Stress ballet

October 23, 2005

Every person deals with stress in their own way.  Some people become super organized.  Some people fall apart.  Some do ballet in the halls of the hospital.

I suppose you can say that my family has been under stress lately.  (Again with the understatements?) It was very evident that my sister and I handle stress in very different ways.  She becomes blunt and says what is on her mind.  She doesn’t want bullshit or platitudes.  She wants to just deal with the situation and get things taken care of.

As for me, I laugh.  I find humor in the most bizarre places.  I laugh at times that it is probably inappropriate.  (I get the giggles at funerals too.  So sue me!) You could say I get downright silly.  This is not the best combination when my sister and I are together in such highly stressful timessuch as the past few months.  Thankfully, I had a partner in crime last week.  My aunt.  My Mom’s sister.

I cannot say enough good things about my how much I needed my aunt with me while I was in Houston.  Not only for the times when I needed a mom-ish shoulder to lean on and when I was able to crawl into her bed and cry and laugh and just talk, but for the times I could absolutely become the most immature person ever to walk to halls of a hospital.

Here is an example of how we acted. Completely sober but completely stressed.

After spending a couple of hours with my Mom, we were both emotionally drained.  It is hard to sit at the bedside of someone you love and see them suffering.  But if you let it take over your emotions, you will not be able to function. It is just too much for your heart to take in.  From Mom’s hospital room we left to go see my Dad in his hospital room.  Much to our surprise, when we arrived at Dad’s he was….uhhhh, let’s just say predisposed and not desiring immediate company.  Which led us to our wait in the hallway of the hospital.

Have you been in a hospital hallway recently?  Remember how they have those hand bars along the hallway?  Those handrails that are there to aid patients who need help shuffling their way down the hallway after surgery, illness or childbirth?  Have you ever looked at them closely?  Well, to us we didn’t see handrails for the ailing.  We saw BALLET bars! 

We immediately dropped our purses and began out ballet stretches.  We tried to remember our proper positions.  We stretched and reached and squatted and twirled.  All the while giggling under our breath while tears streamed down our faces.  Every once in a while you would hear one of us begging the other to stop because we were on the verge of wetting ourselves from laughing.

After a few minutes a nurse happened to look up and notice us.  (Honest, we were not loud.  I swear!  We were just silly. Alone.  With no patients to bother except my Dad.) She saw that we both had tears streaming down our face.  Poor thing thought we were crying out of sadness.  With kindness in her voice she placed her hand on my shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?  Is there something I can help you with, dear?”

To which I replied, “Yes. Yes ma’am.  We are having a hard time with something.  So, what is the fifth position in ballet?  Is it similar to a demi-plie?” And then my aunt fell to the ground in laughter.  And I wet my pants.

The nurse stared.  Mouth agape.  Finally she said, “Honey, it will be okay.  Honest.” She patted my arm, shook her head while grinning and walked away.

See, some people stress out and go all blunt.

Some do ballet in the halls of the hospital.

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Home again, home again, jiggity jig

October 20, 2005

Because I love you all, I am going to give you a bit of advice.  When driving through downtown Dallas on your way home from yet another road trip and it is late and people are in their own little world in their own little cars not wanting to be bothered by anyone, you will get some very bizarre looks if you roll down your window and start yelling, “I love you Dallas!  I love you Big Building with a big ball on top of you! I love you big ferris wheel at the State Fair!  I love you Mr. Police Officer flashing your lights at me!”

The relief at being home is amazing.  Even with the immense amount of cleaning I have to do.  Even with 2 sick kids.  Even with so much work to do that I have put off that I just may have my head explode.  I. Am. Home.

Of course, I have completely put my life here on hold.  Emails?  Not really good at getting them returned.  Bills?  You mean I have to actually pay them? On time even?  Friends?  Not so good about being there for them lately either.  (Sorry!) However, I do have big things coming up to share with you.  Good things.  Did you hear me?  GOOD THINGS! 

For now I need to nap.  In MY bed.  In MY home.  With MY very own oh-my-lord-have-mercy-you-are-such-soft-goodness pillow.

