caughtintheXfire

Okay...

Everybody is finally upstairs.

Jr & Sr got done work, I got Jr to get his shower first so I could "do" his wrist.
I kinda changed my plans on that, too.
Got to CVS and found waterproof tape and bandages and Neosporin and self-cling ace bandages.
I got all the shit wide, 2"-this, 4"-that...
When he got outta the shower, I smeared Neosporin on the big-assed, waterproof bandage and put that on.
Then, I covered that with three strips of waterproof, white Johnson & Johnson tape.
Then, I put maybe three or fours wraps of the ace bandage around alla that.

Very neat, very safe and the ace bandage is the same color as his tanned arm, so you can barely see any of it.

And, I got plenty of everything, thinking it may need to be changed more than once a day if he gets cow shit in there.

With the ace bandages, I'm just cutting off 10" or 12" at a time. If that much.
I have two of them, so they should last the ten days if I don't get nuts with it.
Like I do tape.

As I was putting the third strip of the white J&J tape around his wrist, I said, "Oh, by the way... when it comes to tape, I never know when to quit. I'm a terror with scotch tape on Christmas presents.", as I unwound several inches of the white tape.

He giggled and said, "I ain't no Christmas present, now..."

"I'll try to remember that", I said back.

The Doc in the ER asked me if I was gonna be okay before he started stitching and I said, "Oh yeah, I used to be an EMT... 'course, it is different when you know the person."

The Doc got me a chair... *giggle*

I was fine, though.

I can remember following them into the house when he first did it saying to myself, "EMT head... need the EMT brain..." and not getting too great a response from that request.

I had him put it under cold, running water, then put a towel on it with pressure while we tried to decide if he needed stitiches or not.
I finally told Eric to call the Boss.
Hell, I needed directions anyway, right?

That's when he said to come to his house so he could see it and if we needed to go, he'd tell me how to get there.

We did, he looked, we went, he said to bill him, like I said earlier.

If the Boss had determined he didn't need stitches, my plan was to cover the wound with Balmex and a gauze pad and tape.
BUT... stitches it was.

As the Doc is stitching, it occured to me that we hadn't even mentioned the most insane thing Jr. does, so I brought it up... his bullriding bullshit.
I can remember going through my whole routine about his Dad riding bulls til we got together and me telling him, "Look, I'm a Taurus, a bull. You wanna ride a bull, ride me. I, unlike other bulls, won't even turn around and try to gore ya if ya fall off, okay? Oh, and bring the rope, leave the spurs..."

I say the stupidest shit to people when I'm all nerved up sometimes...
(I get that from my Dad...)

Thank God the Doc was laughing.
Thank God even more that I eventually stfu.

Oh crap... I just remembered that I forgot to call that lady with Jr's soash number....

Must remember to do that tomorrow...

My bad.

And now, now that my legs finally have feeling again from my last visit to the "library", I seem to need to go there again. I hear the Ann Rule book I'm (re)reading calling me...

THEN, I hope to hell I come back down here, do the dishes, clean the catboxes and bake something.
Now that my headache is gone (three aspirin slammed down with a cuppa coffee), I feel better and like I might actually stay up all night like I usually do.

It'd be the first time in damned near a month....

AND, I know exactly where Jesus Christ Superstar is, too... *grin*
Now, if the cats haven't chewed the friggin' speaker cord again... (fucker's gonna be three inches long by the time they quit...)

Oh yeah... one other thing... I think that sometime here recently, unknown to my concious self, I decided that I'll watch Rob's DVD when my jeans size begins with a "3" and his shirts are looser.

I don't know why, I don't even know for sure when I decided this, I just know it's like a fact in my head.

Meanwhile, I'll just keep it right where it is, less than a foot away, standing up, angled so I can glance over and see him smiling and playing his guitar.

And, ya know what else?
I don't know if my stupid period is coming again real soon or what, but it seems that, every day, it gets harder and harder not to fall apart when I think about Rob.

Isn't this suppsed to get easier?
'Cause, it's really, really not.

I keep hearing "Hard Habit to Break" by Chicago, in my head...

I honestly don't know which it is that breaks my heart more often... that he's really and truely gone or how well defined his last few years were in his face and eyes.

He and his brother Dave aren't that far apart in age, but when I looked at Dave, then looked again at Rob... at first, I just couldn't think about it.
Because Rob looked years older than Dave does.

And, I know why.

And, that kills me.

And, so does his being gone.

*several minutes later*

Now, look, damn it... I haven't been waiting all this time for everybody to go to bed just so I could sit here and not be able to stop crying, ya know?
Yet, that's what I seem to be doing...

Hah... a totally other thought just popped into my mind, thank you, Chablis... I think I already know what she's gonna do.
And, for the record, I read her early this morning and haven't been back yet, so if she's already said it, I don't know it.
Officially.
But, in my gut I do.
(I'll put it to draft, with the time and date and after she says what she's gonna do and especially if I'm right, I'll post it then... after she decides.)

Okay, that got me to stop leaking, finally.

Damn it.
Now I just need to quit looking over at him.

And, I know how to do that, too... go out in the kitchen and DO something.
Something constructive.

Or, go shit.

Whichever.

Oh, fuckin'-A, maybe I'm losing my mind because with my eyelashes not yet dry, I just made myself giggle with that "or go shit" thing...

Rob, what the FUCK did you do, going away like this?
Why, man?
How, even....

Didn't you know what it would do to people?
Why couldn't you ever believe me when I told you, or tried to, how important you were? How much you just being there, being you, meant to so many, to me?

You struggled so hard for so long, you beat so many things...

I really believed you were indestructable.

I was always scared of losing you, but I never really thought I would... we would.
At least not s'soon.

You were only, what? 53?
I want to say you were still a young man, but, I can see you right now and I know you weren't... not anymore.
But, you were still Rob.
You were still a hero to some.
To me.

And now there's just this big old empty void.
The silence is deafening.

And, very heavy.

Now, before I get to crying agin, I'm outta here.

I don't think I'm handling this very well.

The jeans I have on right now...

are 4" smaller around the waist than the ones I wore in Georgia.

Besides this, I've had an "exciting" morning.

First off, this moron who works here who canNOT drive rips down the electric wires dragging some rake-lookin' piece of equipment behind a tractor.

Numbfuck.

Nuttin' to do, so I go outside.
And, cleaned the front porch part of the house.
Fed the rabbit.
Fed the birds in the front yard (shickens and duck!).

Then, when I was lookin' for something else to do, I got it.

Jr. comes around the side of the house holding his wrist.
I heard something about "gonna need stitches...".

B'scuse me?

Oh hell yeah, sure nuff, Jr.'s done cut his own wrist.
By accident.
Thanks to the moron who ripped the wires down, thus rendering the electric saw thing useless, Jr. was cutting PVC pipe with a razor knife and... slipped.

Fuckin' oops.

Wound up having to take him to the ER, filled out forms, the Boss was the one who gave me directions to the ER and he told me to have the bills sent "here" and we were in front of his house at the time.
He is GREAT.

Told me not to worry about anything, just get the kid fixed.

So, we did.

And... believe it or not, we were in and out in less than an hour.
He got two stitches.

When we got home, the stupid electric still wasn't back on, but it did just come back on about half and hour ago.

I cheered when it did.
"Yayyyy..."

Now I need to go to a store (again) and get a viable ace bandage for Jr.'s arm.

Gotta keep shit off it at all costs, pretty much.

We're talkin' antibiotic goop, bandage, tape around that, a latex/rubber/vinyl/whatever glove of some kind and, when I get one that'll WORK, an ace bandage under the glove.

I do have two ace bandages and I actually found 'em, too.
BUT... one needs those little butterfly clips which I can't find anywhere and the other one is one of those kind that stick to itself, except this one is so old, it's dead. It wouldn't stick with duct tape.

Holy hell...
I just looked at my lava lamp/floor lamp and it scared me for a second.
All the "lava" is just sitting on the bottom in a blob.
I was like, "wtf?", then I remembered the electric was off for a while.
That stupid ass.... it was the same jackass who pissed me off last winter, driving behind me like a complete asshole.
I went off about him then and I still can't stand him.
This didn't help a bit, by the way...
*sardonic grin*

Oh, and guess what else?
I can now fit into Rob's flannel shirts.

It'll be nice when they're a little looser, but, I can get 'em on now.

Think I've lost weight?

This keeps up I may even buy a bathroom scale, just to see.

Of course, there is the truck scale right across the road.
I weighed my car on it once.
Then, I weighed myself, walking across it.
I had no idea it was sensitive enough to even register me, but it did and I was NOT happy with the number.

That was before I went to Georgia.

I might oughta take a lil ol' walk across the road, maybe.
Just to see.

See what kinda female I am?
What other female do any of you know who'd even THINK of weighing herself on a truck scale?

'Course, I'm also the kind of female who say to a semi-bleeding teenaged boy enroute to the hospital, "Your right hand, huh? Wipin' your ass is gonna be fun. I can hear it now, "Da-ad, I'm DO-ONE!!!"... That'll be a blast."

He almost fell outta the car laughing.
I did say the line in Bill Engvall's southern accented voice, too...
Hollered it, even...

He and his Dad just looooove my references to their shit, lem'me tell ya.
They are so easy.
I even mention the fact that they DO it, let alone forget to flush or whatever, and they are GONE.
Dying.
Sputterin'.
Laughing.
Turning red.

It's great.

Anyway, I guess I oughta go get the ace bandage and shit.

Come back, maybe bake something.
Cake, cookies... something.
Also have a few dishes to do, maybe a load of laundry, the cat boxes...
Vacuuming, too.

Nothing major.

And, I've been wanting to bake something, but I've just been so "bleh", I haven't.
Today, I've got more energy, thank God.
But...

my God, I miss him so much it hurts to breath.

Hey, Rob?

This still sucks, man.

It's not getting any easier.

The void you left is growing, not shrinking.
Conversely, my interest in this whole thing, blogging, is shrinking, not growing.

I do believe that half... more then half... of what motivated me was you. Getting a comment from you, being linked, being quoted...
I don't know how many times I'd use an odd phrase or twist of words, then see the same thing show up at your place a few hours later.
How many times did we post the about the same abstract thing, unbeknownst to each other til later?
Too many to count, really...

I used to spend hours on here, basically killing time, til it was "time" to go back to Gut Rumbles and see what you were up to next.
Now, I go through my whole toolbar (personal links) in no time and I walk away feeling unfulfilled, still starved and lonely.

