sueeeus

When each morning for the past couple of weeks I am greeted with a not-so-friendly message that my computer has recovered from a serious error, and would I like to read the details in the error log, I wonder to myself whether my trusty desktop might be nearing the end of its useful life and the thought briefly passes through my mind that it might behoove me to back up my data.  However, I have not yet backed up my data.  I should.  I know.  I did back it up in December.  Mostly.  Sigh.  One more of the things in my life I want to organize, sort, scour, or purge.

Maybe tomorrow.  Or the next day.  Or the weekend.  Or next weekend. 

I did, however, do something wild and out of the ordinary.  I bought a brand spanking new laptop.  I’ve been looking at them for some time, but have always talked myself out of it.  All those ominous error messages of impending doom sort of scared me into action, though.  Plus, the bonus I received at work last week helped as well.  Woohoo!  Bonuses are always good.  Few and far between, to be sure, but very welcome when they happen. 

So, here I am, with my fancy new machine, sitting on the couch blogging, while Mr. Gadget watches American Idol and Mr. Busy Body stands on a step stool surveying his domain, considering what toys he will play with next.  The child loves to climb on things, and thankfully, a step stool satisfies his climbing tendencies while maintaining a fairly close proximity to the floor and relative safety (apart from the obstacle course of toys scattered at his feet).

I am sitting on the couch blogging.  Imagine it!   Although, I still feel guilty, but at least my body is in the same room as the rest of my family.

The computer is kind of odd-looking.  It’s a Dell E1705, which has a giant screen (with incredible definition and resolution – yay!) and a tiny keyboard.  I don’t know why they didn’t put a larger keyboard in it, since it has the real estate.  I was going to wait for them to improve upon that before jumping in and buying one, but there was the writing on the wall….  ….so I didn’t wait.  It’s got Windows Vista, which I also wasn’t too enthused about.  At least not for a few months, in case they need to work out the kinks.  And surely there will be kinks.  I’m okay with it, though.  All of it.  Because it’s new!  I have a new computer!  Woohoo!

I came across some boxes of books while going through things in the garage, looking for the next load of donations for the charity trucks that are making their rounds next week. They were part of the overflow when we moved my dad from the old shack where we grew up, and they’ve been here and there wherever I have been since then, but they’ve never made it to his new home. Realistically, he probably doesn’t even know they’re missing. He only has a few thousand books. Seriously, one time when we moved houses when I was younger, the weight of his books broke the axle on the moving truck. And that was in the 70s. One can (and he has) accumulated quite alot more books since then.

I’m torn as to what to keep and what not to keep, because I’ve decided not to reunite them. Bad daughter.

It’s not every day that one comes across graded readings and exercises in old Icelandic, and stacks of quarterly journals of classical philology, but alas, I know not what to do with these, so they are in the giant give-away pile.

I’m not sure what these are, but gosh, there is a full set and they’re dated 1854. Sämmtliche Schriften. By Gotthold Ephraim Lessing. Is it philosophy Language Philosophy of language I’m keeping these because they’re gorgeous, if nothing else.

I like the weary looks of these as well, so they stay, next to the Sämmtliche Schriften set.

My dad the linguist. He specialized in ancient classics — mainly Greek and Latin. This Latin course is a shambles, but it’s date is 1868, so I can’t help but keep it as well. Actually, I am keeping most of the Greek and Latin books. I love them, even though I can only stumble through them at less than a snail’s pace, and all I can do is pronounce the words, with very little understanding of their meaning at all.

Some of the other keepers include religion, philosophy, calligraphy, and poetry. The Four Books has an English interlinear translation, so that may be interesting if I ever get to it. I feel guilty about the Korean, Chinese, Japanese, German, and French books that are in the give-away pile, though. They could be treasures, for all I know. I just hope someone who cares will come across them in a thrift store one day and be blessed by their great fortune in such a find.

There are three huge bound volumes of the Illustrated London News, circa 1970s. I feel tremendously guilty about these, because I left boxes and boxes more of these when I sold the old school (another story for another time, but I once owned a 1910 red brick school building). I had limited time and space available for that move, so I had to decide what to leave behind, and sadly, they were amongst the abandoned. Vintage stuff of possible value to collectors, but I had to make a choice, so they were left behind. Not that I want those remaining. I’ll be putting an ad on Craigslist, to see if there’s any interest, and if nobody responds, they join the give-aways.


The same goes for these. An entire box of vintage classical 45s. They’re translucent red, and oh, so pretty! But what does one do with 45s these days, other than admire them while thinking nostalgically of days gone by.  I am feeling so guilty right now.