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Emotions make me emotional

October 14, 2005

[previous post removed by original hyper, over-reactive, emotional author]

A few of you were privy to my rant earlier.  In short, for those of you who missed it, I was upset because someone I loved thought I was “popping a lot of pills” to cope with all of this.  I am overly sensitive about that, so I went off.  All is well again.

You see, trust me on this one.  The desire to drug this stress away is amazingly strong.  If someone came up to me and offered me some of my “drug of choice”, I would have a hard time saying no.  In fact, I cannot even promise that I would be able to do that.  But right now, in this moment, I am doing really well.  Nothing stronger than A LOT of coffee to keep me going.  Let’s do the math:

Too much coffee + anxiety - sleep = HYPER emotional woman

Ironically enough, once I explained that the reason I was so damn hyper is because I am NOT using anything and THIS is how I am under stress, all was cleared up.  Because trust me people, when a “crisis” hits, I am the go-to, get-it-done, hyper-organized person you want around you.  Unless you are the ultra mellow one.  In that case, sparks may fly.  (As they did.)

But for the record and because I am actually going to toot my own horn, I will say it now:  I have done the past three months without freaking out and ending up in a major slip.  How?  I don’t know.  Why? Four reasons:  Clint, Brandon, Zarek and Gabriella.  They are worth more to me than any temporary numbing a pill will give me.

There.  I just had to say that.  I needed to get it out.

So, how is YOUR life?  Anything new and fun(ny) on your sites?  Let me know.  I want to LAUGH! 

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Like Scrubs, only not as funny

October 11, 2005

[cue dramatic music]

Like sands through the hour glass…so are the Days of our Lives.  (Okay, Days fans, hum it with me.  Buh nuhh nuhh nuhh nuuuuuuhhhh nuhhhhhh…)

Oh wait.  My bad.  This is so much more General Hospital.  Yeah.  That’s it.  Anything hospital themed will work.  I wanted to go with Scrubs, but General Hospital is much more dramatic and crisis driven.  It just works.  (Even if I totally am crushing on Dr. Cox.  Not the actor.  The doctor and his acidic, razor sharp tongue that lashes people before they see it coming.  That means you too, Bambi.)

What the hell am I babble-assing about now?  Well, Mom is still in the same stable but critical condition.  Apparently, this just doesn’t sit well with Dad.  I mean, a man needs some attention now and then.  What better way to get it than to be checked into the hospital, too?  Yes, you did read that correctely.  Now my Dad is also in the hospital.  Apparently he went surfing on the Internet for something new that Mom has not had but that he can take full advantage of her specialists and came up with pancreatitis.  Gotta give him points for creativity.  He is in one hospital and Mom is in another down the street about 5 miles.

So, again I am on my way back to Houston.  Again.

Anyone in Houston want to meet for a stiff drink?  A scrumptious lunch?  I’ll settle for a long nap.  *grin*

I will update when I can and blog from there if I can.  If you don’t hear from me it is because I have not been able to get access to a computer.  Because, really, Internet, I love you bestest and will always come back to you.  Even you over there lurking in the corner.

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A girl just loves a good makeover!

October 10, 2005

Notice anything different?  Come on!  Look really hard!  You can figure it out.

I am still working out some bugs and working on some links etc, but how do you like the new look?  Be honest.  Unless you hate it.  Then I will have to kick your ass.  I did warn you that I have 2 moods right now:  Asleep and A-Bitch.

If you have any problems or it loads all wonky, let me know that, too.  (No ass kicking involved there.)

[Update]: Yeah, the comment thing is a bit wonky.  I will work on that too.  No wonkass comments here!

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The one where I update you

October 9, 2005

I suppose I should be a good little blogger and update you all. No, I have not fallen off the face of the Earth. Yes, I have been in Houston. No, I am not planning on becoming a once a weekblogger.  Yes, as a matter of fact they are real.  (What?  You didn’t ask that?  My bad!)

In no particular order because my brain spews out this crap randomly.