Having some of your belongings helps... sometimes.
Other times, it hits me why and how I came to have them and that kills me all over again.

This just plain sucks.
No more new posts.
No more Rob.
No more laughing and crying at nearly the same time, being made to think, re-evaluate myself or learning from the Master of Surviving.

And, in all that time I did have with you, the one thing we never did cover was how to survive without you.
The one thing it seems I need to learn the most urgently...

Blogging without you somewhere out there keeping an eye on me just isn't the same.
It's like going from Oz back to Kansas, like going from driving a NASCAR to a LeCar, like existing not living.
It's pretty much like it was before I found you... lonely, barren, empty, echo-y and still.

God damn.
Ya know?

I miss you.
And, I love you even more than that.
If there is a way to keep going, to love this again, I'll find it.
For myself as well as you.

But, I've gotta tell ya....
It's black as pitch here without your light to show me the way.

I'm scared, Rob.

I thought I was scared when I was scared of losing you... of you dying.
Now that you've up and done it, I know what "scared" means.

It's trying to do this alone.
Without you.
(And, pretty much without Paul too, these days...)

Right now, I'm hoping that my move will help this be new to me again.
It won't replace you... nothing ever will, but the new place, new pictures... it can't hurt.
Nothing can hurt me anymore after losing you.
I'm still too numb.

I swear, losing you, then being sick for so long... I do NOT get sick, EVER, but when I do- lookout. But, this time was insane.... it's changed me.

I feel better now from being sick, but I still feel blah, like "who cares" about most shit.
I'm tired all the time and sitting down here in front of this blinking cursor seems almost like a chore right now.

When I was about 14, I first heard of Nostradamus and heard his predictions.
Well, it scared the ever-livin' fuck outta me and made me wonder what the point even was to try to be "successful" if the world was gonna end before I was dead.

This is about the same.

What's the point of doing this knowing I'll never hear from you again?

I know there must be one, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what it is.

"Hate me, adore me, bite me. www.gutrumbles.com Not for the faint of heart."

I see that every time I look up from here.

I'm gonna go with "adore you" and add that the truth never is for the faint of heart.

Maybe the point lies somewhere within "picking up where you left off".
(As if I have the full-fledged chops for that...)

Maybe the point lies somewhere within never letting you be forgotten or denigrated or fucked with ever again.
Or at least trying not to let that happen....

You're my heart, Dude.
Have been for a loooong time and probably will be til a year or so after I'm dead.

What was done to you wasn't right.
How you handled it, survived it, defied it and continued on in the face of it all was awe-inspiring.

I wish you'd known that second bit as well as you did the first.

Losing you has brought me to my knees once again.
I've been here before.
But, I've never tried to stand with such a heavy load before... all the days I have left without you weigh a LOT.
Just knowing you were there... somewhere... anywhere... was such a gift.
I only had the slightest idea when you were here.

I knew then what you were.
But, I didn't know half of it, not really.

I'm learning that now.
Just how much you being on this planet meant to me...

If I could have improved your trip one tenth as much as you did mine, maybe you'd still be here, ya know?
Maybe you'd have found a way...
To live, not have to escape.

There is no escaping this, that much I know.
So, now I have to find a way.
Where you couldn't.
And, without you leading the way.
At all.

*siiiigh*

Only for you, Dude....

Holy shit...

You wanna talk about a good, solid "perspective" brainduster?

Here I am, all bleh because I've been sick and still feel a little "used and abused" because of it and then, I go on over Chablis' place and, "Wham", a dose of perspective, much like a bucket of cold water poured over the top of your warm shower, right on ya.

Number one, compared to what Chablis is wrestling with, I got no problems.
Number two, compared to what those kids are dealing with, I got no problems.
Number three, in the big scheme of things, my having been sick ain't jackshit.

Holy Jeezus.
I don't even begin to have an idea how to do, and not do, what Chablis has to decide about.
How can you say no, but how do you say yes, too?

I have neither experience nor kids of my own and the idea scares the hell outta me.

They can't go back to where they were.
They probably can't stay where they are now for very long.
But, how do you deal with kids that've been treated like they have been, let alone you have your own kids to think of....
God Almighty.

In a way, my total lack of the "motherhood gene" makes this easy for me, really, because I can't think of a soul who'd be insane enough to even ask me to do this.
I'd probably fuck up a semi-normal kid. I shudder to think of what could happen with kids with such emotional baggage... thanks to their shitty excuses for parents...
Somebody needs to sterilze one or both of that couple, by the way....

Anyway, before I go getting all pissy, I just wanted to point out how fuckin' awesome Chablis is to even be in this position in the first place.
That she's considering doing this makes me breathless....

Whatever you decide, I'm behind ya all the way, either way.

Doin' lots better...

Physically, I'm almost back to 100%.
Of course, this is my version os "100%", so it has inherent flaws, like my back buggin' me, not being thin enough yet, having a cough in the morning, not feeling like Miss Perky 2006 to begin with... shit like that.

BUT, I'm no longer living in the bathroom, I've cleaned the house, dodged a bullet I didn't even know about til ten minutes ago and, except for thinking briefly that I might throw up a little while ago for reasons which are unknown to me (plus, I didn't anyway, thank God), I feel pretty good.

I'm eating whatever I want, just not a lot of whatever it is.
I'm doing whatever I want, just a little slowly still... bein' careful is all.
Sometimes, I get headrushes, which are mostly just fun.

Oh and I finally found Jesus Christ Superstar.
It was in the stupid car.

Have I played it yet?
No.
But, I will...

The bullet I dodged was fired by Jr., too, that little shithead.

Seems he called the cuntbag in Jersey and tried to arrange for the two kids who were here before to come back for another week before school starts.

Screw asking anybody around here.
Screw the fact that I've been sicker than nine dead dogs for over two weeks.
Screw the fact that I just got the house cleaned again.
Screw alla that.

He just took it upon himself to try this bullshit and, lucky for him and everybody else in general vicinity, it didn't work.
And now, since I can't seem to be asked beforehand about this shit, it ain't GUNNA work again before school starts.
As of this second, I no longer need to worry about assholes in my house for a week at a time til next year.
So, thanks for that, Dude.
You wanna disregard me, I kin do that too.
You wanna make plans without asking first, thnaks for the open door to do the same.

Next time, ask first.

And, no, I'm not mad.
I would be if there were extra kids around here, but there aren't and I ain't, so good.

Now, off to the "library" again.

Back later...

Peace

Okay, so I never did make that list...

I still went to the store.

The whole house is back to "near perfect" and I'm fine.
Except, my back hurts, but now it's because of the fact that the house is once again clean.

I'm tired like a sumbitch, too.

Slept last night just fine.
Woke up mid-morning, feeling fine.

Tweaked the house, did some shit and now I feel like I've been etherized or something... all limp and feh...

But, I still have to go get Mr Boss's money today.
Gonna go tap the ATM at the gas station, run that to him, feed the stupid dogs and lay down.
IF I don't end up laying down, involuntarily, sometime before then...

Peace

Still goin'...

What I'm working on now is the last of the laundry.

Everything else, except bathing the dog, is done.
Including vacuuming twice.

Next load is gonna be the last of the clothes, including what I'm wearing.
While this shit is washing, I'm gonna grab a shower, wash the hair (been sweatin' a bit... *grin*) and eventually go to the store.

I'm outta Sweet-n-Low and I can't have that.

If I go to sleep and wake up to no Sweet-n-low, hence no decent cuppa coffee, it could get ugly.
It has before.
So...

I'll go "now" while I'm still up that way it'll be here when I need it.
Need a coupla other things anyway...

Which reminds me, I need to make a list for that.
Which I guess I'll go do.

Peace

ooo, I musta been a good kid here lately....

Suddenly, I have the (mostly clean) house to myself til a bit after 10pm.

How cool is that?

George is in Joisey and Sr. & Jr. have gone to help out at "the fair" again tonight.

Whatevah.

As long as I get to be here, in a clean house, feeling better and everything relatively okay (still can't fathom Rob, man...), I don't care who does what to whom.

Ya know what amazed me?
It took the whole time I was sick for this house to get as bad as it was.
I thought it was gonna take multiple DAYS to get it back into shape.

Nope.

Only took a few hours.
Amazing.

Only bad thing is, I still can't find Jesus Christ Superstar, damn it.
Nor the second Wall CD, which leads me to believe they're somewhere together, in a bag, hanging or hiding somewhere I don't remember putting them.

Feh.

I'll find 'em, some damned day.

Meanwhile, I'm gonna go flit around nekkid whilst smoking some aromatic weeds.
(If I can quit staring at this lava lamp. Man, this thing is cool...)

Fuck, man.
I still can't believe Rob up and died....
It's almost like being so sick for so long erased the whole thing from my brain.
Wish it could erase the whole thing, period...

Goddamn, I miss him.
Feel so lost, sometimes.

Found Paul for a few minutes last night, though...
That was nice.
Hope I manage to do it again soon.

Now, off to find something FUN to do.

Peace, people....

Git 'er done...

Got almost everything on the list done, including cat flea collars.
Also put together my new lava lamp/floor lamp. I have always wanted a lava lamp and now, finally, I have one.
It's pretty, too.

And, by "almost", I mean I need to vacuum again.

Laundry is almost done.
The loads I'm doing now are miscellanenous stupid shit, like cat- and cow-shaped pillows, blankets from the living room, rugs, crap like that.

Other than that, all I need to do is get a shower, see what's up with my hair and go to the store for some shit.

Need to make a list for that, first.

And, eat before I go.

On the other hand, maybe I'll lay down for a while.
I am gettin' kinda tired.

But first... some eggs, I think.
Eggs and toast.
Yeah...

Peace, y'all...

Still goin'...

Toldja I feel better.

So far, I've got the bathroom pretty much straightened up, catbox dumped and re-newed, laundry happenin'...And, the living room. All the catboxes in here are brand new and fresh.
Trash is gone, too.
(Guys accumulate a lot of it, though... daaaamn.)

Next is the front room, followed by the kitchen.

Then, there's gonna be much vacuuming and mopping.

And, washing of (damned) dishes.

Gotta admit...
it does feel good to feel good enough to wanna do this shit.

Also gotta admit, when I first heard that George was goin' to Jersey this weekend, my first thought was, "Shit.", because he's my backup, licensed driver who can go to the store-n-shit insteada me, since I was busy dying and all.

I was kinda skeert at first, but I really do feel better.

My back is still a little tight, but now it's because I'm workin' it, not because I'm layin' on it.

