Massholes

In honor of my imminent trek to the Basement and in an attempt to get out of my own head for just a few moments, I offer this:

Drivers in Massachusetts are, not so lovingly, referred to as Massholes. With the holiday season upon us, I thought I might offer up some guidelines for understanding the Massachusetts driver for those of you who might be traveling this way over the next few weeks. Mind you, this is not a defense of Massachusetts drivers. We are indeed crazy. We're just all crazy in the same ways.

1. If you need a foot of space to make a merge, we will give you a foot of space. Do not expect 13 inches.

2. If you need 37 seconds to make a manuvuer, do not expect 38. If you try to take 38, we will throw our hands in the air, step on the gas pedal and blow by you as if it is your fault. Because it is.

3. When traveling on the MassPike, do not go 80 in the left lane. Trust me. All you will do is hold up the traffic behind you and piss us off.

Those are the top three tips for driving in Massachusetts. Because we may be Massholes but at least we're all the same kind of Masshole.

Be safe this season, wherever your travels take you.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Depression and Disgust

Shortly before Thanksgiving, I started showing signs of a depressive episode. This was unexpected because it was early. My last one was March and I generally run on a year cycle. This means for 11 or 12 months straight, I am me. The Pobble. I have good days and bad days like anybody else, am generally happy, and am more sane than not.

Then it hits. My chemicals get wonky and out of balance. For the next 4-8 weeks, I'm different. Really, really different. The good part is that between behavior mod and good meds, I can keep it at 4-8 weeks, depending on the severity of the episode. The sad part is that I have to be very careful with whom I share these 4-8 weeks.

See, it's tiring to support someone with Depression. It's a very long 4-8 weeks. I cry. A lot. And hard. I'm not upbeat or perky. I don't want to do much and often can't make myself. I'm a dreadfully annoying combination of isolationist and needy. Most people react with disgust.

As I was explaining to Graziella last night (who is handling it with incredible sensitivity and grace, for the record), part of it is the label it carries. At least in my opinion. I have posted on this in the past. When someone hears "schizophrenia" or "bi-polar" or "PTSD", they realize that something unusual and major is happening here. When someone hears "Depression" the same triggers don't get thrown. I mean, everybody gets depressed, right? Why don't you just dig deep and find a smile? Can't you find a happy thought and focus on that? Take a day or two and then snap out of it? Dear Goddess...if I only could.

We live in a society that denies pain. We're all supposed to soldier on. Martyrs are admired and whiners are judged. Raw emotions make us incredibly uncomfortable. And so, in my experience, most people do not react well to a situation where a person cannot simply suck it up.

We tend to disregard the importance of sitting in silence instead of trying to fix. We tend to be uncomfortable saying "This makes me uncomfortable." We would rather be disgusted by the person than deal with their ~ and our own ~ turmoil in the situation.

I am lucky enough to have friends and family who can indeed handle what happens to me during these long 4-8 weeks out of every 52 or so. At least, some of them can. And I understand why the rest can't, even as it hurts to have to hide this part of myself from them. See, disgust is understandable. Even as it hurts.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Thanks

Thank you ~

~ to all of you, who have been so incredibly supportive during this time;
~ to Graziella, the Divine M and the Lovely Cats who have really gone above and beyond and know things no one else does;
~ to the FAEE who gets "I have to go right now" and doesn't even flinch;
~ and to my mom, yes, my mother, who has done everything right the last two weeks. Everything.

This weekend, I am heading to the basement. I am hoping to reset myself a bit and see if I can't salvage the rest of the holiday season. If I can, that's great. If I can't, that's okay too. But I would prefer being able to, I must be honest. Meanwhile, you'd be surprised how many people ~ and some of their names ~ who can't handle what I've been dumping on your people. Thank you for your grace and support.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Thee

I remember staying up late, late, late playing dominoes, smoking cigarettes, drinking bourbon and laughing. A lot.

I remember moments of comfortable silence, around morning coffee.

I remember a slow Southern drawl that didn't speak often but said much.

I remember a gentle arm around my shoulder.

I remember a hug that made you feel as if you were the only thing important in the whole world.

I remember you, Tim.

My father, grandfather and Tim are sitting around a table already. The bourbon is flowing. The cigarettes are burning. The dominoes are laid out. And I'm surprised we can't all hear the laughter. In another 40 or 50 years, I'll enjoy rejoining that party. For now...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

ENOUGH!