Of course, an update on my Mom is essential. I am relieved to tell you that she is actually doing much better! I am having a hard time emotionally comprehending the past month, but I am trying to maintain sanity. Basically, what happened is the lead doctor (as in not one of her specialists) is the one who called me and told me it was urgent that I get down there. When I got there, Mom was really is bad, bad shape. I mean, I packed funeral clothes, for crying out loud! Gradually she showed some progress. Well, in the week I was back home in Dallas, she decided she had enough of this sick crap and began to show a real leap towards healing. She is in no way healed or “healthy”, but she is has shown enough improvement her doctors decided to move her from the hospital ICU to a Long Term Acute Care center ICU. I have mixed feelings about that. She was moved to this place once before and it literally almost killed her when she got an infection. That is when she went into renal failure and was sent back to the ICU and nearly died. However, she wasn’t in theLTAC ICU at the time. (*sigh* See what my brain has to deal with!) Anyway, the nurses at the hospital became like family. Leaving them was HARD. When Mom was transferred, ALL of the nurses came out and hugged her and Dad and me. We were all crying. I felt safe there. Now, I have to break in a new team of nurses. So, that was why I was in Houston. Getting Mom settled in.

But wait! The fun doesn’t stop there. Apparently, Dad has been feeling left out a bit. So, as soon as I got there last week, he began complaining of severe abdominal pain. This from a man that I have seen sick only once in my entire life. Unless you count his 3 heart attacks. But I am not because that is not “sick” really. That is “oh-hell-this-sucks-bad” more than “sick”. Right? He was in bed for days in agony. We think it might be food poisoning. Dad finally got aprescription from my Mom’s stomach doctor. (Yes, I know he has a real profession title, but we have discussed that I don’t do medical terms.) He goes in Tuesday if he isn’t feeling better. He just HAS to be feeling better. Period. So I have been taking care of him, taking care of their pets, visiting the hospital and trying to entertain the kids who were “enjoying” Fall Break.

Which brings me to the question: Who the hell came up with a FALL Break and how do I contact this person? You can damn well bet that person doesn’t have kids. At least not any that live in the same country (s)he does.

I have been also trying to work on a project my son has for school. Anyone know a lot about KENYA, AFRICA that might want to share interesting facts with me? I MUST get an A on this project. I mean, it is all about my self-esteem, right?

Mainly, I am just trying to keep my sense of humor. It seems that I have two personalities right now: Asleep and A-Bitch. It just doesn’t go over super well with the family. Friends? They get a laugh out of it when it isn’t aimed at them. In fact, some of them are asking me to call bill collectors and old boyfriends just to give them all grief. So, it is good for something.

All in all, things have been busy. I have been feeling like I am a step behind the rest of the world. If I owe you and email, forgive me for not getting back to you yet. If you have commented and not heard from me (all of you), forgive me please. I am a bit overwhelmed. And if you are friend or family member, get off theInternet and let’s go out to lunch!

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Mass Exodus

September 28, 2005

Making the decision to evacuate Houston was not an easy one to make for me and my sister.  Not only did we realize that traffic would be more hellacious than we could imagine, but we didn’t know how long we would have to be away from our Mom.  At the time we needed to make a decision, Rita was headed straight at us and Mom was stable, but critical.  The deciding factor was my nephews.  We just couldn’t keep them in harms way if there was a way to avoid it.  So, we stocked up, loaded up and headed out.

Or should I say crawled out.  Slugged out with the speed of a sloth. Never before have I seen so many cars in one place.  It was beyond description.  Every median, shoulder and lane had cars filling them.  Cars along the side of the road had their hoods up as they wandered along talking to other stranded motorists.  At first, I was still in a good mood.  I had my humor and the radio to keep me entertained.  After a couple of hours and only a few miles, the grins were fewer.  I was SO over being in the car. With no air.  Not moving.  Over. It.  I also realized that I had made a crucial traveling mistake.  (Women, you can back me on this one.) I wore an underwire bra.  *gasp* Yes, I know the horror of such an idiotic wardrobe choice.  I wasn’t thinking.  I had no choice.  The bra had to go. I did have on a shirt with a built in bra (Yeah RIGHT), so I didn’t care.  Whooosh.  Off it came.