I've got my Aleve, if I need 'em, which I think I might soon.

Meanwhile, I have half an hour before I hafta make sure Eric's up and I wanna have at least the front room done before he gets down here, so I'm outta here.

I'll be back.
I need to see if there's anything I can strike off the original list (which didn't include washing the dog, a thing I must do, nor did it have putting flea collars on cats, another thing I need to do and there were a coupla other things but I've temporarily forgotten them right this second).

Tawk to yiz late-a...

Peace

*update a while later*

I made it.
Got the front room done just as he came down.
Now all that's left is the kitchen, as far as two catboxes, trash patrol and cleaning out the fridge, putting away shit from the store from the other day. I am every bit as bad as Rob for doin' that... bring home shit from the store and just leave it sit in the bags til I need it.
Not shit that needs to be refridgerated....

Oh, and dishes.
My back just looooves the idea of standing long enough to wash alla those sonsabitches, lem'me tell ya.
pft

Oh yeah, I've also changed all five CD's to Stevie Ray.
I still can't find JCS...

But, SRV is rocking me through the hard parts.
Like walking erect...

And, now that the guys are all outside, I'm gonna go jack up the volume and keep on truckin'.

Back later...

Okay then...

Junior just went to bed.
Senior's been gone (to bed) for about 45 minutes.
George is in Jersey for the weekend.
The stupid rain has knocked out the satellite signal, naturally, so I'm gonna go put Jesus Christ Superstar on the "big" CD player and try cleaning the kitchen and front room.

God, grant me the strength, please.
I'm gonna need all the help I can git.

I officially feel better...

I've driven the car twice today.
I had two Mickey D's hamburgers and some fries.
I've got Eric blowin' out the top of my shop vac in preperation of me cleaning this house.

Not only do I want to and feel kinda better enough to, I need to, this place is... ugh.

And, guess what?

I'm wearing jeans very comfortably.

I always wear sweats.
But, just lately, jeans are fitting again, so yea! that.
Best part about wearing jeans is being able to wear my black clogs with them.
(Like I am right now, yes...)

God, I've got so much that needs to be done and I don't know yet how much energy, but even the thought of making a list is tiring.

Let's see....

Off the top of my head, I need to:

Do a trash patrol
Take the dirty clothes upstairs
Start the wash
Wash the dishes
Clean the catboxes
Mop of the kitchen floor
Clean out the fridge
Vacuum eveything, every where... twice
Make iced tea

I know there's more, but I can't think all the way straight yet.

I'll be back, I hope, to strike shit off the list and probably to add to it, too.

Meanwhile, I guess I oughta go start.
See how far I get before my body is wiped out.

Pray for me, please...

Peace

Eh, it's 90% my back now...

The front of me feels lots better.
It's my back that kickin' my ass right now.
It hurts more than anything else might.

Hell, if anything else does hurt, I don't know it 'cuz of my back, let's put it that way.

I'm even nuking more Swedish Meatballs as I type.

Wanna know my biggest problem?

I need to go to the store SOON, like TODAY, and get a new lighter or two.
The two I have now are driving my nuts.
One's Rob's and one I bought.
The one I bought lights every time you flick it, but it's dying, almost outta gas.
Rob's, on the other hand, has plenty of gas, but will only light after you've flicked it 497 times.

Funny.

I'll get Eric to ride with me to the gas station.
And, go in.
Driving will be plenty enough to handle without walking around, thanks.

All I've gotta do is wait for him to come in for lunch.

Gonna do that laying down.

Peace

Sorry for the 'tude...

If it makes it remotely better at all, that's the worst it's been so far, which, considering how much this whole deal hurts, sucks and needs to fuck off already, is pretty good.

A lesser person would have scaled a silo, rifle in teeth, a week ago.

Not to mention, I keep hearing the same stupid shit from Eric, who friggin' well knows better. He knows as well as I do we can't afford me going to a doctor.

Besides, I am getting better, albeit s-l-o-w-l-y.

I'm about to go get a nice long shower, I think.
That's what I wanna do.
Just hope climbing the stairs doesn't wear me out.

I can get around some, obviously, but I still can't walk fast and I feel kinda weak and shakey when I do walk.
As long as I go slow, I'm fine.

My lower back is just a mass of sore and tightness.

As far as the pain down the front of me, it's moving down and the area it covers is also getting smaller.

Coughing no longer makes my entire head feel like exploding nor does it make me feel like puking anymore, thank God.

And, about the only good thing about this shit... I am losing weight. I can see it and feel it.

I can't wait til the first day I feel "normal" again.

Okay, fine. So, the doctor said...

"You have no insurance, huh? How you planning on paying for this? A little at a time? A few bucks a week? I don't fuckin' THINK so, Lady. What? You think I went through med school and an internship just to HELP PEOPLE? Oh, fuck no, you deluded git. I have BILLS. I have a country-club membership to pay for, not to mention my fifth Beemer. I don't work for free. Fuck that oath. If you ain't got cash or insurance, go someplace (else) and die."

Get it now?

Day 9...

*siiiigh*

Any-goddamned-day, now, ya know?

It's lettin' off. Liiiittle by little.
Sometimes, in fact, it's sooooo subtle, it's hard to notice.
(/sarcasm)

Mostly all I am now is sore and achey.
Soaking in a warm/hot tub is good for that.

Still drinking the electrolyte stuff, but also the random cuppa coffee, clear soda, lotsa water....
And, I'm finally making iced tea again.
But... THIS time, I'm also bleach-soaking/cleaning my pitcher.

Last time I made it, I left it out, like yer s'posed to, to cool.
I thought one of these MEN around here might stick it in the fridge when it was ready, but nooooooooooooooooooo.
Those crackbaby-bastards were too busy DRINKING IT ALL.

Puckin' futzes.

ANYway... they're all at some old car show at the custard-stand up the road.

I, on the otherhand, am here, making tea, hanging out, walkin' slow and even more slowly feeling better.

Guess what I did earlier?

Ate real food for the first time in 9 days.

Wanna guess what it was (Mad William)?

Ohhellyeah, Swedish Meatballs.

George had gone to Hanover (where they make those tooth-bustin' pretzels) and I happened to catch him in time, before he got home, and I got him to pick me up some of them and some Spaghetti-O's.
I knew I wanted one of the two and it ended up being the Meatballs.

My gawd, I have NEVER tasted anything s'good in my LIFE.

Best part?
There're more of 'em and the guys won't touch 'em.
THEY think Swedish Meatballs looks like calf scours.
Of course, they're also RETARDED, but... whatever keeps 'em outta my shit, right?

On that note, I'm outta here.
Back upstairs, where I left my lighter.
And, my "more fun smokables".
(I've been thankin' God more every DAY that I took that trip to Bucks when I did. I can barely imagine what this whole episode woulda been like without weed and the thought makes me literally just wanna die and get it over with...)

Meantime...

Peace, y'all...

*feeble wave*

After seven straight days of unmitigated hell, I've come to the conclusion that I must've got an undercooked piece of chicken.

One of the things that didn't exactly match when I looked it up a few days ago (salmonella) was that it lasts for as long a week or more. I was feeling better enough that day to think the worst was over, so it seemed that that wasn't the problem.

Today is day eight.
Today, for the first time, I'm downstairs, after God knows how long.
Today for the first time, I'm taking care of shit online (bills- one anyway).
I'm writing.
I actually cleaned a little bit.

I'm still sore as fuckall, but yesterday, George got me a buncha different kindsa clear sodas and orange juice, stuff like that because after two gallons of spring water in two days, that was getting tired.

And, yeah, I've been drinking so much water this week, that on one of the few excursions I've been able to make outta the house, I got myself six gallons of bottled water.
If this farm water can kill a coffeepot so easily, I didn't even wanna THINK about what it might be doing to my already raw insides.
It's helped....

Then, George went out and got me some electrolyte stuff.
Orange-y flavored, pediatric electrolyte stuff.
That helped even more.

Still haven't been able to bring myself to eat yet.
Everything I think of is "pft... nah".
Except Swedish Meatballs.

Like my stomach needs that for a first meal...

I've been downstairs here for a coupla hours.
A record of late.

What I'm gonna do today is hang out upstairs still, but getting the wash done.
Already have the first load in.
It may be a sloooooow process, but, it'll get done.

A cool coincidence...
This morning was the first morning I woke up feeling at all rested, pain-free...
and, I laid there for a minute, then turned my head to look at the TV and there was James Arness.
*smile*

Made me feel a little better.
And, lest y'all don't believe that, the last time I was able to get down two pieces of toast was only after I was fortunate enough to catch an episode of Drew Carey all about dance and got to see the whole "5 o'clock world" dance sequence.
Honest to God, that made me feel so much better, I got up and toddled down here and made the toast.

So, yeah, I must still be alive beause I am most definitely still weird.

Back later, God willing.

Peace

And,

since Friday, I have eaten the following:

Two pieces of toast.

And, that was yesterday afternoon.

I'm thinkin' it might be time for two more.

Okay, this just made me laugh outloud (and it didn't hurt my stomach at all)...

Headline at FARK:

BBC - A woman's sex drive begins to plummet once she is in a secure relationship, according to research conducted by almost every married man on planet earth

It's still makin' me giggle...

And...

I'm back again.

I said I was gonna go check the rabbit.
He was fine.
Just needed some grain is all.
I came back in and fed the following:

Outside cats (filled the feeder)
Inside cats, including water.
Murphy, and
the parakeet.

Moving around a little seemed to loosen me up some.

Got done with the critters and took a coupla Ibuprofen again and laid down.

Never really did fall asleep.
Just laid there, reading, mostly.

Got up to go to the bathroom (which has been becoming steadily easier, thank God) and when I got done reading in there (Dreams of Ada in the bedroom, Deadly Relations in the "library"...), I found myself bent over, putting my hair up in one of those "top-of-the-head" ponytails.
Then, I came back down here and looked up "salmonella" to see if I'd poisoned myself with the chicken I made whenever it was a few days ago and that Eric said was the last thing he saw me eat.

But, the symptoms don't match that well.

Maybe it was some kinda "stomach thing".

I have no clue.

I'm just glad it seems to be over now, or getting close to "gone".
Now, if my back would give me a break... *rolls eyes*

Maybe if I start moving around some...
Get Eric to knead into it when he comes in for breakfast...

Meanwhile, I think I'll go splice my speaker wire back together that some dopey, random cat chewed through on the CD player... the "big" one, not the Walkman...
Then, since there ain't jackshit on TV (I'm watching friggin' Saved by the Bell, for God's sake) and I don't wanna waste energy fighting with the tape and/or DVD player in the kitchen, I'm just gonna (blast?)... have music playing.