Two pairs of pants, four shirts, three sets of pyjamas, three towels, a set of sheets, and a couple of blankets, resulting in five loads of laundry. That was the casualty count from Beautiful Boy’s upset tummy bout on Wednesday evening. Poor little guy. He was boisterous and happy, with no fever. He didn’t seem to be feeling poorly at all.

Having requested assistance in cleaning up the mess on the sheets and bedding, and being told “I am quite capable of doing this without your help,” while I was struggling to clean the child while not spreading the spew any further than necessary, imagine the level of pleasantry in my attitude when I discovered that the bedding remained piled in a laundry basket, rather than in the washing machine, washing merrily away. Apparently, the part he was quite capable of was limited to removing the sheets from the mattress, and gosh, why would, should, or could I interpret that to mean that he would actually take the bedding downstairs, rinse off the chunks if necessary, transfer the bedding to the washing machine, and turn it on

So, I muttered something and threw the sheets in the machine, without rinsing off the chunks. Later, I speculated out loud as to whether the washing machine can handle chunks that size (moderately chewed grape halves), to which I was reprimanded for not knowing better, that one should remove the large debris before putting the soiled items in the machine. Okay, I knew that, and yes, I was being a bit lazy in not rinsing the sheets, but I was miffed that I had to contend with the sheets at all. So, I nearly exploded, because, hello Why is he reprimanding me, when he implied that he would take care of it in the first place To which he said, “Don’t even go there…” Which nearly sent me ballistic, as I was already on the verge of explosion. As if there were any remote way that I somehow might have shirked on my responsibilities? I think he uses that “Don’t even…” as some kind of a distraction tactic, because there are no grounds! Ever!

Because… I do most things related to keeping up a household (laundry, cooking, cleaning, shopping). He takes out the garbage. Okay, he does the gadget-centric tasks that spring up now and then, but I figure those get counterbalanced by the computing/techno things that spring up which I take care of. Therefore, in my view, things are grossly out of balance, so yes, it takes only the most miniscule hint of criticism or finger pointing to send me postal. Oh, so frustrating!

Thursday morning, he carefully inquires as to whether I will be able to make a doctor’s appointment for Beautiful Boy. I try to be calm and not get frustrated. I don’t know why he thinks that going to the doctor will make a difference in how fast he gets better. It’s an upset tummy. It will pass. He has no symptoms of anything serious. I just don’t see how a doctor’s visit will be helpful. I would have to keep him home until the time of the appointment, which wouldn’t allow me to get any work done, and then we’d go to the appointment and the doctor would most likely tell me to watch his fluids so that he doesn’t get dehydrated, and wait it out, which is what I am already doing. After which I’d have to drop him off at daycare, where he will cry and cry because that is what he does when I’m the one who drops him off, especially when he’s had a long and leisurely morning with me, so then I will cry on my way back home, because it breaks my heart when he does that. And then I’ll only be able to get a couple of hours of work done at best. So, all in all, a doctor’s visit would cause me a great deal of unnecessary stress.

I blew off the doctor appointment suggestion and proceeded with my work day. Things at the office started to get some resolve, although new things cropped up to keep me incredibly busy. All these things, so that I hrumph about in a snarly funk for a while, but then I notice a blazing blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds and it instantly washes my ire away. It’s amazing how that happens. A small part of me wanted to stay miffed a bit longer, because I wanted to attempt to express all that frustration to Mr. Gadget, but I was glad for the healing sunbreak. Also, he called and said something funny, to diffuse things, because, after all, we needed to be made up by the evening if we were to stick to our TTC schedule. So I forgave him.

Friday has arrived, and with it a nauseous headache. Maybe you’re pregnant, he says, puffing out his chest proudly. Mister Super Sperm. Right. Symptoms after less than twelve hours I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ve even ovulated yet, although we should be in that window right now. There have been no signs. The headache may be hormonal, so things may be on the verge. Who knows. All this elevated emotion of the past few days is no doubt exacerbated by hormone changes taking place. I should cut myself some slack and try not to get so worked up over every little thing, even though I do think my recent frustrations are justified!

Meanwhile, how thankful I am for a venue in which I can ramble on and on and on and get it all out.   A nice long whinge now and then does a body good.

Feeling a bit snarly today.  Hopefully because follicles are busy doing what follicles should do.  Or something to that effect.  I’m just so frustrated with non-answers today.  I’ve got a few plates spinning and although it’s not that unusual to receive vague or nondescript information from those with whom I must collaborate, it gets a bit frustrating when it seems that nothing meaningful or useful comes from anyone.  Such has been the case thus far today.  A jam packed morning wasted with nothing to show after hours of multi-threaded attempted collaboration.