At this point I needed something to lighten my mood.  What better way to do that than to call someone who can make you giggle.  I called Jenny and began to replay the events of the day to her.  I knew I was becoming delirious when I told her what I had in my Hurricane Survival Kit.  Note the Pull-Up for emergecy potty situations.  (Little did I know how much I might need it later!)

Sometime during my conversation with Jenny, she told me that she saw the Mass Exodus on television.  I asked if she saw me.  I told her that I would hang my bra off of my antenna to ensure that my family and friends could keep track of my progress.  “Yeah, I am the one in the white car with the bra flapping in the non-existant breeze.” I even offered to flash a bus full of prisoners who are being evacuated.  I mean, they’re bored.  I’m bored.  We are already going through hell.  How could it get worse?  It’s not like I would get arrested.  The police just want everyone to get the hell out of Dodge.  They certainly aren’t going to get pissy about a middle-aged woman with a bra hanging from her antenna flashing various evacuees to pass the time.  As if they could get to me anyway! 

If you know me, you know I really have never met a stranger.  There I am in the worst traffic jam in American history and I am chatting it up with people in the other cars. (It’s not like we were moving!) I am hooting and honking at the people gawking at us from the overpasses.  I am shouting sarcastic comments to the idiots that are trying to cut in front of other motorists.  (Just WHERE do you think you are going to go, idiot?) I can’t just sit.  I have to talk.  And wave.  And whoop it up to the best of my ability.  Hey, that is me.  (To the woman whom I asked to “turn up her jam so I could get my funk on”, forgive me.  I know you were probably close to 90 years old and you were listening to the likes of Lawrence Welk, but really I just could not resist it.)

During the entire Mass Exodus, I kept the radio on to keep up with the “Late Breaking Situation” regarding the Mass Exodus.  Other motorists were calling in to report anytime they found a gas station open or a convenience station that had a restroom.  Even better than counting on the radio, I had my amazing Geek Husband at home in Dallas logged into both Google Maps and Houston’s local NBC station.  He would check in every couple of hours to see where we were. (Not much further than last time you called, dear!) He would then tell us how far to the next exit, what kind of facilities they had and he was able to let us know exactly where we were.  When you go only 40 miles in 9 hours, you can get disoriented.  Trust me on that one.

It was around our 7th hour into the Mass Exodus, I realized I had to pee.  BADLY. Normally, I can go longer than 7 hours if the situation calls for it.  However, one of the things the radio DJ’s continually reminded people was to stay hydrated.  If you had water, drink it. Drink .  Drink.  Drink.  I mean, afterall, it was one of the worst heat waves in Texas.  102 degrees.  That does not even take into account how much hotter it is on the road with thousands of other cars.  So I drank water.  A lot of water.  Too much water.  And now my bladder was PISSED OFF.  (No pun inteneded.  Or maybe just a little intended.) But there was NO WHERE to pee.  You just can’t get off of the freeway.  There are too many cars and too few exits that are open.  When we finally did decide to just cut through the grass to get to the service road, the police officer eyeballed me a bit.  I told him I was in tears because my bladder was about to explode!  Rather than let me off of the road at the exit and risk having hundreds of other cars do the same, he just explained the best way to cut through the grass in order to prevent becoming stuck.  Uhhh, thanks.  I appreciate that one, sir. I had to laugh.  The first time in Houston that you can do that and not get a ticket.  But you see, there was NOTHING open.  No where to pee.  It isn’t like there was any privacy anywere either.  Cars were lined up along every free space along the road.  People were out of their cars in the middle of the interstate walking from car to car talking, sharing water and sharing stories.  It was a giant tailgate party.  If I was going to relieve myself, I would have to go deep into the woods.  At night.  With thousands of people around.  No thanks.  I can hold it.