Like the soundtrack of Jesus Christ Superstar...

Yeeeaaahhh...
*grinning*

Back later.

Peace

Gettin' better...

Rather than starting at the end, now (hopefully), when I do indeed feel better and trying to tell this story backwards, lem'me start when this did... in earnest.

Now, I don't know how much I've related lately about PAWS, but this lady is goin' like wildfire here lately.

I think it was Wednesday when she took three more cats.
Brought two back.
The third, frankly, I expected to die.
That'd be "Missy".
I think she's had kittens before, but this time, it was bad.
None of the kittens lived more than a day.
She didn't clean them, herself or anything else.
It was Tuesday night, I believe (man, having been so out of it for so long, my memory is fried, y'all...), that she had 'em.
Wednesday morning, the PAWS lady called.
By the time she showed up later that night, I'd decided to send "Missy" along because she needed lots more help than I could give her.
They kept her for two days, gave her what she needed to get better and did wind up spaying her.
She did have an infection, but it wasn't that bad... couldn'ta been or they'd not have done her.
Anyway, they bring back two cats, take another two to be done and they were all supposed to be home, Missy included, Friday night.

So, I was hurtin' by then, but, I held it together til after this got done.
I vaguely remember her giving me medicine for two cats and I also remember writing what she said on the boxes, thank God.

She leaves and shortly thereafter, I'm in hell.

By 10pm, I'm in the bathroom.
I'd brought a soda with me, thinking if I could burp, it'd help.

Wrong.

Thank God, I only took two small sips of it, because that's what I threw up later.

*shudder*

That was around 3am and by then I'd already started making my "bed" in there.

Towels piled one on top of another, huuuge towels, too.
Found a blanket in the closet, used that too.
All that shit and still I'm sore, as I type, from having laid there for so long.
(And, I haven't picked it up yet, either, because I'm not 100% yet and I know if I do dismantle the nest in the bathroom, I'll end up needing it again, so... peese on that for now.)

Anyway, I spent thirty hours alternating between laying on my pile of crap on the floor, moaning and sitting on the toilet, moaning.

Everytime I expelled anything (and I only had that one bout of puking, sooo...), I did feel it back off the tiniest bit.

After a while, the pain started breaking up, coming in waves, instead of being full on all the time, like it had been.

Shortly after that, the pain once again became what it was created for... a warning, in this case anyway, to go back to sitting on the toilet, quick.

HOWEVER.... (I do wish Rob was here to read this next lil part, because, if it weren't for him, I'd just skip this detail, but... hell with it...)

However, in trying to get up, putting any kind of strain on my abdominal muscles not only hurt, it also caused my ass to get started before I was exactly ready.

Twice.

Not a lot, but any is enough, no?

(Thanks a lot Rob, now people everywhere are simultaneously barfing and wondering about me...)

Aaaanyway... I got better QUICK at figuring out what the different pains meant.

Oh and by the way?
Thank God there's a bathroom in the barn, not 20 feet from here.
Jr. and George didn't bother me once in all those thirty hours.
Eric?

*giggle*

I wanted to kill him.

Without fail, if I managed to doze off for a bit, to escape the pain in sleep during the hours he was awake, WITHOUT fail, fifteen minutes after I'd blissfully dozed off... *bang, bang, bang* on the door.
Scared the hell outta me, tore my stomach UP bad and he just kept peeing.
He didn't shit once, which leads me to believe he shit in the barn bathroom, so why the hell didn't he pee there, too?
Or anywhere ELSE, for that matter?
He's got a dick.
A nice, friendly one that I know likes me more than to keep scaring me awake and making me feel sick all over again.
The dude could piss off the back step.
But, nooooooooooooo.

He's gotta continually fuck me up.

By the time he went to bed, I'd had enough.

As he leaves, he says, "Sorry to keep bothering you."

To which I replied, "Then, STOP IT."

I didn't say it all mean and snotty, just clipped, like I was kidding at being annoyed, but the fact that I'd even said it was proof I really was getting there.
(Getting points across to Eric is a complicated frickin' business....)

Anyway, he cut it out.

I spent most of Sunday laying there, on the floor.

I'd get up sometimes, go to the bathroom, then walk downstairs, to get cigarettes, a big glass for water, a cuppa coffee once in a while...
Walking at that point felt like I'd had massive surgery on my abdomin.
Had to go reeeeal slow, real lightly... one step at a time.

But, by then, that was about the only time I was hurting anymore.
There were no more "general" waves of pain.
It just hurt when I used my abdominal muscles.
For anything

Sometime Sunday afternoon, I felt better enough to swallow two Ibuprofen and go lay in the waterbed.

The first time I got up to pee, I waited too long and it hurt like all hell.
After that, I got up every hour or so, just to stay a step ahead of the pain.

Gradually, it got better.

Eric came in and squashed all my muscles, my legs, my back, my neck, my feet... everything and that helped a lot.

Spent about 12 hours there, dozing and getting up to pee.
Was "spotting" a little then, too.
Tried a cotton cork, mostly as a dipstick, to see what was up up there.
When I removed it later, NOTHING was going on up there, I just dealt with it as it happened.
(And, it has stopped, now...)

Around 3am, I got up, went to the bathroom, came down here and here I am.

As of now, I have a vague ache in my guts, my back feels like it's been a week since I laid down, I have a minor headache and I'm tired.

And, this house is FUCKED UP.

I need to clean it, but I don't have the strength to even start yet.

Maybe later today.
After I actually SLEEP for a while.

Which I am about to go do.

I need to drag my ass out there and check on the rabbit, though.
Bet nobody has thought to tend him since I did last...

*sigh*

Yeah.
Gonna go do that, then go lay back down.

Hopefully when I wake up, I'll feel better enough to clean the house.

Peace

Quick update....

After spending 30 hours on the bathroom floor and catching seveal "coupla hour naps" in the waterbed today, I feel somewhat better.

The entire front of me isn't hurtin' anymore, just the lower half, and what does hurt, HURTS.

Coughing is a scary thing to think about.
Best to just grip the guts and get it over with as gently as possible.

My period seems to be hanging around, threatening to stir up shit, but I'm ignoring that.
Fuck my period and everything inside of me that has to do with it.
I've been saying for years that I hate my period, my ovaries, my uterus... just ALL of it and I do, BOY do I, but my hand to God, I've not felt this much RESENTMENT toward it before.

It's done this before.
"I'm gone. See ya next month."
*two days later*
"I'M BAAA-ACK..."

Pish.

With everything else I'm still dealin' with the LAST thing I need is any shit from that shit.

Ya know?

Anyway...

Nice to know I can barf without losing my "really loose tooth".
I was worried about that.
Nice to know I can shit alien things I've never seen the likes of before without even eating anything.
'Bout all my stomach says it can handle is the occasional cuppa coffee.
That's fine.
Coffee'll keep the headache away better'n any aspirin could do, PLUS it doesn't piss my stomach off later, either.
I think aspirin did yesterday.
My ribs under my right boob are no longer on fire, either.
Finally.
However, my whole body hurts so bad from laying to the bathroom floor for so long... jeezus.

And, I don't know where I get that from, but I've done it forever, laying on the bathroom floor when I'm sick.
It just helps, somehow.

And, I know "doctor".
It's not just that I'm even more hardheaded than Rob when it comes to admitting defeat and going to one of those guys, it's also that I have no insurance and I don't see me being a priority because of that.
Meanwhile, I get to stay home, be as comfortable as I can be, do whatever the hell I want TO feel better and... it's free.

Thank all that is holy I went to Bucks a coupla weeks ago...
If it weren't for the weed, this would be even worse.

And now, I think my ass is giving me the "I have to shit again" rumble, so I'm off to the damned bathroom again.

Right after I stop in the kitchen and get a cuppa coffee to take with me.

So... I am still alive and I almost don't mind that.

Peace

Ow, damn it.

Okay.
This has been going on long enough.
Not long enough for me to go see a doctor, oh hell no.
Just "long enough" to finally ask advice or for suggestions.

It started with my last terrorist visit.

Before it got here, I felt like shit.
While it was here, oddly enough, and for a few days afterward I had the energy to get a lotta shit done around here.

Mind you, this was in spite of the fact that the last day of my terrorist visit had my right-side ribs under my boob aching.
(I either got or just felt so bloated this time... christ.)
I'd get Eric to knead into my back, around my shoulder blade and that helps alot.
Laying down helps.
When I first get up, I barely notice it, then, after I eat or start trying to do shit, it starts hurtin' a LOT.

My mid-to-lower back also feels like it was slammed with my Pusser Club.

And, now, to add to the wonderfulness that is this horseshit, my intestines feel like I've got air/glass/bricks in 'em and walking JARS me hard, BUT... there is nothing "projectile" issuing from either of my ends.

I mean... I feel FINE, except basically, the front of me aches in a coupla places.

Oh, and the swelling in my legs from that terrorist visit is still here, too.
No where near as bad, but, still here.
It's lower on my legs now and it feels weird walkin' sometimes, like I've got water balloons on toppa my feet.

While alla this kinda shit has happened before and resolved itself rather quickly without me doing any more than enduring it, I don't seem to remember all of it happening at the same time, nor for this long after the fact.

Plus, I'm gettin' damned tired of it now.

So... any ideas?

Well, great.

Now, I have "Dueling Banjos" stuck in my head.

Starburst fruit chews....

Maeve needs us.

She sent out an email a week or so ago about Starburst no longer making her sons favorite flavors.
He's autistic and these two flavors, Kiwi Banana and Tropical Punch, are the only two flavors the little guy likes.
He likes 'em so much, in fact, that he'll talk to get 'em.

People have been emailing and calling (Cat) the parent company, appealing to them to not cease production of these two flavors no no avail.

That pissed me off.
(That it was to no avail, not that people have been contacting them...)

SO...
I found this place.
Which led to this specific page.

Now, what I'm gonna do is, this weekend, after Eric gets paid and the money has cleared and is available, I'm gonna order a case or two of those Starburst that have the correct flavors in 'em and ship 'em to Maeve.
Just need to get her snail mail address again...

Anyway, if you like kids (*and who, besides me, doesn't?), if ya have a little disposable cash handy, if yer bored, if you wanna do something selfless, if ya wouldn't mind or if ya just plain WANT TO, click that second link, make sure the one you choose has the right flavors and do a sweet lady and a cool little kid a favor... send 'em some.
They even have smaller lots and individual packs too, I think...