Scenario 1. 

Me:  Black or White
Colleague:  Try Blue.
Me:  How do I use Blue
Colleague:  We don’t work with Blue.  You have to ask someone who works with Blue.
Me, to another colleague:  Do you know how to use Blue
Colleague:  We usually use Black.  Ask your focal how to translate the Blue to a Black so that we can work with it.
Me, to first colleague:  How do we translate the Blue to a Black
Colleague:  We don’t do this. 
Me, to second colleague:  Do you have a focal who might be able to translate our Blue to a Black
Second colleague to second focal:  Can we translate Blue to Black
Status:  pending…
(…I didn’t mention that all I need is 5 minute’s worth of support from the second colleague, and all I need to know is how to authorize it, but because of interdepartmental bureaucratic policies, it has taken the better part of a day and still, no solution.)

Scenario 2.

Colleague:  Your project has elements that are non-compliant.
Me:  Which elements
Colleague:  We can manage this project for you, and ensure compliance. 
Me:  Which elements are non-compliant  
Colleague:  No answer
Me:  If we consider letting you manage this, what is the process for transferring this part of the project
Colleague:  We can make sure you are compliant.
Me:  We mean to be compliant.  We want to be compliant.  We document and justify every element.  What, specifically is non-compliant
Status:  No answer…

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems that people aren’t being particularly helpful.  And me   Helpful is my middle name.  I live to serve.  I am so frustrated!  As I said, maybe it can all be chalked up to follicular activity, and quite possibly I’m blowing it all out of proportion.  Even so, I remain agitated.  Hrumph.

I recently underwent a 9-day colon cleanse in which 5 days were spent fasting, with apple juice only to wash down the psyllium/bentonite combo formula. I’ve suckered myself into this very same thing, ten or fifteen years ago. Why, oh why, would anybody intentionally ingest clay I learned some interesting things, though.

1. I learned that I am addicted to food the way a junkie is addicted to drugs. At night, sitting on the couch next to my honey, I was fidgety and practically had to sit on my hands while I tried to keep the thoughts and desires for food at bay.
2. The things you read about on the internet, namely regarding disgusting pictures of colon cleanse results, are actually achievable with the 5-day BH fast (linked above).  Eeeeeeewwwwww.  (It hasn’t made me a believer, though.  I’m still a skeptic in that those pics might just be what one would expect bentonite and psyllium to look like on its way out, so it’s not necessarily any great achievement of internal cleansing after all.  Just normal what goes in must come out, because, after all, what goes in must come out, eventually.  And don’t even get me started on the cost of these cleansing programs.  S.U.C.K.E.R.  Yes, I parted with $100 to do this, in the name of science, health, and self-experimentation.  Need I repeat   S.U.C.K.E.R.)
3. Weight loss from 9 days with nearly no food is dramatic, to the tune of nearly 11 lbs.
4. Weight gain after resuming normal and reasonable food intake is equally as dramatic, thus, there is very little actual weight loss from such a severe, and thankfully temporary, regime.
5. I was very pleased with myself, post cleanse and pre resumed stable weight, for having succeeded in going without food for five full days, and for losing a substantial amount of weight.
6. I was very disappointed in myself for gaining any weight back.
7. I am an emotional eater. My emotions drive an intense urge for certain foods.
8. I am a recreational eater. This goes along with being an emotional eater. In a certain environment, such as relaxing on the couch to watch some TV at the end of a stressful day, I have an almost uncontrollable desire for hand-to-mouth exercise, with said hand full of something crunchy or savory.
9. Hunger has very little to do with any of this.
10. One bite of a particular food can awaken the beast. For instance, a Ritz cracker seems harmless enough. Allow one to pass the lips, and very shortly after there is an incredible desire for another. Once the simple processed flour product has begun its evil works, the desire expands itself quickly to other simple carbohydrates. One cracker is not enough. There must be toast. Or cookies. Or more crackers. Or popcorn. Or potato chips. Or whatever there might be available in the house. Or all of these. The beast is awakened and a frenzy can ensue. It takes extreme restraint to tame this beast and wait out the cravings until they subside.
11. I find this very distressing. I love good nutritious food. I eat loads of vegetables. I love whole foods. I love healthy foods. I wish that I could eat something as seemingly benign as a cracker without awakening the beast, because I really don’t want to eat a whole box of crackers. I just want to enjoy a couple. But I can’t. I can’t. Well, I can, but the restraint required is extreme. I wish that I could enjoy a reasonable amount without having to exercise restraint. I wish it were natural and automatic.
12. I don’t like being a food addict.
13. I don’t particularly want to completely remove certain foods from my life, which is what seems necessary in order to overcome, or rather, avoid spiralling into the abyss.
14. It appears that I have reached an impasse.