This showed up in my inbox today:

Pobble, I just wanted you to know that (the closest thing you have ever had to an uncle) came home from the hospital last Tuesday and that afternoon Home Hospice came. The diagnosis is End Stages of failure to thrive. He has been so sick for so long. Most people on hospice have one thing that is fatal. He has many diseases that can't be cured. But you've known this. I'm just asking for your prayers for him to not suffer. While you're praying please remember me too. Love, (the closest thing you have to an aunt)

Can I stop now? *sigh* If you pray and however you pray, if you would please add Sue and Tim to your lists. Meanwhile, they buried RJ today. Yeah, I'm kinda done.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Peace

It's been a hard week. For me. For those I love. For those I work with. For those I work for.

I have been a good friend and colleague. I have been a bad friend and colleague. I have been caring, thoughtful, indifferent and negligent. As the people who support me have assured me, I have been very human. As I have assured the people I support, they have been very human. And we're all allowed.

With this long, hard week finally ~ thank the Goddess, finally ~ coming to an end, I offer you below some things that have brought me some peace with the hope that they do the same for you. Blessed be.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. May they bring you peace, with or without the buck fifty.

Snoopy vs. The Red Baron

Be sure to really listen to these words, not just enjoy the cartoon.

Little Drummer Boy

I couldn't find one that wasn't out of sync ~ but it's worth it.

Christmas Canon (with lyrics) - Trans-Siberian Orchestra

Very Mixed Emotions

Very sad...

Very proud...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Let the Weirdness Begin

I'm not really up to writing anything yet so instead of being creative and coming up with something of my own, I'm going to borrow a tag that's going around and give you six things about me that are weird. Let me tell you, limiting it to six ain't an easy task. That however, I am up to. So...

1. I relate everything to the television show M*A*S*H. No matter what the situation, I can probably find a way to reference those characters or situations. Luckily, my mother does the same thing so I have someone to share this weirdness with without the whole world knowing I do it ~ until now.

2. I can listen to the same thing over and over and over and over again. Oh, and over again. It is not unheard of for me to put one song on repeat and go about my business ~ for hours. At night, I fall asleep to one of the Harry Potters on my iPod. When (because it's almost always a when) I wake up in the middle of the night, I put the ear bud back in and go back to sleep. The book just repeats throughout the night. I have listened to Goblet of Fire now for over three months. Did I mention and over again?

3. I don't check my phone messages. My outgoing voice message even says "I may or may not call you back." This is because I don't check my messages. Leaving me a message on my voice mail is one of the worst possible ways to reach me. Smoke signal will probably be more effective.

4. It takes forever for me to cash checks. I will carry checks around with me for days or even weeks. For some reason, I don't go to the bank. In fact, I have my last three paychecks in my purse now.

5. I quote movies in my head. When I say goodbye to someone, I tend to think "I'll meet you in Dinsford!" (101 Dalmations) When someone makes a joke, it's "That's a mama joke." (Remember the Titans) And when someone is moving something fragile: "Easy boy. Easy." (The Magnificent Seven) There are several others but those are the three most common. I'm not quite sure why.

6. I have a collection of Muppet underwear. What makes this weird (aside from the obvious) is the fact that I don't collect Muppet underwear. But somewhere along the line, my friends decided I did. I bought a 2-pack of Muppet underwear to wear to the Muppet's first show back several years ago. Then I gained a lot weight and they didn't fit any longer. So a friend bought me another 2-pack to wear to his shows. Then another friend was with me when I was doing laundry. A few weeks later, she gave me 2 pairs because she had noticed I had a couple already. Then another friend got me a pair after seeing me unpack at her house. And if you're thinking of it, no Elmo, please. I really can't stand him.

Those are Pobble Thoughts and Pobble Weirdness. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Free

RJ died this morning about 10:30. He was eleven years old. My Dear One is okay. Or as okay as he can be. Services are Sunday. Tomorrow will bring back the lighthearted post that was supposed to be here tonight. For now, continued prayers for his family will be very appreciated. He doesn't need them anymore.



Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Old School

Since I missed yesterday, you get two posts today. I know. Thrilling.

Anyway, when it comes to the holidays, I'm old school. Actually, when it comes to a lot of things, I'm old school. But since this post is on the holidays, we'll focus on that.

And what does this mean, specifically? It means I hate gift cards. To me, gift cards say "I don't know you well enough to figure something out to get you so here's a wad of cash instead." Now, as with everything, there are exceptions to this rule. Gift cards are acceptable when...