Meantime...

Peace, y'all....
"*" addressed in the EP...

Just because I can (and I really, really wanna)...

Sometimes, I have such a juvenile sense of humor...

For instance, this shit made me laugh my ass off.
(I think that juuuust maybe the fact that it's being done to a guy named Mike might have made me laugh all the more, picturing a certain "Mike" I know...)

Anyway, I found this on FARK. It's Mike's reaction.

He's cute, too...

I report, you decide...

I said I was gonna go walk the pasture and look for the still missing halter.
And, I did.

This pasture is huge and it's cut into a half and the other half into two quarters by a creek.

This afternoon, I went on down there.
I once again walked the creekside in the big half of the field.
Kept criss-crossin' back and forth to the fence, crunching through underbrush, steppin' in mud... looking for that damned halter.
And, two rubber feed tubs that may have been left there, along the creek, to be swept away in any of the several floods we've had so far this year.

While I was there, I groomed and sprayed both four-legged chucklefucks.

Bo literally got pissed off at me when there weren't carrots in the bag I had with me.
It was CD's.
I kept pushing his lips off it and finally, he swung his head at me, ears back and mouth open.

I slapped his lips for him for that, too.

Then, a few minutes later, he gives me that shitty look again and I waved him off and he did it again!
I jumped up onto a log to tower over him and gave him hell, verbally.
As soon as I shook my finger at him, he laid his ears back again and I hollered, so he spun and hopped his ass at me.

Spoiled little shit.

All because he didn't get his 43 carrots this one time.

Anyway, I fucked around out there til I had to piss like a race horse and needed more tea and I came home and did all that.
Pulled some chicken out to thaw for dinner, ate a little something real quick before I shook to death from a massive caffiene hit... shit like that.

Then, I load back up, drive back down there, but this time, I parked across the road from a different gate, one we never use, really.
I drive past it every time I drive down the road, but we usually use the one closest to the Bosses house.
I'd just driven by this other gate three times in less than three hours.

I park across from it, get my CD's loaded, get my shit together, grab the three cameras I had in Georgia so I can finish 'em taking pictures of the horses and exit the car.
I stick the extra CD's in the trunk and turn around to cross the road.

I take one step and look at the gate and... there it is, on the hinge-side fence post... the halter I've been looking for for months.
Just sitting there, draped over the top of the fence post like it was dropped there from above.

And, there ain't been ANYBODY out there, except some anonymous someone to bush-hog the field about a month ago, but I guarantee you that that halter has NOT been draped on that fence post for a month.
Even if I may have missed it, ain't no way everybody else who lives here all would, too.

And, my hand to God, I did not see it there any of the three times I went by that gate today.

But... however it got there... I've got Storm's halter back.
Finally.
Thank God.

Now, I need to run to Giant.
And, get gas at Sheetz.

Then come home and make dinner.
Then bake those cookies I wanted to bake earlier, maybe.

It'll either be that, or going to bed while it's still light out and getting up at around 1, or 2, or 3 am.

I've been doing that lately.

Which reminds me, I also made a huge dent in the mess that is my disorganized bedroom earlier today, too.
Still hafta pick up a buncha paperbacks that were all stacked up that fell all over the damned floor and figure out exactly what to do with alla the clothes now that we lost the "dressing room"/extra bedroom since Jr. moved in.

Now, I have stacks of clean clothes all over the place because there's only one closet and it's not huge by any means and only one dresser which is gorgeous, but again, not very "roomy", consequently, I have more clean clothes than places to put 'em.

And, my bedroom looks like a jeans/Harley shirt factory threw up in there.

Anyway... I gotta go.

Wanna see if I can start the last camera with more pictures of the horses.
Then, it's on to dogs, then cats and birds and rabbits and shit.

Car, too.
House, farm, every damned thing except me.

And, the PAWS lady just called.
She's coming by to take another three cats to be "done".
If I'm not mistaken, these three brings it up to an even dozen so far.
Wow, man...

She's gonna be here in an hour and a half, so I need to motor-vate.

Back later.

Peace

The next email/reply, which also became a post...

We were talking about things, signs, gifts from those who have passed...

I, on the other hand, get goofy shit, like lights going off or feeling like somebody is touching me (which I actually kind of like, but ya still can't prove that it happens, ya know?), smells, things like that.
Mostly what I get is literally hearing them speak in my mind.
I also feel them very strongly... I don't know how else to say it, except... inside of me.

I just feel whoever it is and I can hear 'em talking and, several times, they've had things they needed said to people and I said those things to those people and they were floored by what I said.
Mind you, half the time, I had no idea what the hell I was even talking about, but, they did.

One friend of mine, a guy named Tracey of all things, gave me a single earring he'd been wearing.
I put it in and a day or so later, I'm hearing this guy in my head, talkin' his ass off about Tracey.
So, I meet up with Tracey and tell him, "Look Dude, I have a buncha shit you need to hear, okay? I don't know who the hell it is (and, as I said this, I hear the name Terry in my head), but whoever it is wants you to hear this... Terry?"

At the time, I'd only known Tracey for a coupla months or so and he'd never really spoken about Terry. A mutual friend of ours, Connie, may have mentioned to me that Tracey had a brother who'd died, but nobody had ever said the guys name...

Anyway, I told Tracey that and he got this look on his face and I just went on...
I forget everything I said verbatim, but the upshot was that Tracey was doing something stupid and he damned well knew it and Terry was pissed because Tracey knew what was gonna happen and still he wouldn't knock it off and he really needed to before he got his ass killed.

Tracey knew exactly what I was talking about immediately.
No question.
He knew what it all meant.

I found out myself about a year later... when it was all in the paper.
Well, the end of it was.
The reason it all started, Tracey, wasn't mentioned, but the results were somewhat "spectacular".

Seems that Tracey had been seeing a friend of his' wife behind the guys back.
The guy is a fireplug/weight-lifter/not-entirely-mentally-stable-to-begin-with kinda guy.
His wife is a beautiful blonde.
Nice lady, too... I knew her, too.

Anyway, the husband knows something is going on and he tells Tracey, among others, that if he ever finds out who it is cheating with his wife, he's gonna kill 'em and shit like that.
Tracey just plays along with it.

Meanwhile, the wife person decides to leave the nutjob husband and the husband goes apeshit.

Held her and one of the kids hostage for a while, cops surrounding the house.
He lets them go then tries to blow his own head off and mostly misses.
Fucked himself up royally, but he lived.
Ended up in a psychiatric place/prison and I don't know what became of Tracey or the guys wife, but... I told him what Terry said and he just didn't listen.

I do this "tell people shit and they don't wanna listen" shit all the time.

Just last Friday, I told George he needed to change one of his tires before he left for Jersey.
It's been making his truck wobble for a week or so and once, when I was in it, it occured to me that it could be belt-slippage, where the steel belts literally shift inside the rubber and creat a bulge and fuck up the way the tire sits and rides and performs... and they can lead to a blow out.

So, he thinks he's lost a weight off of a tire, I think it's this belt slippage.
He comes in the day he went to Jersey and says, "You're right. I looked at the back of the tire and you can see it... it's a mess in there."

I, knowing how long it's been like this and what the end result will be if he doesn't change it, said, "You got a spare? Gonna change it? You really should, ya know."

He, being tired and not looking forward to driving to Jersey in the first place, let alone leaving later than he wants to changing a tire, says, "I'll do it tomorrow, at Pop's."

I said, "You need to do it now, Duuude. You wanna do it while you're the one in control of the situation, not when the truck is in control and can choose to MAKE you change it along the Pa Turnpike or someplace..."

He says, "Don't jinx me..."

"I'm not jinxing you.. *giggle* I'm just tellin' you you really oughta change that tire before you leave, is all."

Which, he didn't.
Which he DID hafta change on the way to Jersey, just across some big-assed bridge.

*siiiiigh*

Back when I lived in Jersey, I used to drive around sometimes, at night, just to be driving.
I'd cruise back to the rural area where I'd grown up and almost always, as I was driving around, letting God call the directions, no real destination in mind, I'd find animals that needed help, whether it was a dropped off cat or dog to a turtle halfway across the road to my Uncle Henry's horses being loose one time.
Another time some other guy's horse was loose. Jumped over the hood of the car in front of me.
I nailed the brakes and saw which way he went and went after him.
I had a good idea whose horse he was and I parked, grabbed my own halter and lead outta my car and set off.
Caught up with the dopey beast after he'd reached a paddock with a mare in it and jumped the fence to be with her.
(I knew which one he was because he was all sweated up and blowing hard still...)

I go in, halter him and get him outta there.
Took him back to where I figured he lived.
I was right and the guy, I think his name is Kenny Shand, he's Austrailian and has that accent and he was glad to have Sandbox back in one piece.

*coupla minutes later*
Gawd, don't I go ON sometimes?

But yeah, I do know things I "can't" know quite often.

Like when George's ex-exwife, Andi, was scared shitless because she'd found a lump at the very edge of her breast, right by her underarm.
She was telling me about this, on the phone, nearly in tears and I told her with all the confidence in the world that she was gonna be fine. It was NOTHING.
Not a tumor, not cancer... it was nothing.

And, it was... nothing.
A swollen gland/lymph node/whatever.

And, Eric's bosses wife went in for heart surgery.
Larry, the boss, was scared to death.
I wasn't.
Not one bit.
I KNEW she'd be fine and she was and still is.

Somehow... in some way I can't seem to define, I know these things.

They're real, they happen and I'm right a LOT.

Yet, not even that- my track record of being correct fully 95% of the time- gives this knowledge any validity.
I still have to quailfy it by calling it "this which I 'can't' know", lest I sound like a complete fruitcake, I suppose...

Yet, it's real.
As is my knowing Rob in the exact same way I know these other things.

There is knowing something intellectually and then there's knowing something in your gut or heart.
And, even if you can prove what you know intellectually in a court of law, you can still have a more sure, more perfect knowledge of something knowing it in your heart.

Maybe that has something to do with there almost always being room for doubt intellectually, and there being no room for doubt at ALL about the things you know in your heart.

But, the way I know Rob is better than if I had ever met him in person.
My vision, my knowledge, of him was never clouded by anger or hurt feelings or sex or neither of us being what we'd imagined... it was unsullied by any of that kinda stuff.

It was pure.
Still is.
All heart and perception and consciousness... no "buts" or "He was mean that time" or "that bad thing happened"... none of that shit from my brain to mess up what I know to be true of Rob.