10 hours into this Mass Exodus, I can no longer feel my bladder. It has gone completely numb.  I had to look down to see if I had wet myself, but with all of the sweat, who could tell?  (By that time I had lost 5 pounds in sweat.) I have a blister on my right heel from going from the gas to the brake and back for an entire day.  I am slightly dehydrated (because all fluid is backed up in my BLADDER!) and more than a little exhausted.  And for the love of all things rancid, I smelled awful!  My sense of humor?  Left it on the side of the road a few hours prior.  Now what? I had my Dad and Clint calling me to see what our plans were.  They were greeted with, “How the fuck do I know.  I am just going to DRIVE until I can’t drive anymore.” You see, at this point, we still think Rita is heading that way.

I am not sure that I can put into words the helplessness that enveloped me.  As I sat in traffic, I watched my gas gage get lower and my engine temperature get higher.  I knew that if I ran out of gas or the car overheated there would be absolutely NOTHING I could do about it.  There was NO gas between Houston and Dallas.  There are NO hotels with vacancies.  The shelters were all full.  Even if we can get off the road, we had no where to go and no way to get there.  I’ll be honest.  It was pretty scary.  Twelve hours.  56 miles.  How would we ever get to Dallas?!  What would we do if we can’t make it?  There were no options.  It was the most helpless I have ever felt in my life. 

11 hours into the Mass Exodus, my sister’s husband called. (Again.) He had a friend he works with that lives in Conroe.  We were just a few miles from the exit, but we both knew that translated to hours until we got there. We decided we had no options.  We would have to go to their home stay the night there.  Even though we didn’t know them personally.  They have a 3 year old and the woman is 37 weeks pregnant.  And here we come with 2 kids, a new puppy, and we stink with the funk of a thousand locker rooms. 

It took us another hour to get to their house.  Just a few miles away.  I was so gross I wouldn’t even sit on their furniture.  I mean, I was BAD smelly! Watering eyes and flies swarming smelly.  I am not sure that I even spoke to these amazing people when we first arrived.  I may have mumbled something polite initially, but then began to yell loudly “BATHROOM! BATHROOM!  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?!” I am pretty sure I just knocked the poor pregnant woman out of the way as I waddled my full, numb bladder towards their bathroom.  Five minutes later, and after much rejoicing, I could once again move without fear of wetting myself.  I tried to do the polite small talk thing, but eventually had to just say to the sweet woman, “I am sorry to be so rude.  You have no idea how much this means to me.  But seriously, my eyes are watering from my own funky smell.  May I please use your shower.  I fear that if I don’t, your lovely wallpaper may begin to peel off of the wall from the fumes I am emmitting.”

Never before have I wept openly when stepping into a shower.  I had no idea what we would do in the morning, but at that moment, I was delirious with joy that I was taking a shower in a safe place.  I washed and wept and washed and wept. 

After crawling into a soft bed, I managed to sleep for a couple of hours.  As soon as I woke up, I was hit with that helpless dread.  “What were we going to do?” We decided to head back to my Dad’s house.  We just knew we would never make it to Dallas without gas.  We had no more options.  We thanked our gracious hosts and headed out.  Again.  It took an hour to get to Dad’s home.  AN HOUR.  On the way home, taking all backroads of course, we saw one lone woman at a gas station appearing to be pumping gas.  But, the gas station was closed and the sign said NO GAS.  I stopped and asked her if it was pumping.  She said as long as you used a debit or credit card, it worked.  BINGO!  I pulled in and began to pump gas.  Before I was finished, the cars were 6 deep at every pump.  Either this station got a delivery after they jumped ship or they were hoarding for post-Rita.  Either way, they were empty by the time they opened up again.  There was some relief knowing that I had a full tank, though.  Actually, I felt IMMENSE relief knowing there was a full tank.  Who knew when there would be another chance to fill up?

Once I reached my Dad’s I took off as fast as I could to get together my things to go to the hospital.  They were going into a disaster lock-down mode in 30 minutes.  I had to get there before that time if I was going to stay with Mom.

