so I said "I thought you'd want to know because you are still my beneficiary and so might want to pick out things in case I should die". He joked that he could put the pig on ebay, making me laugh and say "absolutely not, that is something I'm putting in my will, that he is to be taken care of." It wasn't good or bad that we spoke since we said so little. I felt guilty the minute I hung up. Actually, I felt guilty the minute he answered, wished I hadn't called him. But I knew he'd want to know.

Still, I'll probably email him when I know what is up.

Friday, September 16, 2011


I'm not sure because I don't know if that is the right word. I am not fond of myself, not my biggest fan. That is the most euphemistically I can put it. As I've told certain friends, there is no one I despise so much as myself. I don't think it is a self-esteem thing so much as I-am-stuck-in-my-head-and-know-myself-so-well thing. And I'm miserable a lot of the time, most of the time, for stupid reasons.

But I love life. I fucking love it. When my sister-in-law's cancer came back in February, I went through a lot of emotions. I was devastated on her behalf because she'd gone through so much. I was broken because it wasn't fair, not for this girl to go through this. And, selfishly, I thought about leaving this world at such a young age when this world is so beautiful.

Kin Twin is on vacation and when he told me about three things he thought about doing today, I pushed him towards the two very outdoorsy ones because of the pictures I saw. Rolling fields, beautiful flowers, idyllic settings. It was like a dream, those verdant fields and fragrant blooms with the promise of a small cottage tucked away in back in which to live. I love all of that, I dream of it, fantasize about living in a different world where I'm in Winterthur and have beautiful gardens in which to roam.

And I love my little home, my apartment in this complex in which I've made friends, both within the building and in the community. I've grown accustomed to hearing the diesel engines of the buses that run all night in the winter, the sound of helicopters taking patients to the hospital down the street, even the sound of the airplanes that are close enough to sound loud because the airport is only a few miles away. I know the bricks of my building, the shade of green on the doors, the smell of the laundry facilities. I know my home, I know my guinea pig. I know it all.

And I wouldn't want to say goodbye. Not now, not ever, but especially, not yet.

And I know that I'm being dramatic. I've had my blood tested so many times over the years, so many times in the last few months. There is no way this can be anything but a fluke, a lab mix up. There is no way my red blood cells could have dropped so dramatically since August.

But it is enough to make me pause, fear, and hope.

A, B, C, easy as R, B, C

If it turns out that I have leukemia on top of MS, I'll just go ahead and lose my shit altogether. I received not one but two phone calls from my neurologist's office today. The first was to inform me that although my health insurance company had approved authorization for the Provigil, they had denied the dosage. So I had to call the insurance and find out what that meant. Nothing really. I just can't take the amount neuro wants me to but I wasn't sure I'd need to anyway. And I was told I'd only been given 15 pills so I wasn't going to owe anything, although I was allowed 31 pills and would have to pay another $50 if I wanted the other half. Fantastic. Took a week and a half for my insurance to complete the prior authorization, I finally pick up the drug, and now I have *issues*. Fortunately, it worked out in the end as I just found out when I was at the pharmacy. I was given 30 pills, not 15, just of a different dosage. So no harm, no foul, just a bit of anxiety to liven up the day.

The second call came minutes before a 4 o'clock meeting. I was informed that my neuro wanted me to follow up with my PCP because my blood work came back and showed a low red blood count. Mine is 2.6, the same as a healthy child's. I can't recall another time in my life when I've had this so I'm a bit troubled. I'm hoping that it was just a mix up at the lab but it could also be a fluke, one time thing, anemia, or leukemia. Normally I'm pretty chill and relaxed about this sort of thing but not since the out of nowhere MS diagnosis. The last time I had anything out of the ordinary happen, it turned out to be a chronic, life-long disease of the central nervous system. I don't think I can be chided for being a bit gun shy or easily spooked or whichever turn of phrase is best suited. I tried to get the lab report but it was too late to do anything more but fax a release of medical records request back and forth. I don't know why I even bothered as I shall be seeing my PCP at 8 a.m. on Monday morning, long before I'll see the report now.

But I haven't bruised more easily than usual lately, and I haven't suffered tremendous fatigue or weakness. I find that odd, actually, given that I used to suffer fatigue before my diagnosis. No real chance of me feeling that now, of course, not with the Provigil in my system. But I think bruising is a thing, isn't it, with leukemia?

I'm sure it's nothing; I'll just be happier when one of my doctors tells me so.

Burn baby burn

If I ever decide to quit my job, I plan on burning bridges. That is how frustrated I get with this lot and, more to the point, how much I would like to ef over certain individuals. Take NWCW, for example. Those of you who have known me since the MySpace days will remember my ceaseless frequent bitching complaints regarding my colleague who shirked all duty in favor of personal emails and phone calls, thus earning the nickname No Worker Co Worker, or NWCW.