I knew HIM.
Undernearth all the bluster, bullshit and shouting.
And, I loved him.
Still do.
Always will.

And... I told him this many times. I told him what he'd done for me, what he meant to me the best I was able to articulate it, and made sure he knew that all I wanted from him was the opportunity to somehow try to even begin to pay him back for all he'd given me.

I'm so glad he knew that.

And, I didn't even know to what extent he did know it.
I keep finding out from Cat a little at a time (and he's not the only one) the things Rob told him about me.
About what he thought of me and how he felt about me and that he called me his friend.

His friend...

I can't possibly tell you how grateful to God I am that Rob knew that.
And, that I got to know that he felt that way.

The best, maybe the only good, part about this is that I can continue to be the same kind of friend to Rob that I always was.

I didn't need to be stuck up his ass to defend him and love him and know him and resepct him.
I just did it because... that's whatcha DO with a man like him.
IF you love him with no strings attached, no ulterior motives in mind, purely for the sake of loving him because he's a live human being, a man whose been beat halfway to hell and back and is still standing, defiant in the face of life and trying to keep moving forward.

He was fuckin' HEROIC in his refusal to be beaten.

A man like Rob, you couldn't help but love if you really saw who you were looking at.
You love him with everything you are, but you don't fall IN LOVE with him because you have to resepct the fact that he loves Jennifer and always will and no matter how pretty or nice or incrediable you may be, you'll never be able to measure up to that woman, nor take her place in his heart, so you just have the sense not to go there.
Besides, if you do, you MUST know that WHEN, not if, it doesn't work out, it's gonna be as public as you're getting with him was and it'll probably be ugly for a while, too.

It's the only way he's ever been shown to end things.

You KNOW that because you've read him and you care enough to comprehend what he says.

Or, I do, anyway.

When you are able to know a man like Rob and love a man like Rob without getting your own agenda mixed up in it, it is one of the best gifts you'll ever give yourself.
And him.

And, this is one of the two top reasons why I'll never give this up.

Let's say, for the sake of arguement (or lack thereof, actually), that I'm pro-Rob 200%, okay?

One 100% of that is because I'm not willing to relinquish the gift I was given in knowing Rob.

The other 100% comes from the fact that he'd expect no less from me as his fiend and I know that.

Therefore, not only is it not safe for anybody mess with Rob til I'm dead, they ought not feel too secure in the knowledge they'll get away with after I'm dead, either.

Rob is the second legendary man (at least within the world each of them lived in) that I've been called a friend by.
(The other is Andy Harris, the guy in uniform on my sidebar.)

Both of these guys were much maligned, beat up, run over by life and the family court system, trying to live with alcoholism to varying degrees and valiant in their efforts to survive, let alone "win".

Both of them had their trolls, the ones who'd want to hurt them more, drag them back down to their level, cause them anguish.

Both of them died too soon.

And, both of them were loved by me.
Defended, stood up for, explained by, understood and accepted by... loved... by me.

Not that I think that's such a big to do, it's just something, another thing, they had in common.

One more thing they have in common is that just because neither of them is here any more, and maybe even moreso because they're not, my friendship with them does not end.
My defense of them, my understanding of them, my loving them does not stop.

To try to cause either of these two men any further injury by speaking ill of them, marring their memories, trying to make these guys into something they weren't-monster or saint- none of that needs to go on where I can know about it.
It won't lead to anything good, if it does.

Andy is pretty safe. I don't go to Jersey often, to Cowtown ever more rarely and he's not known on the internet, except for by me, mostly.

But... Rob?

I get nauseaous/pissed thinking of all the trolls he had.
All those "people" who had nothing better to do than to fuck with him...
gawd.

As long as I know they still exist, I'll not let my guard down when it comes to Rob like I have with Andy.
I love the guy too much to even want to know how to at this point.

Continuing to love him and be the friend I was to him when he was here is the LEAST I can do.
And, I'll do it gladly every day that God gives me to do so.

The most I can do is learn from this, let Rob continue to show me the way and become a better person for it.
This, I'm working on.

And, again... there's a large part of this I wanna post now.
This is becoming kinda cool.
I write TO YOU and am able to open up and get stuff said that I need expressed and I can do it in the correct manner because I'm saying it to you, then I can also post it and it fits in with what I do at Xfire in the first place.
Perfect.

It gets my points across without having to be too specific.
And, the more I explain shit to you, the better I understand it myself.

So, thank you for this.
I feel better and I wasn't even aware of how badly I needed to get this said.

*deeeeeeep breath*

And now, I'm gonna go bake cookies again.
And, if it's as "not hot" out today as it was yesterday, I think I'm gonna go search the pasture later for the two feed buckets and the still missing blue halter.

I miss you a lot, Rob and I love you even more than that.

Peace

An email that turned into a post...

Hey...

How YOU doin'?
I'm okay... so far.

Yeah, I've been associating Gunsmoke with Rob for a coupla/few years, now.
He reeeeally liked that show a LOT.
Talked about it all the time.
I even remember watching a Gunsmoke marathon "with" him once, when he was feeling poorly and watched it on TVLand.
He mentioned it and I tuned it in, too.

I think I mostly just did that that time because he was feeling so sick, like I could somehow connect with him in there somewhere and will him some strength or something.

After that, any time I happen to hear the theme song, I always see him in my mind.

And, now when I watch it, it's "for him", much the same way I'll still, to this day, smoke a doob or drink a beer or whatever, for someone I've loved who died YEARS ago.

I think at this point, I am merely used to there being no new posts.
I also think my heart believes he only quit blogging, not living.

I still get overwhelmed by feelings of massive, all-consuming disbelief when it sneaks in that he really is dead (and hasn't come to see me yet, damn it).
The oddest things trigger it, too.
I never know when or what it's gonna be, but, sometimes, I just wanna... hell, I don't, haven't and probably never will know "what" it is I wanna do, except somehow have the ability to change it ALL.
To "fix" this.
For him.
And me.

Ellison sent me a DVD with Rob's TV news interview on it and I got it a week ago.
There's a picture of Rob on the top of the disk in a shirt I think I have now, playing guitar and smiling BIG.
He's in the sunshine, wearing dark glasses and no hat.
Silver haired, head and face.
I have it sitting about a foot away, in a cubbyhole in the top of this computer desk.
It's standing up, leaning on a mug fulla pens and shit, facing me so I can see Rob simply by averting my eyes.
Don't even need to move my head.
(Same goes for the Gut Rumbles bumpersticker. It's directly above my monitor, pinned to the top front of the desk.)

That DVD?

Haven't been able to watch it yet.

I've thought about it several (hundred) times.
I know I've seen the interview before on Youtube.
And, I know that Steve put a montage of pictures behind it.

That'd be tough enough to not die during, let alone if he added music in the background.

I'm scared.

I love knowing he's right there, but I'm scared to watch this thing.

(Christ... I'm tearing up just typing about it...)

If there's music, it's gonna totally kill me.
As opposed to if there isn't, 'cause then it'll just plain "kill me".

I just had the letters he wrote me from Willingway in my hand yesterday.
They didn't even make me cry the way the idea of seeing him with possibly sad music in the background does.

God, I can't even let myself think about him if I happen to have music playing... unless it's a song like "Crazy Train" or Jimmy Buffet or Skynyrd or the Allman Bros. or other kinds of "southern fried rock", "rock" being the operative word in that sentence.

If I were to think about him while listening to Chicago or the Bee Gees or any number of other songs/artists of the "ballad" variety, I'd hafta die to make the pain stop, I just know it.

However and on the other hand....
When I was younger (and up to and including the guy I dated prior to getting with Eric), I had this habit of, when a guy and I broke up, I'd play every love song I owned, which was considerable.
I had 'em all.
Bread
Chicago
Journey
Heart
Air Supply
Compilation tapes of love songs, 70's songs, etc.

I'd go to my stereo, load it up with this stuff and play those songs and just all but DIE and get it the hell over with.

It could take anywhere from 12 hours to a few days, but, when I came out the other side, I was fine.
Better than in the very first place.
Stayed friends with damned near every guy I ever dated or tried to love.
And, nine outta ten times, I even found something to learn from it all.

I wonder if I could do that again now?

I also wonder if how busy I've been lately, say for about the last week (or, "about the same amount of time the DVD's been here"), has anything to do with my trying to have a "legitimate excuse" (and, how's THAT for an oxymoron?) to not watch the DVD?
I'm too "busy".
Too busy cleaning shit.
Cleaning shit that, yeah, it's nice to have clean, but is NOT life and death.

And, about doing that... lowering my head and "bulling", pushing, shoving, POWERING my way through the heartbreak of losing Rob?

Well, let's put it this way...

For the first time EVER, I'm not positive it'll work.
More to the point, I don't know this time that I'll be able to make it.
Every time before this, when it was just a stupid breakup, I knew it'd work and that I'd survive just fine.

I don't know any of that this time.

I've also never had to even think about this kinda stuff with anyone else I've lost to death.
Everybody else, I got... not "over", but "okay with" sooner than later and even easier as the years rolled by.
So, by theory at least, Rob should be a snap, right?
I've lost more people than I can even remember anymore, I never met him in person, I was AT the funeral...
This should be almost easy to handle.

But, it is NOT.
Not even a little bit.

Quite frankly, losing Rob was like losing every single person I know who has died all at once.
If those hundreds of people all died at one time in a plane crash or something, it wouldn't impact me the way losing Rob has... is. Always will, probably.

Only thing I know for sure is that Rob's not done teaching me, changing me, making me better, yet.

If I do manage to survive ever actually dealing with his death, the revelation, the lesson, the change in it will be so massive... it has to be slow, because it's going to end up being so fundamental, so foundational, such a big difference in me and my life, that if I were to "get it" all at once, it'd be too much.

But, just knowing that there IS something there to be done, to be learned helps me to not have to simply deny the truth, no matter how badly I want to this time.

That, and the fact that when it hurts the most, when my heart is shattered all over again and breathing is a chore and my mind aches with the enormity of it all, I feel Rob too.
Almost like a touch... a hand on my shoulder or on my hair or a warmth that seems to envelope my heart like it's trying to heal it and I know.

I know it's him and that he's here, but I want to SEE him.

Out of the hundreds (literally hundreds) of people I know who've died, there've only been four I wanted with all my soul to see again.
Mike Robbins, my first serious boyfriend.
Walt Borland, my very best friend, ever.
Andy Harris, the other half of me that I lost way too soon.
And, Rob.