*they are for a specific thing. I'm talking a massage, a housecleaning, even an oil change. Something you know the person wants but you can't wrap up in a box and stick it under a tree.
*they are used creatively. The year of AngryGirlfriend's 25th birthday, I got her 25 gift cards to 25 different stores. When the SGM and I were broke, broke, broke early in the marriage, the Lovely Cats gave us $20 to Starbucks. We were able to make that sucker stretch out for a month and it gave us a night out once a week ~ something that we couldn't have afforded otherwise.
*they are for something that you would want to do with the person but you aren't together in order to do it. The Starbucks gift card is a good example. Dunkin Donuts falls in here too. Restaurants to your favorite foodie. Movie passes for the friend who loves movies.

So when don't I like gift cards? When it is simply $25 to Target. Or Macy's. Or somewhere random. That's not a gift. That's handing them cash. That's not a present. That's a deposit. Personally, I would rather get vanilla bubble bath or another candle every single year than just be handed a gift card to a department store. And I'm going to take the time to find the thing that I know you like, not something I could give to you or any other random person who might wander through my life. But maybe that's just me.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Gulp

Well...I did it. My last day at work will be December 22nd. Working through a temp agency will be good, even if it's not a 100% steady paycheck. I'm sure I will have as much work as I need to make ends meet. Right...?

Plus, I've gotten a lead on two more writing gigs...

:):):)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The New Plan

Tomorrow, I am giving notice at work. No, I haven't suddenly hit the lottery...although wouldn't that be nice. The problem is, as great as the plan was ~ work in the mornings, come home and write in the evenings ~ it didn't work that way. The theory was great; the execution sucked. It looked great on paper. Kinda like Communism. (digressing, Pobble...)

Instead, I will give notice tomorrow and register with a temp agency or try to find a part-time job that allows me to work 3 days a week, leaving me four days a week to do nothing but write. When I can do nothing but write, I write. And I write a lot. When I have to do something else first, it just doesn't happen.

Dear God but this is scary...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Better Late Than Never

Several weeks ago now, GNGirl issued a challenge to her readers to post about the things in our world that we love and that make coming home such a joy. At the time, I was arguing with my camera and it was winning. But no longer! I have prevailed over the technology and can finally rise to the challenge. Admittedly, this was tough because I have a pretty strict rule about not having things if I don't love them. However, I think I have chosen wisely. So, without further ado, here are some of the things that I enjoy the most about being in my space...




These are my loveseat and fabbo pillows. They reside in my den of iniquity ~ which triples as guest room (it's a sleeper, even!) and television room. For snuggling with the puppies, for napping, for lighting the candles around it and lounging, this is a wonderful space. Whenever I'm sitting here, I feel like a 1940's movie star. Not bad for a sleeper sofa.







My teaspoons. These were the first things I bought without thinking of the SGM's tastes as well as my own. These I bought just for me, to hang in my home. I have the matching measuring cups and love them as much. The spoons, though, represent more. I will measure things I don't need to measure just to use them. They are the first thing that gets hung in a new kitchen.




I adore sconces and have several in just about every room in my home. However, this collection pleases me particularly. I've owned the lanterns for several years and this is the first time I've ever hung them. The tiles behind them read "heal" "magic" "play" and "be free." These were bought while I was dealing with the issues around my biofamily and slowly, slowly getting my head around the truth of the dynamic. While I have hung the sconce and the tiles before, there is something about them in this configuration, along with the lanterns, that brings me peace.







All my life, I wanted peacock feathers in a vase in a room. The wax lanterns clustered there. And, in a slight cheat ~ the corner of my favorite print. It's by Ty Wilson and I have owned it since I was 15. The Lovely Cats had taken me to the mall just outside of Philly when I saw this poster. It took my breath away. I decided then and there that I would live that life at some point. Somehow, the peacock feathers and the candle lanterns got tied into that promise. Twenty-two years later, I've actually made that promise come true. This corner reminds me of that fact.





And, finally...

This is CeeGee. CeeGee stands for Ceramic Giraffe.

A couple years ago, I was having one of those days. No matter

what I did, I couldn't make it right. On the way home, I stopped

and bought a pack of cigarettes, a six pack of hard mike's

lemonade and a ceramic giraffe. It was an excellent combination.

He never, ever fails to make me smile when I need to ~ or even

when I don't. I hightly recommend owning a ceramic giraffe.