Next time I write, I will tell you about the amazing people I met.  The friendships I formed.  And hospital secrets to rival Grey’s Anatomy.  People who are in lock-down together talk.  A lot.  For a writer, it was sheer heaven to hear so many stories in such a short time.  I can’t wait to share them with you!

tags: Rita, evacuation

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Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

September 27, 2005

Are you still here?  Do you remember me?  I feel like I have been away from the real world for much longer than a week.  Between being in the hospital with Mom and hearing nothing but Rita coverage for DAYS and DAYS ad nauseam, I am devouring every newspaper I have been able to get my hands on.  When you are locked in the same place for so long and the only news you hear pertains to a hurricane, the aftermath of a hurricane and the hysteria of the media about a hurricane, you begin to feel like the rest of the world must have stopped with you.  It feels like a shock to emerge and see that the rest of the world went on without you.  You mean there is life outside of Houston?  Outside of the hospital?  Who knew! Where do I begin to update you?

I’ll start with Mom.  The doctor that called me at home was jumping the gun with calling me.  I mean, Mom is not going to hop out of bed and be better, but at that moment she was not dying.  Not immediately.  Do I think she will heal from this?  I certainly hope so.  But, she has so many things wrong and so many things going against her.  It is heartbreaking to see one thing get better only to have something new pop up.  Example:  Today, we were thrilled to see that her fever was down.  Her fever has been a big source of head-scratching because they cannot find the source of her infection.  So, no fever is great.  Of course, not to let us get too hopeful, her x-rays showed that her lung had collapsed.  See?  For every good news medically, we get something new that is a set-back.  The emotional roller coaster is harder than I could ever do justice to with mere words.  I am a mess.  A MESS.  I cannot describe the hell it is to get a phone call telling you to come to your mother’s bedside to say goodbye and then be told that “oops, not quite yet”, so you stay so that you can sit with her and try to comfort her when all you want is for her to comfort you.  It is an emotional mind-fuck if ever there was one.

She continually asks me to take her home.  Oh how I wish I could!  I hate leaving her and knowing that she would give anything to be able to go with me.  Her tears kill me.  There is nothing I can do reassure her or give her what she wants.  She wants to talk.  She wants to go home.  She wants someone to promise her that she will get better.  I feel so damn helpless not being able to give her any of those things.  It’s not fair.  I know.  I know.  No one said life was fair.  But holy crap on a crispy cracker this is outrageously unfair.

But wait, the fun never stops here!  In the midst of this we are told that “Sorry ‘bout it, but a Cat-5 hurricane is headed your way.  Get the hell out of dodge!” If it was just me, I would have completely ignored the warnings.  But, my sister has 2 young children that she wanted to keep safe.  So, we did what we felt we should do to protect them.  We loaded them up–along with a 3 month old puppy– and hit the road.  Along with 2.7 MILLION other Houston area residents.  My sister had the van with the air conditioner and the kids and puppy.  I had the small car all to myself with no air.  I asked her more than once if she wanted to switch cars in order to get a break from the kids.  She, however, said that I looked “pretty damn hot back there” and that she was just fine with her own little chaotic van.

It took us 12 hours– TWELVE HOURS– to go just over 50 miles.  12 hours.  50 miles.  (For those of you who know Houston, we got from I-10 and Beltway 8 to southern part of Loop 336 in Conroe in those 12 hours. We began to lose all mental control when we hit Hwy 1488 and still knew it would be at least an hour to the next exit.) I suppose it was around the 5th hour that I started to go a bit mental.  I called Jenny just so that I could scream at someone who would hardly even bat an eye at my rantings. 

But the drive is an entirely different entry that involves flying bras, Pull-ups and flashing busloads of prisoners.  You may feel guilty for laughing, but trust me, it was entertaining to hear (not so much to live, though).  I will post that one later today.  I mean, you know what they say….Always leave them wanting more.  Oh, I want to tell you all about the amazing people I met while I was at the hospital in lock-down for 36 hours.  Everyone has a story if you will just sit quietly long enough to listen to the people who will share them with you.  From a Katrina evacuee to a surgeon to an alcoholic who was there for detoxing, I met many people who touched me deeply just by sharing who they are with me.  I would never ask for the situation I was in, but if I had to be there, I am glad I was there with the people I got to know.  But again, that is another story.  Actually, many stories.  But now, now I must sleep.  I am still not normal.  I still feel like I am a step or two behind the rest of the world. (More so than I usually am.) Will you come back again?  I’ll leave the light on and the coffee pot full.