I have dreamed of the first three over the years, but I wanna see Rob now.
Ya know what I mean?
Like, the pull to want to hear him is so strong, if I could locate a reputable psychic in the area, I'd take her one of his shirts and a pack of his cigarettes, maybe his glasses, and see what she can tell me.
And now, I'll be keeping an eye peeled for a psychic as I drive around town...
(*grin* I will, I know me.)

Here we go again....

The theme to "Gunsmoke".

Damned near every day of my life.

I've never been a "gotta watch it" fan of Gunsmoke, but... it's okay.
Like Bonanza is.
And, usually, when I hear the theme song of a show and I'm not a "gotta watch it fan", I just aim the remote without really looking and switch to the "other" channel (whatever comes up by pushing the "back" button).

But... for some reason... with Gunsmoke, I can't bring myself to actually push any buttons.

I hear the theme start and my brain says, "Need to change this..."
My hand grabs the remote and aims it in the general direction of the TV, then, as I'm still hearing it, Rob comes into it and I "see" him watching it, or toddling off to the bathroom during the theme song or being out in his kitchen, hearing it come on and hurrying up so he doesn't miss it and I just can't push the button to make it stop or go away.

Then, I glance over in time to see Festus or I hear his voice and that clinches it.

I set the remote back down and leave it on.

Probably more for Rob than for myself.

I may not watch every minute, but it feels right to leave it on.

Same way having a ball game on the TV, blasting, can bring my Pop-pop back to me for an afternoon.

And, what's this, all of a sudden?
There's no reason for this, now....
My period is gone, my house is clean, everything is at least "okay" if not "right" with my world and.... I'm in tears? Because of "Gunsmoke"?

God...

I've got about three hours...

Then, George's 'rents will be here.

All I need to do is wash a few dishes, the dog, pick the cat boxes, clean out the duck pool and put some crap in the dumpster.

Oh, and I need to vacuum right quick, too.

And, I already have a huge pot roast/shoulder roast/hunka beef in the crock pot along with a few 'taters, a coupla carrots, onion and lotsa 'shrooms.
Just wish they were the magic kind...

Anyway, I already have that goin'.

I need to remember to get Pop's apple bread shit made, too.

I think what I'm gonna do, basically, is: all the "inside the house" shit first, then go do the duck pool, trash and whatever else "outside" needs to be done... like feeding the 'possum murderin' dillholes dawgs.

By the way, it's utterly amazing how something as simple as a change in color of miniblinds changes a room.
We went from forrest green to off-white in the front room/diningroom and it's made a world of difference in the way the room looks overall.
Pretty nice.

Oh yeah... I also cleaned out my trunk yesterday.
Well... Vic's trunk, but...

Now... is that everything... for now?

Seems like it.

Cool.

Back later...

Peace

Hello again...

I'm awake again.

Finally died at about 6am or so.
Slept for a long time, too.

Got up, got to talk to Cat, got the cat (Lamar) and her kids outta my room, actually did a "hairstyle" with my hair, dusted off the car, got Jr. some of his cash so he could go to the go-kart races with another kid who works here and am currently waiting for Eric to get outta the shower so we can go to both stores, Giant and Wally-world.

*coupla minutes later*
Well, of course.
I just went and got a cuppa coffee, so naturally Eric's done now.

"I'm ready any time you are", he says.

"Soon as I get this cuppa coffee down my neck, Dear..."
(And, burn this bowl, type this post, heft that barge, tote that bale...)

My car is so clean now, that I feel like I've stolen a "real" cop car.

Then, I remember that there ain't no real cop car on the PLANET this clean and I feel better again.

That dash looks so nice, all shiny and clean.

Then, I get outta the car and walk into the super-scary-clean house.

Too cool.

Cat asked me where alla this energy is coming from.
Damned if I know, I'm just ridin' it for all it's worth.

Hope it continues forever, too.

And, have y'all noticed a certain "tension" or "alluding to" that I seem to be doing lately?
Like... about sex?

Maybe it's just me.

But, my little friend is gone, all the humans in this house are gone except one... the one I'm "allowed" to get nekkid and do things with, in fact... *weg*

Sooooooo... I think I'm gonna.

Matter of fact, I even found the camera for this computer....

Not that I'm saying there's any direct correlation between the two... *w-"er"eg*
(wicked-ER evil grin)

What'd be cool would be gettin' laid in that clean, fresh-smelling car somewhere late at night...

"Parking", as it were.
Remember "parking"?

Dark, remote, peaceful, private (mostly), radio on, jeans usually hangin' offa one leg- unless you're really "into it"... then they're balled up on the floor somewhere- and either steamed up windows or the night sounds coming in the open windows...
Man.

I miss the river...
The Delaware river behind Ft. Mott.

Huge dike, with roads on a few different levels.
Tons of privacy, yet out in the wide-assed open.
Unobstucted view of the river as far as you can see in both directions...

It's amazing there.

*sits thinking for a moment*

We have a creek here.
Haven't noticed any deer stands, though... *grin*

Anyway... parking was cool.
(And, why do I now hear Beavis and Butthead laughing?)

Gotta do that again.
Soon.

But, after the store and shit.

Which means I need to shaddap and go, I guess.

So, I'm gonna.

Peace

Am I awake again? Oh, man...

There must be something on the livingroom carpet my eyes don't care for much.

I fell asleep on it a few hours ago and when I woke up, my eyes were just full of "tears".
Not that I was crying... I just couldn't get 'em dry.
And, I sounded like I had a "nose cold" inside my own head for a while, too.

Okay now though.
Just can't believe I'm awake again.

Must be, though.
Somebody's taping "Taps" and I suspect it's me.
Taping "Taps" in here and watching "Roseanne" out in the kitchen.

So... what the fuck have I been doing?

Klee-NING.

God Almighty.

Cleaning, cleaning and cleaning some more.
Then, baking cookies.

I've got this house so clean, it's outright frickin' scary.
Same goes for Vic.

In here, I've used degreaser and cleaned every surface in the kitchen... cabinets, appliances, floor... whatever.
If it could be, it was wiped down.
Same went for the bathroom.

Front room/diningroom... keeping up quite well with the cats.
Same for the livingroom.
Not only am I still a step ahead of the cats, I'm also at least keeping pace with the guys.
Whose number has mercifully dropped back to two til Sunday, then it'll be back to the "normal" (and I use that word veeeeerrrry loosely) three.

So yeah.
The "houseguests" are gone.
*whew*

And, Vic looks like he just rolled offa the showroom floor.
AND, I cleaned a buncha stupid toolboxes outta the garage so I can fit all of Vic inside.
Before, with the stupid tool boxes, the last 8 or so inches of Vic stuck out, under the "bird tree" and he got shitted up in no time.

After bustin' my ass on him yesterday (or when the fuck ever it was), I parked him in the garage and went back out this past afternoon to finish him up and... *AARRGGHH!!*... there was bird poopage on the last six inches of the back deck.
(And, yeah, I did pull forward far enough that time to have to front bumper up against the stupid toolboxes...)
I saw the shit and said, "ENOUGH!" and out went the toolboxes, into the bay next door... right on the other side of the wall, lest any of you men think I went insane and got rid of tools.

I just got 'em the hell out'n my way.

Then, I finished Vic's interior.
Floor incuded.

Still hafta go get more cleaning wipes and do the insides of the front and back window, but... my gawd, that car DO look niiiiiice.

I think I'm gonna wipe the dust off tomorrow and wax him again.
See if I can get the shine any deeper.

Meanwhile...
I finished Vic, slid him ALL THE WAY IN... (*shudder*) to his new "home" and came in and grabbed a shower and started baking.

The house I'd already finished; dishes, laundry, cat boxes, floors both vacuuming and mopping, trash patrol... the whole nine. Done.

Meanwhile meanwhile, yesterday PAWS came and took three girls to be "done".
Brought 'em back around 6:00pm (earlier) this evening and everybody is fine.

In fact, the girls got home just as the (extra) boys were leaving...

Anyway, so far I've made a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies and a batch of Tollhouse.
About to go make a batch of "special dark chocolate chips" Tollhouse, then another batch of the other two again.

At some point, I need to go to the store and git some shit, but nothing I hafta have in the next few hours, so I'll go later. Muuuuch later.

When George gets back from Jersey on Sunday, his parents will be with him.
Pop is trailering my old white Firebird up here for George because he's selling it to Jr. and Pop is also buying a tractor and trailering that back to Jersey.
Meantime, they'll be here with George about noon-ish and I told 'im I'd have a pot roast in the slow-cooker, timed to be done by then.
And, I know Pop likes those "bread" mixes, like banana walnut or whatever and if I can find one that's "apple themed", I wanna make him a loaf with real apple slices in it and cinnamon/sugar sprinkled on top.
He'll like that.
Pop's cool.

Oh and my little terrorist buddy seems to have fucked off yet again, yay that.

(And, is it just me or is it weird that I go from my (still current 'cause I ain't divorced yet either) in-laws coming to my period going?)

*several minutes later*

God Bless Juan Valdez, his donkey, the guy who invented Coffeemate, as well as the inventor of Sweet-n-Low and the Folger family, especially Gibby.

I do love me some gooood hot coffee.

God, I can't believe it's almost time for me to make sure Eric gets up.

Ya wanna know two of the coolest things about having Jr. here?

For one thing, Senior can no longer get away with his little "bullshit behaviors" he likes to pull alla time.
Like, sighing in a disgusted manner if asked to do something, then trying to play it off lke he was only breathing when I mention it, or, leaving the room/house/car-at-60-mph/whatever in a snit for some arcane reason, with only ME noticing it.
Junior does now, too.
And, it is SUCH a relief to have someone to exchange glances, like "wtf?", with when Senior does this shit.
Not that it for one minute has made any change in Senior's propensity to do this shit, but it is kinda fun to watch him stammer twice as much trying to deny both of our looks of incredulity.

The other fun part I could get rich off of is if I were given even as little as a nickle for every time I have said, "Gee... wonder where he gets that?" in response to Senior's own look of bewildered astonishment at some of the weird shit Jr. does that just happens to be the EXACT SAME KINDA SHIT SENIOR DOES.

For instance... Jr. falls back to sleep immediately upon you ceasing to speak to him much to his father's consternation.
Dad looks at ME as if wishing an explanation for this behavior and I just hold up a mirror and show him the answer, giggling like a mad bitch the entire time.

It's a flat-out fuckin' BLAST to watch this shit.