My gadget man made a pleasant announcement on Valentine’s Day. He won a cruise vacation to the Bahamas for being in the top 100 for sales, nationwide, last year. I’m so proud of him! His company is always urging their technicians to push more sales of service contracts and accessories, and he has a knack. I’ve suggested he go into sales as a profession, because he’s so good at it, but he always balks. He likes the certainty of a steady paycheck, rather than the uncertainty of a sales/commission based livelihood.  As well, he tends to think salespeople are sharks and he doesn’t want to be associated as such.  I count is as goodness, that at least in one aspect he’s concerned about personal character.  If only this could extend to one’s character when one is behind the wheel…  If only.

Alas, children are not invited on the cruise. Sigh. Much as I’ve always wanted to experience just such a cruise –especially for free!–, I can’t leave my beautiful boy for six days. The cruise is only a 4-day jaunt, but travel to and from Miami will take the better part of a day, each way, so it would essentially be a six day trip. No can do. I don’t want MG to miss out on this opportunity, though. He earned it and I want him to go, so I’ve convinced him to take his brother instead. I plan to use that weekend to visit my sister, so my sweet little toddler will get to be with me, and see his auntie. It will be a good thing.

I’m especially glad that we won’t be attempting transcontinental flight with him any time soon.  We had our first bus ride this weekend.  That is, since my little man has been cognizant of his whereabouts. He’s been on the bus before, but only as an infant, and wrapped securely to me.  He likes to watch the buses and point them out, but when it came time to climb aboard, he was terrified and flung himself on the ground to try to avoid getting on.  I had to pick him up and carry him on, while he kicked and squirmed and cried, struggling to escape.  He sobbed and sobbed for several minutes.  I felt bad for him.  He was so scared!  He was very brave on the return trip, as it was no longer an unfamiliar experience.  Even so, I shudder to think of the reaction he might have, should we attempt to board an airplane.

Well, the saliva test proved inconclusive. I think I read that estrogen is responsible for the fern crystallization that is observed in saliva. If that is the case, I must have more estrogen than I should, because I witnessed the fern crystals nearly every day in January. It would seem that I didn’t ovulate after all, and because the day in which the line in the sand was drawn has come and gone… …I’m following doctor’s orders, resorting to artificial means of menstruation, namely a ten day course of progesterone. By golly that stuff works, though, and I suppose I’m thankful that modern medicine exists so that I can get a boost of whatever hormones I’m lacking, to get the ball rolling. I’ve now completed my round of Clomid, as well, and am embarking towards hopeful ovulation.

The Clomid was prescribed for days 1-5 this time, rather than 5-9 like last time. I’ve read that supplementing with guaifenesin on days 8-18 might help the environment be more friendly for the swimmers, so I plan to give that a go as well. I also read something about low dose aspirin helping the uterine lining be more amenable to implantation, so what the heck.  I think I’ll go buy the baby aspirin, though, because chopping the normal pills in 4 is more of a hassle than I thought it would be.

Although I’m dabbling with all these things I’ve read on the internet, all reliable sources, of course (cough), I’m drawing the line at the use of real egg whites.  Yes, I stumbled across a site yesterday that recommends introducing real chicken’s egg whites to the local swimming environment. The thought being that swimmers swim best in mucus with egg-white consistency, so why not just give them real egg whites and be done with it Gah!  Hello, some people have gotten infections from trying this, and yes, some people swear by it, so both views are aired.  I, however, am not prepared for such a venture.  I might buy some of that KY warming gel, though, so now all that’s left is to coerce Mr. Gadget into his husbandly duties, or, biblically speaking, rendering due benevolence.

I’m feeling hopeful. My attitude is good. I’ve recovered emotionally from the sorrows of the recent past, and am ready to try again. I’m not quite so ready for disappointment, though, but will take it all in stride.  Gitchi Gitchi Ya Ya Da Da…

I don’t wonder where the birdies is, because they’ze right heyah. I wish I had pictures! Walking down my street there is a small pond that is a designated wetland habitat. These ponds are scattered throughout suburbia as a means to abate some of the drainage problems that occur in overdeveloped areas that get excessive rainfall. Anyhoo, a great blue heron took wing as I walked past. I’m not sure that it was a great blue heron, but it was a heron, it was blue, and it was huge. Therefore, I shall call it a great blue heron. He flapped his wings in an awkward but graceful way and as he flew by the house the perspective was such that he appeared to be as wide as the house! Of course, a great blue heron with wings spread might very well be nearly as wide as a house, if one’s house was of the single-wide variety. What a sight to see. I think of pteradactyls whenever I see these giant timid birds. Sharing the pond was a family of ducks. It makes me smile, when an awful piece of suburbia can be transformed into something pleasant by the presence of wildlife. Later in the summer it will be a cacophany of chirps from frogs or crickets or who knows what wiggly squiggly slimy hoppy sorts of things. Even so, it will make me smile.