Yesterday I was sick having spent the night with my organs doing their best to rip themselves from my body. So I used a vacation day and stayed in bed with a book. When I felt that I was OK and no longer quite so very ill, I felt guilty and so checked my work email. This is never a good idea but one that leaves me feeling my blood boil and my heart pound as I clench my fist and my teeth and think terrible, awful, ugly thoughts. Yesterday was especially bad with me wanting to throw things, something I very rarely do. One of the people in my old department had assigned a review to a new reviewer and emailed me, copying NWCW and New Girl, asking if this person was set up on the web and what her user information was. NWCW replied saying that the reviewer had not been set up and that I was out of the office.

And that was that. NWCW essentially said "no, she's not, and Cat isn't here so she isn't going to be set up." I took care of that shit right away. I forwarded the entire email to my old boss, and explained that this was why I wanted her staff to understand that they can take care of these things in my absence. I honestly do not mind helping out my former department, to which I remain incredibly loyal. Sometimes I'm the only one who can take care of an issue because of access I have to different resources. But when I am routinely asked to take care of something that several other people can take care of themselves, well that just pisses me the fuck off and I want to yell and stomp and spit.

But I didn't. I emailed back and forth with my old boss, sent a very professional email to the three involved explaining that a request would have to be entered (which they can all fucking do) and what the user information was. I also explained the naming methodology for user names and passwords going forward, explaining that I merely need to be copied on the request so that I can update files. My old boss followed up by responding to the email stating, simply, that they aren't to expect me to take care of this sort of thing when I am using a vacation day and that they need to be self-sufficient.

So hurrah, I suppose.

But then there is also the issue of my boss, who likes to behave like an elliptinipple as often as possible these days. He's a nice guy and a great friend but I fucking. hate. working. for. him. And this morning has just really put the icing on the cake. He told me to contact a reviewer because we need her reports today. Because the client is breathing down Elliptinipple's neck because we are super late on the deliverable (because EN promised too much without know what needed to be done or how to get those things done). So he told me to contact her. I did, and was very polite in my email (I hope). But I can't force her. He doesn't want to do it himself because he's a pussy. So he'll have me do it. Fine. Done. I mention that someone is having trouble with a password and that a colleague needed him to look into it and he basically said "I don't know why that would be because I did my part" and looked at me with a confused "I can't help this person. This is for someone else" look. I wanted to hit him.

But instead, I need to just breathe and remember that none of this matters. It's just a job and a place where I go for nine hours to be psychologically tormented. I make a decent wage, I have health benefits, and I don't live in Libya. I just need to stop taking it so seriously and thinking about it so much. Like the quote (which I am seeing everywhere these days) goes:

"That way madness lies.
Let me shun that.
No more of that."
 Oh, Shakespeare! I may not be the biggest fan of your plays, but I do love your way with words. 

Thursday, September 15, 2011


Well that was interesting
Last night's post was very much what I would call an "emotional vomiting" as Ms. McFann described the word 'catharsis' in my 12th grade English class. I finally faced my fears and wrote them down and was balls to the wall honest. It felt good, even while it felt bad, to let it out.

And how did I follow that up? A night filled with sickness featuring me puking so much that I thought I must be molting. Well no, that isn't true. I initially followed it up with a very sweet friend who sat on my floor with me and talked about what was going on. She also loaned me three books, two of which are all about the "bad girls" of the Bible. Yeah, she is a Christian. She knows I'm an atheist but explained that things still apply. She's just really very nice and I spent a good portion of my morning reading one of these books and enjoyed it indeed. But about an hour after she left, it was full on vomiting.

At first I thought it must have been something I ate. I've had food poisoning twice in my life, the first time at a sleepover where I stained the rug (of a rented home no less), the second time requiring brief hospitalization to rehydrate me. But, I somehow reasoned, I'd only eaten eggplant so how could that have hurt me? Then I thought of my boss, who had been out ill so I texted him. In the end, I realized I was sick because of hubris. I'd met up with a friend who has children and she warned me that both her kids and her husband had been yakking all day. My head said "oh, they have flu. I don't get flu. No biggie." Yeah, that doesn't work when the sick people don't actually have flu. Turns out they had a 24 hour bug (my friend assured me she was throwing up at the same time I started) that I was lucky enough to catch.

But I thought it was fitting, in a way. I had no idea the two month mark would hit me as hard as it did and I'm weirdly pleased that my body and my mind were in sync with the catharsis.

Not that I would like to experience it again, mind.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Not a play thing...

I'm usually very open and honest on this little blog of mine (I'm gonna make it shine). That's just how I roll, as the kids say. Do they still say that? I don't know. That's what is so good about swear words, they stay the same and never go out of style.