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She’s Dead, Jim I mean, Jenn

July 11, 2005

Clint learned this past week that it might be a good idea for him to create a living will. No, nothing tragic happened.  At least not to him or someone we know.

You see, last week or so one of my ubercool Mom friends called me to see if I wanted to get together for a playdate.  (And by playdate, of course I mean an excuse to get the kids together so that we can share gossip and cocktails by the pool.) Not being one to turn down a “playdate”, I forced the children into their swim suits while gleefully shouting, “Mommy has a playdate! Hurry!  Hurry!  Mommy has a playdate!”

Have you ever noticed how ladies’ swim suits don’t have pockets?  What is a gal to do when she needs to grab her cell phone and has no where to carry it?  Well, if you have enough cleavage, you can slip that badboy in the top of your swim suit and rush out the door.  (An important thing to note here is that you must remember that you did this.  That is like really a very important part of it.)

After great gossip and a cocktail or so, I am happy, relaxed and enjoying the day out.  Which is about the time Gabriella insisted she just HAD to have her goggles RIGHT THEN or really bad things would happen.  Being the nice (and now happy and relaxed) mom that I am, I leaned over to hand them to her from the side of the pool. 

*splash* There went the phone.  I mean, I probably could have saved it, but that would have meant I spilled my drink.  I mean, come on people, the phone never had a chance under those conditions!  I grabbed it up before it was even fully submerged and raced to a table to dry it off.  I took it apart and shook out any water that may be in it.  I begged it to work.

It took about 24 hours, but she began to work again.  (Yes, I called my phone “she.” Problems?) I clapped and giggled and kissed my phone thanking the gods of cell phone technology that I did not kill her.  Yet.

Two days later I am doing housework and slip the phone into my pocket.  After a couple of hours, I realize I had not heard it ring.  (You must understand that is very rare for my phone.) I took her out of my pocket and saw blankness staring back at me.  Surely, I must’ve turned her off.  I tried to power her back on.  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  No flicker.  No flash.  No illuminated keys.  No sign of life.

Noooooooooooo! I wailed.  Come back to me! I decided the battery was just dead and tried to charge her up.  Hours later…nothing.  When Clint walked in I shoved the phone at him and wailed, “Fix her!  Bring her back to me!” It was even beyond his skill. 

“I think it might be dead.  I mean, really dead.”

“No, she is not, “ I insisted.  “She worked.  Remember, she fought through the water and was ALIVE!  It is just a glitch.  She’ll be okay.  Right?  She’ll be okay.  She has to be.  All of my phone numbers and pictures and information are stored in her brain.  She HAS TO BE OKAY!”

Every few hours or so for the next couple of days I would pick her up and try to turn her on.  Nothing.  Until late one night while I was working alone in the office I glanced over at her with sadness.  I’ll try one more time I thought.

I reached over and tried to power her up.  First, the number 5 became illuminated.  Then the bottom 2 rows of numbers lit up.  And then…then…I hear those beautiful words:  “Hello Moto”

“HELLO!  HELLO MOTO!  Ohhh, MOTO!” I excitedly exclaimed as I watched her message my Word Up greeting.

And then she flickered.

And then she faded.

And then….then she went black.  Dark.  Nothing.

“MOTO!  Noooooooooooooo!!  Come back! Come back to me!”

Brandon walked in from the family room where he was watching a movie and asked, “What in the world is going on in here?”

“She was alive.  She showed life!  She said ‘Hello Moto’ to me.  I swear, she was alive.”

Brandon just shook his head and walked away.

Since that night, there has been no sign of life at all.  Not one flickering key.  No illuminated 5.  Silence.  Darkness.  Emptiness.