In so very many ways, thanks to Eric Sr. I really DIDN'T need to nor did I miss out on anything by not having kids.

I get to know how my Dad has felt for YEARS because of the silly shit I do by dealing with Eric.
And, now I get to watch "my kid's" kid drive HIM nuts.

Priceless...

Anyway...
This may very well turn out to be another day of miracles.
Senior is already up.
He was down here just a minute ago.
Mumbled something about going to get Jr.

Hope they ain't in the "library".
Gonna get crowded real soon, if they are....
Won't stay crowded for very long, though... *grin*

And, on that note, I'm outta here.

Back later.

Peace

Done and done...

Car and house are now as close to perfect as I care to get 'em.

I'm about to go get an almost pure cold shower, then start the cookies.

Ankles still look like they belong on a cow.

Back later.

Peace

The outside of the car is white again and my shoulders are tight...

I just scrubbed that car for an hour.
Used this purple degreaser/soap shit and a used scrubby-sponge from in the kitchen and got alla the specks, smears, dirt, bug guts and bird shit offa my car.

It was almost as if I was compounding it instead of washing it.
I got so many of those nasty specks off that it damned near hurts your eyes to look at it now.

I'm about to go wax it.
Twice, if I can before noon.

At noon, Eric needs to run down to the Boss's place and put the horses in.

When he gets back, if I haven't done it already, I'll start on the interior.

When I ran to the store for the wax (no, I didn't have any...), I grabbed the crap you'd need to bake cookies.
Toll house with the mini-chips and oatmeal raisin.

So, can somebody run right over here and make 'em, please?

Me makin' 'em'll happen sometime after I'm able to get a shower and wash my too long, too thick, ain't EVER cuttin' it again HAIR.

Speaking of hair... hey, Paul.
Gotta ques'sion...

Is there a way that we (and yeah, I might really be able to do it myself if you send me the html of either new picture...) can install one of those two "glamour shots" now?
(I know I'm a pain right in da ass, but, man... I can't wait to see one up there... *grin*)

Anyway... off to wax Vic.
Twice if I can.

Back later.

Peace

Ugh...

Hey.

How're y'all?

I'm still kinda "stuffed" feeling and my shins/ankles/feet are still swollen, but not as bad as yesterday.
It's IS getting better.

This, I know because Piss Fest '06 has begun.

That's fine with me though.
I'd rather hafta piss every 15 minutes than store the stuff in my legs.

Got the two kinds of mac and cheese made.
That's with and without keilbasa in it.
I tried a little of the stuff with the keilbasa and it is good.

Now, I'm baking a ham.

Baking a ham and watching my Partridge Family DVDs.

Also washing dishes, peeing a lot and getting ready to pick the kitty potties.

I think sometime after the guys get up and go outside I'm gonna vacuum.
Needs it.
Then, if I have any back left at all, I could try out my new mop.

Had to get rid of the other one.
It was a sponge mop and I'd had it for a while.
Didn't see any replacement heads at the Giant, so I just grabbed a new one that has a nice sized scrubby thing on it in addition to the mop part, so that'll make the kitchen floor that much easier.

And, I still can't get over how much better the stupid bathroom looks now.

Every time I go in there, it's just... (still) wow.

And, ya know what?
I need to work that magic on my poor grody-lookin' car.

(Grody? Did I really just use the word "grody"? Dear Gawd...)

It's not like I haven't made a half-assed effort to keep it semi-respectable lookin', but... those limp bristled excuses for brushes at the car wash just don't cut it very well.

I get a better result from the high-pressure rinse spray.

What I need to do is quit wastin' quarters and break out widda hose and a bucket of degreaser/soap and apply some elbow grease.

Same goes for the interior.

I have all the shit I need to do it.... except excess energy.

Hmmmm....
Maybe if I get it washed before 8am, it'll be "cool" enough still to get it finished, inside and out.
If I get started in the backyard as soon as it starts to get light out....

Well.
Good.
Another "project".

I'll letcha's know how it comes out.

Okay, so now the plan is:

Wake up the goofballs guys in about 15 minutes.
Once they're gone, get my car-washing-shit together and get changed and take Vic into the backyard.
Wash Vic.
Resist the urge to hose out the interior because of the rubber floor because you KNOW water'll get up under the dash somehow and drown something important. Use towels or something to clean it out. (Vacuum first, then damp towels, maybe?...)
Bring Vic back out to the side of the house to vacuum.
Do the interior too, with the AmourAll cloths.
Windows with Glass Plus cloths.

And... I dare me to wax Vic, too.

*deep breath*
Man.

That's a lotta shit.

Oh, and after the car is done is when I "get to" do the floors in here.
'Cause, if I do the floors first, it'll be too hot to even start on Vic, let alone finish, so... car first, then inside of the house with the a/c.

Hope I have car wax.

Oughta go find out now, then if I don't, I'll still have time to get it at Giant.
Along with milk.
And, some damned other thing that I can't remember right this second.

Anyway...
I'll be back... some day.

I'll be the one with the really shiny car that I can no longer get in or out of gracefully due to having destroyed my back in the process of making said car shine.
I may be crippled after this, but, I'll be stylin'.
It'll be nice to see once again (for, I think the second time since I started driving this car) what it looks like cleaned up. I remember being impressed by it last time it was all perfect lookin'.

Then again, I also remember how awesome the dash of the Bird looked, too, when it was all clean and lit up at night.
*sigh*

But, that was then, this is now...
(is a song by WHAT "group"?)

Forgit the Bird and let's just see how cool Vic can look, shall we?
Yes.

And, now it's time to go get Eric up so he can get everybody else up and outta here and go see if I do have any car wax.

Peace

Randy scouse git...

I love you, Micky Dolenz.

And, I had no "Alternate Title" for this... whatever it's gonna end up being, so I went with the original title of the song as a title for this post.

Don't know what I'm talking about?

Guess that means you've deprived yourself the pleasure of reading Micky's autobiography?

Well, don't worry about it.
I've read it at least a hundred times, so you're excused.

Briefly, Micky wrote a song about being in England and titled it "Randy Scouce Git".
Record company execs vetoed that title and told Micky to come up with an "alternate title".

So, he did.
He called the song "Alternate Title".

Then, since I couldn't think of an "alternate title", I went with randy scouse git and...

oh, never mind...

Anyway...
still alive... so far.
still cleaning... things I've never cleaned before the way I'm doing it now.
still smokin'... so much so that my chest feels achey on toppa which, I feel bloated like I drank a whole keg of beer or something, thanks to my little terrorist asshole once-a-month visitor.
still having to contend with other annoying "period" symptoms... only now, instead of an attitude like Animal Mother on speedballs, it's my ankles and feet now.
"Swelled?", you ask.
"Swelled?", I snort back. "They passed "swelled" and entered into "what the fuck, man?" territory YESTERDAY."

Gawd, I hate this.
I'm just glad it's not like this every time.
I feel so bloated and stuffed full... of what, I don't know... it's tiring, in and of itself.
Let alone the heat lately.

BUT... I've been cleaning things around here that were thought to be lost causes.

We have some hard, harsh, icky water around here, apparently.
If the shit it does to sinks and toilets is any indication, we're all gonna die from water-poisoning.

Our water is so hard... how hard is it?... it's so hard, it makes the toughest, most hard core inner city youth look like a helmet-wearin', middle-class pansy-ass by comparison.

Nothing personal against either of the aforementioned groups of humans...
I'm just sayin'...

Not only have I still managed to maintain the house since I cleaned it last week, I'm also doing things that have needed to be done the whole time we've lived here, but I've just never really "seen" them before.
Or, I got used to 'em to looking like shit.

Like, I never really noticed how grungy-lookin' my big cabinets in the kitchen are. Like the ones under the sink. And, next to the stove.
They all have white fronts and they all looked like shit.

They don't now, though.

Fridge is the same way.
I keep the inside clean anyway.
But... I happened to really LOOK at the outside of it and oh my gawd...

When was that thing outside playing touch football in mud?

Well, okay... maybe it's not that bad, but still... good lord, ya know?

But... this ain't SHIT, compared to what I did yesterday.
Or, was it Sunday?

Whatever.

I don't know what got into me, but, I was in the bathroom, looking at the "all-but-green" sink and toilet and thinking about how GROSSLY INEFFECTIVE most "lime and rust stain removers" really are and suddenly... I had an idea.

An idea that worked and that led to a two hour excursion into "I'll-bet-not-even-Joan-Crawford-ever-did-THIS-shit" cleaning hell.

I grabbed a paring knife and without any chemical assistance whatsoever (as a cleaning agent, I mean. When you get to what it was I actually did, you'll see the dire need of other kinds of natural-yet-still-chemical assistance...), I used the paring knife to literally SCRAPE all that nasty shit off.
And "out of".
As in: "off" the sink, and "out of" the toilet bowl.

I know, I know... believe me, even I'm making a face, but, it wasn't that bad.

I kept flushing it, believe me.

You oughta see 'em now.
Gleaming softly white again, like brand new.

I didn't tell the guys that I was gonna do it.
Hell, I didn't even KNOW I was gonna do it til I was doin' it.

It was worth it just to see the stunned looks from the guys as they saw it.
Kinda like the look that was on Robert Kardashian's face as OJ's verdict was announced....

Now, I'm about to run to the store again.
Just need a few things, plus I hafta go to "Sheetz" and get dip.
Skoal and Cope, not clam and onion.

Then, I think I'm gonna come home and try making real baked mac & cheese for the first time ever.
Gonna make two of 'em.
One with cut up keilbasa (like in the low-country boil) in it and one without.

Oh and two more boys made the "kitty fixin' trip".
Sent three, but only two were done as the third one, Ozzy, the cat who always wants to be peein' in the sink which is why he now lives outside, yes HE, has an infection in his eyes and some kinda bump inder his tongue and he's now got kitty meds I have to administer for the next ten days.

So, if blogging gets light starting today, you'll know, or be able to imagine, why.
It's reeeeally hard typing with your hands and arms swathed in bandages as the kind ya end up with when trying to administer ANYTHING to a cat, let alone eye drops/goo and some kinda liquid you have to squirt into his mouth.

Well, now... that's what I coulda named this post, then... Dead Bitch Typing.

Ah, screw it.
I like Micky's title.

Anyway... guess I oughta go to the store.
Need to remember to stop and water the horses on the way home, too.
We've got 'em in the barn, with the fans on, it being so brain-cookin' HOT.
So, I've got to remember to stop and give 'em more water and a little hay, maybe.

I'll be back later.
Y'all take care.

Peace