But lately I've been avoiding writing about one of the most major things in my life because I've been avoiding thinking about it. Today I came face to face with it and so I thought I may as well just get it all out. Oddly, I came to this point for one of the silliest reasons: dreaming about naked people. I've had two dreams in the last few nights that featured naked people. For once, it wasn't a dream with me jogging outdoors suddenly realizing that I am topless, which is usually what happens. This time the nudity involved the following:
  1. A room full of naked men laying on a bed and naked women being brought in so that they could have sex for the sole purpose of breeding (this dream regarded a post-apocalyptic world where, for some reason, the human race was dying out and scientist had extracted something from aliens to make women more fertile; don't ask, I don't fucking know); and,
  2. A naked, crazy, murderer who materialized when I pulled a sticker off a bar of soap and found I had won a contest (no idea what this was about).
My friend, when I told him about the dreams, said that I was dreaming about naked people because there was some feeling or thought that I didn't want to acknowledge or expose, I didn't want to expose my true feelings. He was joking, I think, but I realized that there is something I haven't been willing to face, and that is how quickly I seem to have gotten over J.

We were together for seven years, married for four, and have been separated for exactly two months. We haven't seen one another or spoken to one another for about a week and a half, not since the movie issue that came up on Labor Day and I pushed him away. And I don't miss him. I think about him frequently, but I don't miss him and I don't feel an absence in my life. When I do think about him, I think about how guilty I feel for what I've done to him, I hope that he is OK, and I hope that he is well. But I also hope that he is over me, that he has moved on. I don't care if he's moved on on his own or if he's met someone. I just want him to be happy, healthy, and doing OK without me.

That is an incredibly selfish desire because it would make me feel less guilty and selfish and awful. I want him to move on and be done with me so that I don't have to feel so awful for being OK without him. He is a great guy. He is brilliant, funny, loving, and sweet. He has so much going for him that he isn't even aware of and I'll never speak badly of him. But my feelings aren't there any more and I don't understand how that can be.

it isn't just that I feel guilty for hurting him, but I am disturbed by the way my feelings seem to have just shut down. Is it because I've been unhappy for the last couple of months? Because I've thought of leaving him since January, not knowing that this would really happen? How can you be with someone and love them intensely and completely for seven years only to have those feelings fade in two short months? Part of me assumes it is a coping mechanism, one that has been with me since I was very little and which allows me to adapt to new situations quickly and recover from grief and pain easily. But that can't be entirely it. Can I be this cold and selfish and terrible? When we first split, I was a mess, calling people and crying and talking at them, regardless of how well I knew them. All I could think about was J not wanting me and moving on whilst I was an emotional wreck. And yet here I am, doing perfectly fine whilst the last time I spoke to J, he was emotional and upset.

I don't have anyone new, that is something that I have mentioned here, that Johan is the only one in my life. I have friends who have been incredibly wonderful to me, but I'm not fucking someone else or cheating on J (and I would consider it cheating if I slept with a guy during my separation; oddly, I would not consider it the same if J did it, probably because I'm the one who asked him to leave). So it isn't that my heart belongs to someone else. I'm getting one of those 'key to my heart' lockets soon and I have every plan on wearing it and if asked, I'll explain that it is the key to my heart and it is around my neck, which means only I hold that key. J is the only one who has ever really had it and I feel so bad for having entrusted him with it only to tear it away from him.

I'm hoping that I'm being melodramatic and he has moved on but I cannot help but feel guilty for what I've done to him, even if he has. Because I have not been an easy person to love, nor to live with. I once read the snippet of a poem as follows (I'm afraid I do not know the author):

A heart is not a play thing,
A heart is not a toy,
But if you want it broken,
Just give it to a boy.

I love that and I think of it often. I just never knew that you could have your heart break for hurting someone else the way I have, when there was no infidelity, no lies, no horrible climactic moment that led to what I think is the demise of a marriage. But all I can think of is 'how could someone ever love me and entrust me with HIS heart?' I'm an awful person and I know all of my awful bits. I'm also really upfront about them, trying to warn others off. But then someone like J loves me anyway and I think it is going to be wonderful. And it is. Until I turn into a dick and I just push, push, push away. 

Part of me hears Kin Twin in my head, telling me that I'll go through a whole gamut of emotions and that this is to be expected. Not only am I separated, he likes to remind me, but I was diagnosed just a couple of weeks before the separation. So I think, maybe the shuttering of my feelings is just a necessary step so that I can reclaim myself and see J, myself, and us with a clear view. Maybe I'm not past it all. But in my heart, I really feel like it is over, and it breaks that heart. 

But I would still never invite my bestie into my apartment because he happens to be male and J doesn't trust him. I wouldn't invite him in for a drink or just to chat until after months had passed upon being officially divorced. Because J would find that disrespectful and, regardless of anything I feel about J, I have the utmost respect for him. I always have and always will. And I would never want him to think that I would do that to him. 