Clint continues to tell me to give it up and accept my phone is dead.  I tell him it might just need some more time to heal.  Maybe she will come back to me.

Brandon tells me it is past time to call the time of death on her.  I tell him he is just a cruel quitter.

I refuse!  Every so often, I still will try to power her on.  Willing her to show me some sign of life.  I am not ready to let her go.  Not my phone with EVERY PHONE NUMBER I HAVE IN THE WORLD on it.

I’m pretty sure that my refusal to let my phone go and insisting that maybe, just maybe she might actually speak those two words again has frightened Clint to the point where I know he was up late last night with a pen, paper and flashlight hastily scribbling out his own living will to ensure he does not get the Cell Phone Treatment should something happen to him.

Please.  Like I would get that excited over him saying “Hello Moto.” I mean, that would just be WEIRD!

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Obsess much?

July 6, 2005

I have always been a bit “high strung.” It does not take much to get me anxious about something.  Situations that most “normal people” would either blow off or not even remember.  (And by normal people, I pretty much mean anyone who has not yet admitted they are in fact just as crazy as everyone else but are still in denial.) These are the very things that will make me a hand-wringing lunatic. My mind will wander off on some wild tangent until I become completely wound tight over nothing. 

Remember that time back in 1986 when that girl that you really didn’t know that well said she didn’t like your hair?  Why?  Why would she do that? I didn’t even know her that well.  Is my hair still bad?  What if my hair IS bad and I don’t even know it?  I THOUGHT it was good then.  I never should have told her to I wished bad things would happen to her for being so mean.  What if something horrible happened?  Oh, hell, what if she came to some unspeakable, tragic end because I said that to her simply because she didn’t like my hair?!  I should look her up and make sure she is okay.  I will have to remember to do that tomorrow.

Obsess much?

There are also those things that I actually can fix and yet, they wind me tighter than a drum. Forgot to RSVP to a party until the day before or day of?  Good Lord, that will have me up nights worrying about it until well after the party is forgotten.  How could I be so rude? The laundry is piling up?  Oh my goodness, what am I going to do?  What if Clint is out of underwear?  Or the boys don’t have clean shorts?  Or Gabrie’s favorite dress isn’t clean the very moment she wants to wear it? I look at the laundry and freak out.  The pile is just not going away!  Anxiety attack commence.  Hello?  Wash the damn clothes and move on!  I know that.  Really I do.  But like I said, I have an amazing capacity to be high strung and anxious for no good reason.

Now then, give me a good reason to be a bit uptight and you better be prepared to medicate me or get the hell out of my way.  (Sorry, Tommy, but some of us actually do better in society with a bit of medicinal help.  Feel free to preach to me about the dangers of addiction.  I’ll shove it right back atcha, honey.) Suffice it to say that when I have good things happen, things that I am actually excited about, I become an anxiety-ridden freak.  I do not have time to be an anxiety-ridden freak when I am staring down the barrel of an already missed deadline.  NO TIME I TELL YOU!  Joshilyn Jackson had a blog entry that nailed it hysterically.  (Read the comments, too.  They are great!)

So here I sit, well past the deadline I imposed to get my chapters to my agent.  Well below the word count I promised my writing buddy I would have completed tonight.  Several hours short on sleep.  So I blog.  Not write what I am SUPPOSED to be writing.  I Blog. 

Raise your hand if you predict I will be lying awake tonight obsessing, freaking and doing a major amount of hand wringing because I DID NOT WRITE like I was supposed to do.  And that I will completely become anxious over what my agent must think.  And what I will tell my writing buddy.  And how, oh for the love of god, the world is going to come crashing in around me tomorrow because I chose to BLOG!

Put your hands down.  You’re going to make me worry about why you are all ganging up on me.

**For the record, the reason I am blogging right now is because I stayed awake last night obsessing over the fact that I had not written anything on my blog in days and while the last entry quite possibly garnered me the most private emails from the most people than from any other post I have ever written, it can’t just stay up there forever and I really must put something else up but what can follow something that touched so many people?  Yeah.  Welcome to my world, people Scary, huh!

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