Chickies of unknown origin abound as well. The trees are full of tiny finch-like creatures, flitting and chirping and tweeting from branch to branch. Oh, what a joyful sound! I can’t help but smile.

At the office, there is a river and a trail behind my building.

They pulled a body from that river, right by my office, around the time I began working there. I suppose it’s not such a stretch that sinister things would happen in places like this. It is, after all, industrial and seedy in general. Not a bit upscale urban, except for my shiny new office building, which is hardly shiny and new any more. We do have a nice walking trail. There’s a bridge that crosses the river, and carved boulders along the path.

I sometimes see herons there, in the shallows, and the ducks and geese are plenteous, as are the seagulls. Bald eagles, however, are not my normal sighting, but yesterday as I ventured forth on my afternoon walk, a pair of giant birds swooshed by, just over my head, and the white heads and tails were unmistakeable. I was still considering my fortune for witnessing such regality at so close a vantage (ignoring the fact that they are actually scavengers/predators, and perhaps not quite so majestic as one is led to imagine), when I realized that the sky was practically full of bald eagles! I counted eight. Eight bald eagles, soaring in the sky. Higher and higher and round and round. It was quite something. It must be an amazing thing, to soar above the clouds.

As such, I lift my face to the sky, and if by chance it’s blue and filled with fluffy white clouds, I am stricken with joy and delight.

Ahhh. It’s the best of all possible worlds.

Every day I find little odds and ends tucked away here and there. Today there is a zebra and a cell phone on the file stand in the office. There are also some diapers (clean!) tucked away in nooks and crannies of the office bookcase. If I look closer, I may find more little toys stuffed in there as well, keeping them company. I found a sock stuffed between a dumptruck body and bed. There are magnetic letters stuffed inside trucks. I do try to be diligent in keeping track of the sippy cups, as it would not be a good thing at all to discover a long-curdled discarded cup tucked away in some secret place.

There is a little bookcase in the living room. See It’s sort of antiquey, and hand made by some moderately skilled person, some time ago. I bought it at a small town auction for $10. It has wheels hiding behind the skirt.

It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I pick up the toys and put them away. In short order, the living room typically looks like this. Every day. All the time.

Except for the few minutes before my active little guy gets home. Then it looks like this. But only for a moment.

I found this adorable toy chest at IKEA. It’s made of nylon. I love the details, from the handles to the lock. And look! It matches the wall, quite nicely.

If only he would play with one thing at a time, and put things away when he’s done.  But where’s the fun in that

I stumbled across something innocently enough a few months ago in which appearances suggested that a rose was a rose. When I inquired about said rose, the man of the house assured me that it was, in fact, not a rose. Today I stumbled across what looks to be a rose — a rose of the same variety as the alleged rose of earlier days. Or so it appears. I inquired about said rose, resulting in anger directed toward me for snooping and not minding my own business, and the reiteration that the rose is, in fact, and as clearly stated before, not a rose. It has been explained to me that this rose is not a rose, but it has not been shown or proven. Words of assurance were the sum of the offering of explanation in the initial confrontation. I accepted these words the first time, but this rose upon which I’ve stumbled today requires a more complete explanation. Because it looks like a rose. It smells like a rose. It feels like a rose. I am having a difficult time understanding how it can be anything other than a rose.

The thing is, without a valid explanation, it looks like a lie, and I can’t tolerate a lie, if that is what it is. I’m not an idiot and I generally have an exceptional capacity for grasping things (except jokes), so the explanation that the rose is not a rose must be improved upon, in order to put me at ease. I don’t want a marriage in which secrets are kept and lies are fostered, and I think that I am justified in wanting a valid explanation.

He, however, thinks I am being unreasonable, and sees no need to explain things any further. So here I am, gashed and bleeding from the prickly thorns of the rose that is not a rose. But how could I be gashed and bleeding, if there is indeed no rose It must all be a figment of my imagination.

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Update. All’s well that end’s well. It has been explained that an omission can have the appearance of a lie, and it’s therefore of utmost importance to be upfront, forthcoming, and not vague in certain matters. That is, if one doesn’t want one’s partner to explode.