I know I've done nothing wrong. Yes, I have a lot of the blame for what happened regarding the bad bits of my marriage, but nothing unforgivable like cheating or even almost cheating. Never. But I have a tremendous amount of guilt as though I had done. I don't just feel bad for asking him to leave; I feel bad for inviting him into my life in the first place. Because if I hadn't done that, I wouldn't have hurt him as I have.

To the victors go the spoils - Updated

Victories and Failures of Last Night
Victory Managed to go beyond a string cheese and glass of wine and eat something sort of adulty. OK, so this is technically a snack, I think, but I ate two packages so that makes it a meal in my book. And I had lots of ice water, something I don't usually do at home but am getting better about (see: my diet soda addiction).

Failure Unsuccessfully tried to argue with a friend's sister who is encouraging said friend's spending habits this week. Sounds like it is none of my business of course, but oh, if you only knew. And my point, in my mind, is very valid. My friend is spending money and buying things for another friend (the two became close about six[?] months ago) and my contention is that friend A's sister should be a bit wary and suspicious of the sudden spending on mystery friend B. After all, friend B may be taking advantage of friend A. This isn't the case (I know friend B very well) but seriously? My family and friends would not be so readily accepting of such behavior. Read a couple columns of Dear Abby to see how awful people are and then maybe you'll have a healthy level of suspicion and cynicism. Or is that an east coast thing?

Victory Managed to fall asleep by midnight. Hurrah! Not being able to fall asleep at night has gotten really old, especially when I've given myself a goal of getting out of bed by 6:45. I've discovered that if I play music, whale sounds, or thunderstorm ambient sound from my iPod, I can drift off relatively easily. That is, if I can keep myself from checking email and Facebook and if I am careful about what music I'm playing (the other night I had a playlist of the Cranberries and "Salvation" came on and scared me/jerked me awake).

Failure Woke up a bunch of times in the middle of the night. This sleep nonsense has to stop and I'm hoping Provigil will help sort me out. I took my first (half) dose this morning and so far I don't feel anything untoward, though I may be blinking more than usual.

Update on Goals for this Week 
6:45 a.m. - This goal I'm keeping because I've done it two days in a row and it actually makes me feel better to have some time in the morning (albeit not very much time) rather than just running around like a maniac. Granted, I was still four minutes late to work today but at least I look like I put some effort into my appearance (contacts in, bracelets on). In fact, I feel pretty badass because I'm wearing a pair of new jeans and that always makes me feel badass (though I'm certain I look like a different type of ass; please see dinner from last night as described above). So I may even up the ante and aim for a 6:30 wake up. Stay tuned!  

**UPDATE** I might feel like a badass in new jeans, but MY GOD I am wearing the WORST shirt ever. It is super unflattering and I've been self-conscious from the moment I realized it has me looking like a linebacker. Needless to say, it is going to be ripped from my body the moment I walk through my apartment door and thrown into the trash.

Swearing - Yeah, who am I kidding? As my friend's sister pointed out, I might want to just stick with one goal a week because my swearing seems unstoppable. Again, I am trying to be better about it in the office, but in emails to friends and on the phone (which I actually use these days), I'm just, well, awful. And like I said, this isn't something that is necessarily harmful, especially if I can keep it out of my professional life, so I'm not taking this failure that badly. Actually, the bright side is that someone once told me that swearing makes a girl really unattractive and given certain odd things that have happened to me lately (someone flipped for me, a stranger hit on me, and an old friend lusted after my feet), this might be a really good thing.

What is with the prolific posting lately? Do I have any sort of job/life at all anymore? Also, this needs some color so here is a picture:

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

God Damn Fucking Grown Upness - Updated

I'm growing up to a certain extent. I'm managing to take care of grown up chores when I tell myself that it is time to do them. Like returning a pair shoes to the mall after I'd put it off for a week, or buying stamps when I know I'm out of them. Today I even did my big girl follow up chore of "spend the voucher left over from returning the shoes" because I knew if I didn't, I'd probably lose the card and be out the money. If I manage to pick up books from the library after work, I may just lose my shit. (Interestingly, I never fail to make an appointment with the gynecologist and I am very good about regular oil changes).

I got up today at 6:45, just as I was determined to do. Someone asked me how the swearing was going and I realized that I have no fucking idea. I don't really remember the words I necessarily say in casual conversation so there is a really good chance that I started my morning by throwing out 'fuck' and 'shit' when I was talking to my old boss (who also has a foul mouth). Maybe I should stick with one goal a week...

All round, I started out really well today. I got up when I was supposed to, had some breakfast, made it to work on time, and diligently took care of some tedious work that I tend to put off. Then 1 p.m. hit and I devolved. I can't imagine that I'll be at all productive after work (well, maybe the library books) even though I plan on being conscientious whilst still at work. Because I'm hungry and don't have anything I would like to eat available to me. And I don't really have much at home either so I'll be eating whatever I do have left and making up excuses why I can't possibly go to the store.

Mother fucker! I just remembered that I have to go the store because my Provigil is available for pick up and I really want to try this drug out. It's to help with the fatigue of my disease and it took a week for prior authorization and my insurance company to approve it (at the third tier at $50). Blerg. So now I'll go to the library and the stupid store. I hate days like this, when I leave after work at a normal time and have to do chores. It makes traffic feel worse and I spend the last few hours at work contemplating the consequences of putting said chore off for another day.

But such is the life of a grown up I suppose. Goody goody.

Well I did it. I went to the library and as soon as I turned into the drive I thought "shit, this is why I don't go to the library directly after work; it's packed up in this piece." But I persevered and checked out the three books I had reserved (even taking the time to deal with one of the volunteers who had to affix a new bar code so that I could check it out). Then I hit the grocery store where I did a bit of actual food shopping as well as picked up my Provigil*, checked to see if there were any red flags based on my other medications, and asked if that pharmacy carried injectables (the lovely pharmacist said to find out what kind and he would look into whether or not they could order them).

And, AND, I even worked out when I got home! 20 minutes of arm stuff with weights. How much more grown up does it get? I mean, aside from the part where I have since had a string cheese and a glass of wine rather than an actual dinner? The pig is on the floor and when his time is done I will shower and start sorting through my closets to organize things, weed things out, and make room for new items.

Not too bad for a single day, n'est ce pas?

*This drug is scary as shit and I'm not certain it'll be worth the $50 copay. As it is, I plan on halving the dose tomorrow because I'm afraid it will make me flip out, be more hyper and manic than I already am, and possibly cause me to hallucinate.

Monday, September 12, 2011


I am very much of a blog reader. I don't know how I stumbled upon my first favorite or, indeed, on some of the others. But when the bloggers I follow haven't updated in awhile, I click on their links and that is usually how I find new ones. Tonight, because I was unable to sleep, I found this one. OK, to be fair, I did try to go to bed at 8:30 because I was really tired, couldn't sleep, and so decided to give Ulysses another try (I think this attempt no. 4), and then decided to get up and go online. But still, that is how I found this new blog.

I almost wish I hadn't. Every blog that I bookmark and follow is one that I enjoy and the writer is one I admirer. They are all incredibly intelligent, eloquent, witty, and wonderful. I never think to myself "this is what I aspire to" because I don't. I know that I am too impatient and too impulsive to ever be as good a writer. That's something people in my life have always said about me. "You're such a good writer!" "One day you are going to write a book!" "You should write the story of your life!" But what no one ever considers is the fact that I don't really have it in me. I'm not bad or stupid, I just don't have the patience or inclination that is necessary to write really well.

A friend at work once asked if what she read was what I initially posted or if I'd reworked it. When I briefly (and regrettably) decided to go back to school for a master's degree, J expressed his comical resentment that the first draft of a research paper I'd written was so good in his opinion when his always took a number of drafts to get there.

But I don't go back. What I write is what I post. Granted, I do a read through to clean up glaring spelling mistakes and grammatical errors (I'm always shocked to find that I've written something like "I has" or "it was a many" or something equally boneheaded). But I don't tweak and I don't save and return later to fine tune. When I first realized that other people did this in their blogs, I was kind of shocked. I treat mine as a stream of consciousness journal entry and just let it out. I think if I did go back, I'd probably just sound pretentious, pedantic, and stupid. Others, however, sound marvelous.

This latest blog really makes me feel put to shame not just in my writing ability but in my thought processes. This is a woman who can really write and who can really express herself. Perhaps if her blog was about something other than her broken marriage, I'd feel differently. But as it is, she's not even in the same place as am I. Her blog begins post divorce and I am but two months into a separation with no guarantee. She is also a mother of two children and years older than I. I still marvel at her eloquence and intelligence, her candidness, and brilliance.

So I'm glad I found her. J, as well as his brother, have spoken about the depression they feel at life being so meaningless. The three of us are all atheists but I seem to be the only one who is not concerned about leaving this world without something of me left behind for future generations. I never really understood that. I mean, if I'm too be celebrated, wouldn't I want that when I was alive to enjoy it? So I'm not concerned with leaving my mark on this world, even if I do hope that I'm remembered kindly rather than as a raging bitch who only cared for herself (which I swear to god, my kin twin seems to want me to be without knowing it).

But I do understand the jealousy of another person's abilities. This woman may go to her grave with no fame or long term remembrance for this brilliant blog that she's maintained, but she will be admired in her life time by a few people. And it isn't even the admiration so much as the confidence that I hope she feels in her ability and her amazing talent for writing. I get that.

But not enough to not publish this post right now without letting it sit for even a day to let me revisit and rewrite.


I'm giving myself two goals for this week. The first is to get my ass out of bed before 7 a.m. I have a really bad habit of not getting up until 7:20, all because I know I can make a mad dash and be ready to go by 7:40, the absolute latest I can leave my apartment and still be relatively close on time for work. The really stupid thing is that I am frequently awake by 6:00 or 6:30 and just keep hitting snooze without actually snoozing. But I don't feel like getting up and I certainly don't feel like going to work so I delay it for as long as possible. And this is a new thing. I used to be such a good little morning person. So when I look like hell in the office and like I don't care about my appearance, staff should just realize that I care way more about sleep and being in my comfy bed. But starting tomorrow, I'm getting up no later than 6:45 a.m.

The second is to curb my filthy, awful, vulgar, mouth. Swearing is fine and not really detrimental to the health and well being of anyone, but I think there should be a limit. I have the worst mouth of anyone I know and I'm getting a bit self conscious when people look taken aback after I've casually used the terms 'fuck', 'mother fucker', 'cunt', and 'pussy' (the latter two words are generally used to characterize a person, not as descriptors for the old girl). I mean, really? When I come back to my desk and see the voice mail light flashing, should "mother fucker!" really be my response? It's a voice mail, not a mug of coffee spilled on my computer or a telegram from the war department. The worst that is going to happen is I'm going to have to talk on the phone. And when I mistype something, "god damn it" probably isn't necessary, especially since I have both a 'backspace' and 'delete' key on my keyboard. I think, though, that if 'god damn it' was the worst I used, I wouldn't be developing this complex. But "jesus fucking christ", in an office filled with religious and older people, is really not par for the course. And when is the 'f word' ever office appropriate? I went to lunch with one of our (many) vice presidents recently and, as I was driving to the restaurant, he commented that he now knew something about me. I think he used the words "you have such a sailor mouth". Fortunately, he was cool and down with it and so I wasn't in trouble. But really, Cat? You're going out to lunch with someone from the office and you don't remember to curb your god damned mouth?

So those are two things* I'm going to halfheartedly attempt to work on hopefully achieve all in the name of self-improvement. I'm not sure how successful I'll be because really, when you impose this sort of thing on yourself, what are the consequences? If I don't get up before 7:00 a.m., I'll just look like shit in the office, again. If I keep swearing like I'm trying to fit in with a couple of truckers, what will happen? I mean, I have a foul mouth but I do keep it to myself frequently (when I curse at my desk I'm usually pretty quiet). Actually, I suppose the mouth could really get me in trouble so maybe I will mend my ways. But I have a feeling I will just unleash it on the internet instead, where I can revel in those naughty words that make a girl so unattractive.

*I should note that I considered giving myself a third goal, one of 'eat a piece of fruit everyday'; however, I was eating an apple as I typed this post and realized that was simply aiming far too high. By the time I was done with the thing, I felt sick, annoyed, and cranky because what I really wanted was crackers, not an apple. And as I've commented before, apples turn into laborious feats for me. 

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Raise the Bar

I have a tendency to aim low, without realizing it. Kids are always asked "what do you want to be when you grow up". Do you know what I wanted to be? A secretary or else someone who works in a mail room. Well, I've done both of those things so I've lived the dream. And my bucket list? I had one thing on there, to cook something using butternut squash. I did that a couple of weeks ago. Essentially, I'm done in life if we look at those things.

So I've decided I need to create a better list of goals and aspirations. Here is what I have so far.

Cat's Bucket List
  • Run a half marathon
  • Earn at least $55K a year (never want to aim too high)
  • Write a book
  • Fly First Class at least once
  • Own a decent car
  • Attend a pro football game
  • Attend an OSU football game
  • Return to England
  • Travel through Ireland and Scotland
  • Repay my friends 
Even that is pretty pathetic, isn't it? But those are things I want to do, things I want to accomplish. I'll probably never aim big, not because I doubt myself or have low self-esteem, but because, for all my nonsense, I'm fairly pragmatic. But it is a start.

Saturdays with Johan

Single Serving
My pheromones must be in overdrive these days. In the last week I've had two offers from two different men, both older than me and both totally inappropriate (even beyond the whole "Oh, I'm married... separated, but married" thing). I was totally thrown off guard both times because I'm never expecting that sort of 'attention.' It's all very flattering but I have yet to react appropriately. I get scared and confused when men approach me or say nice things about me but I'm getting better about snapping myself out of it and remembering that I'm a grown up and not some fragile, little, delicate girl that needs to be protected from the big, bad world.

I'm assuming this is something I'll have to get used to if things don't work out with J. I've never dated so I don't know how that whole thing works and I don't know that I'm too keen on exploring it. Frankly, right now the only man for me is Johan, my guinea pig, and I don't even want to think about men, J, the future, etc. And actually, Johan is getting a little action himself; my upstairs neighbor takes care of her friend's dog a few days out of the week and this tiny little dog, Isabella, seems to really like my little pig. But Johan only has eyes from me and seems to mainly be annoyed by the tiny dog's presence when she is in my apartment.

But we are a packaged deal so anyone that is interested better be OK with guinea pigs. Poor J is even allergic either to the pig or his hay so you know, I mean it. 

T'is the Season
In other news, football!! Living in Columbus has turned me into a real fan of the game and I'm stoked that it is back on. I missed most of the first OSU game last week because my mother was in town and she isn't into sports. But I woke up to the sound of crop dusters circling, pulling advertisements, a sure sign that there is a game today (am watching OSU v Toledo as I type) and the air will be filled with football for the rest of the day. Thus, I will be watching football and doing housework most Saturdays. And apparently, housework for me is a full contact sport. I was carrying items to the kitchen when I spied an item for the recycling resting on my sofa. When I went to retrieve it, I stumbled and kicked my coffee table, possibly breaking my toe.

Everything about football in Columbus is super fun. If we are talking college, we are talking the Buckeyes. Most people in my office wear some sort of Buckeye gear on Fridays during the season and on game day, the city is awash in a sea of scarlet and gray. I imagine it must be a bit intimidating to play in the Horseshoe because when you see the game on TV, you just see red, and the stadium is always packed.  People tailgate and barbecue and there are red cups everywhere. The sense of community is unbelievable and everybody is friends this day.

If we are talking pro, well, people here seem mainly to be college sports fans but there are rabid Browns and Bengals fans. Sports bars on game day are loud with shouts and hands beating on tables as people scream at the televisions. You get in early and set up shop at your table as you'll be there long after you've finished eating, probably accumulating many empty glasses and/or beer bottles. Again, there is a sense of community as everyone in the bar/restaurant is rooting for the same team and everyone feels equally invested in the team.

For someone like me who grew up in a state without a pro sports team or a college team that is at the same level as the Big Ten teams, it is really incredible to witness the rituals of football. But I'll tell you what, lay out some good food, cheap beer, and good people and I'm all over it.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


It is beyond cliche and banal to say that having friends is important. This is a given as we all need at least one human connection in order to keep from murdering ourselves or others (or both, whatev). But I think having specific friends is really what gets me through life.

K is my best girlfriend, my BFF, my little bit of self down in Florida. We get along great, make each other laugh, care about one another, and just really get along well. When we first became friends, she was living in Ohio and it became routine that I would spend my weekends at her place, boozing, having a good time, talking, etc. We get along so well that we were even trapped in her apartment for a weekend due to an almost blizzard. We didn't irritate one another once.

More importantly right now is the fact that I am in a place in life that she's visited. She's been married twice now, her divorce being what prompted her to move back to her home state. It was difficult for her when she realized that her feelings had changed and that her marriage wasn't working out so she understands how I feel when I tell her I think it is over with J but that I'm afraid to tell him because I don't want to hurt him (because not telling him and drawing this out is not at all hurtful?) and I don't want to jump the gun  and make the wrong decision. K gets that because she's lived that. It is comforting to talk to someone who really understands your situation, even if they can't do anything to fix it or repair it.

She also understands the other complications, things I refuse to write about here or elsewhere, not even my real, paper journal. I can talk to K about them because she totally gets it. And that's what I've been needing, someone who knows me and my situation, who knows the cast of characters, and who has some experience with all that I'm going through. Because sometimes I need more than a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear; sometimes I need a person to be an active participant in the conversation, not just a listener. You can't analyze things or discuss them or work through them if all you are doing is talking at someone. Sometimes you just need the voice of someone who understands to help you make it through.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011


This was about the best back to work transitions I've ever had. I was off work for six days straight and that time did wonders for me. I approached my work with less anxiety and frustration than I've felt in a long time. I didn't let colleagues bother me; hell, my boss only pissed me off once! I even found out that I've lost six pounds in the last three or four weeks (so I ate some stale gummy bears after lunch).

I wore new shoes, which are super cute and do lovely things for my 'gams.' Ended up with sore toes but definitely worth it. Also went to the gym at lunch and ran two miles, faster than I should have, so my legs aren't feeling so hot either. But again, totally worth it. Hopefully I can convince my lazy ass to go to the gym more frequently. Tomorrow, though, I think I'll either wear flats or heals that have been broken in. No reason to totally destroy my legs, especially when I have new heals that make them look so good!

I am incredibly surprised today turned out so well as yesterday definitely went out on a sour note. I don't feel like going into it but I totally jerked J around and hurt him. I didn't mean to, I just didn't think. And that means I behaved selfishly, with just my own interests in mind. It was bad, it was ugly, but it ended and I am alone again and that is a relief.

There are things going on in my life and in my head that are confusing and difficult and that I can't put on this blog because I know some of those who read it. But I think the chapter is changing and I'm ready for it.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Weekend Update

Clinic Visit
First things first, my Neurology Clinic visit went really, really well. I have officially been diagnosed with relapsing/remitting multiple sclerosis. I was also told that I'm in fabulous shape neurologically speaking, although my right big toe does not feel vibrations at the level it should (there goes my dance career; always with the heart break).

My physician really wants me to take Tysbari, a second generation drug that is delivered via a monthly infusion. During the first stage of clinical trials, this drug caused three participants to develop progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy (PML), a rare, opportunistic, viral infection of the brain that is usually fatal. Research has discovered that Tysabri, when used in conjunction with immunosuppresents, causes a person to have a higher risk of developing PML, as does the presence of the JC virus. Patients, therefore, now have their blood drawn so that DNA can be tested for the presence of this virus. I've had that done and the results should be available in about five weeks. If I have the virus, Tysbari is out; however, I am pretty sure I'm just not going to go for it anyway. The fact is, this drug has not been researched for many years so there are no clinical studies covering decades of usage. I don't want to end up one of those people who is used as a statistic in peer-reviewed literature years from now, one of those who took this drug and had her organs dissolve or something. So I will go for one of the other treatments, the first generation injectibles, instead.

Mom's Visit
My mother had a great time visiting me here in Columbus. The last time she came up was in August four years ago, when I first moved here. Then I didn't really know anything or anywhere so we basically just got lost and went to chain restaurants. This time I was able to take her to my office and introduce her to people that she's heard about. We went to my favorite pub, went up the scenic bypass, and spent quality time together. She appreciated seeing the clinic where I'll have my treatment handled, and I think she was relieved to know what my physician is like and enjoyed having the opportunity to have her questions answered. I also let her buy me stuff. Usually I try to dissuade her from doing so but this time I didn't fight it. Thus, I now have two pairs of new jeans, four pairs of new shoes, and a few bits of miscellany. I also have left overs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because of our various meals out.

I think she really enjoyed herself although she seemed to have a hard time understanding why I like Ohio. I'm not sure what that was all about but she asked me a few times if I was here to stay and what did I like about it, etc. But I'm from Delaware, a crappy place, and she lives in the fucking desert so who knows what she was thinking. She did say that she liked it but referred to it as 'city-fied' something I would never have thought because I don't live downtown and we never went there. But, as I said, she lives in the desert so she's used to have wide open spaces with a single shopping center.

I dropped her off at the airport this morning and then took the wrong exit to get back home. Unfortunately, it was raining heavily so I had trouble seeing, causing me to make bad decisions. Then my windows fogged up. Long story short, I ended up on an absurd road, almost in tears, contemplating calling my friend to find out if he knew where I was. But I made it home in one piece.

And now? Now I am going to get trashed as I watch a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Secrets and Lies

The title of this blog post is to fuck with a good friend. I'm not writing about secrets (or lies) today.

My mom is due to arrive in three and a half hours. I've spent the past two days cleaning my apartment with a fervor that is unheard of. I literally sweat so much that it dripped into my eyes (I didn't have the air on so you know, I'm not just super gross or anything). Every room is sorted and vacuumed, the bathroom is scrubbed, and I even washed most of the windows (ran out of cleaner). I have, essentially, turned into my mother. I remember being a kid and hearing "we don't want people to think we live like pigs" when I had to clean up for company. Here I am, age 30, cleaning my apartment so that she doesn't go back to Arizona and email my brother and her friends to say that the stress of everything must be hitting me because I live like I need to be on one of those TLC or A&E programs. Bright side, I have a clean as fuck apartment, so you know, go me.

Tomorrow is my clinic appointment. I'm finally looking forward to it rather than dreading it. I called today to find out what I can expect and was told that we'll get to know each other and talk about treatment and a plan et al. That is what I needed to hear. I needed to be told that we'd finally start talking treatment. I finally drove to the clinic to make sure I can find it and hot damn is it in a nice part of town! And, of course, I was a piece of work. I had on these awful shorts and two tank tops and was sweaty and dirty from cleaning. There I was, in lovely Gahanna, looking like shit and probably smelling awful. So glad no one was videotaping that.

I have my outfit picked out for tomorrow and everything, that is how prepared I am. Fucked up jeans and yoga top and cover up that my mom got me for my birthday. I bet my friend $5 that my mom gives me shit about the jeans so we'll see. If I end up in a skirt, I win. If I get to wear my beloved, unflattering, ugly, messed up jeans, he does. Either way, I come out a winner.