Those are Pobble Thoughts ~ and Pobble Things. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Holiday Tradition

Every year, I take an evening and have an A Christmas Carol marathon. See, I remember the first time I ever saw A Christmas Carol. When Bob Cratchitt comes in late on the morning of the 26th and Scrooge yells at him, I panicked. I looked at my mother, stricken. She smiled and said "Just watch." And so I did. And have every year since.

Several years ago, I ended up alone, with a bad flu and nothing on television. But I did have my three favorite versions of A Christmas Carol. My first very own tradition was started. First, I watch the Muppet version. Then Patrick Stewart's. Then my all-time favorite, George C. Scott's. That's a brilliant Scrooge, there, my friends.

Tonight, the babies and I snuggled up and had a date with George, Patrick and Kermit. It's a nice way to start the holiday season. Do tell ~ what do you do?

And God bless us, everyone.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Folgers Coffee

I actually have three grandmothers. Polly, who you have heard about as Pauline. Mamoo, my paternal grandmother and wonderful woman. And Mama Bear, who, while technically my step-grandmother, married my grandfather long before I was born and was completely a grandmother to me, even if we didn't share a bloodline.

Mama Bear's first husband, John, died the same day Polly did. She and my grandfather, Daddy Ralph, had a mutual friend who, after a while, began pestering them to meet. Mama Bear finally agreed so long as the big city lawyer was willing to come out to the ranch. Which he was.

They spent a weekend together and, at the end of it, my grandfather proposed. In his romantic way, he said something along the lines of: When I go to the store, I go straight for the Folgers coffee. It's what I like and I know what I like. I spent 25 years living with quality so I know it when I see it. You're quality and I want to spend the next 25 years with you.

Smart man, my grandfather.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Why I Missed a Couple Posts :):):)

If there was ever any doubt that I am a crazy fool, I have put that to rest. On Wednesday, I did the craziest thing I have ever done in my entire life. With much discussion among the Divine M, Graziella and myself, after much angst, after repeating "living in fear sucks, living in fear sucks, living in fear sucks" (thank you, CrackerLilo!) so often it became a full-fledged mantra, I made the decision to drive not to the basement for Thanksgiving but to...Suffolk, Virginia. Where Lithus is doing a logging tour. Where Lithus was going to be grounded due to weather for three days. Where Lithus was not only spending Thanksgiving but his birthday alone. Where Lithus, my firefighting pilot, who I had not yet actually met, was in for a shock. Here's the story...

Monday, I had the idea and emailed Graziella and the Divine M. They came back with resounding applause and assured me I should indeed make it a surprise. So, I sent Lithus an email asking for the address of his hotel because I had arranged for a package to be delivered to him for his birthday. Then Graziella came over Monday night to help me pack and plan outfits. She donated two bottles of wine to the cause and generally kept me sane as I kept saying "What the hell am I doing? This is crazy."

Tuesday, (after a reassuring phone call from DonDon to tell me he was okay in spite of missing a post and having to tell him what I was doing because I have learned I simply cannot lie to the man, damn him!) I left work and headed straight for the basement. Eight hours later (it's a five hour drive), the Divine M opened the door and generally kept me sane while I said "What the hell am I doing? This is crazy." And I left Lithus a message assuring him I had made it to the basement safely, not to worry.

Wednesday, I sent him off another email saying that the Divine M and I were busy with last minute stuff so I probably wouldn't have a chance to write or call again until later that evening. And I was on the road to VA. When I got to the hotel, I enlisted the front desk staff. He smokes an obscure brand of cigarettes so I had brought two packs with me. Giving them to Kym, I said, "Call Lithus' room. Tell him he has a package." So she grinned and did so. And he didn't come down. And didn't come down. And didn't come down.

Thirty minutes later, another staff member loaned me her cell phone. I proceeded to call the hotel and have her transfer her own cell phone through her system and connect me to his room. "I just got an email confirming the package has been delivered!!! Do you have it yet?" Of course, he didn't but he promised he would go down and get it. At which point, I told him to call me back. And I sat, waiting.

He received his cigarettes with a puzzled expression and stood, looking around, not quite sure what was happening. And I called his name. The front desk staff leaned over to watch us and all but applauded when he wrapped me up. As we stepped onto the elevator, Kym and her cohorts were still watching us, grinning ear to ear and she said "That was some package." To which my dear Lithus responded, "She really is, isn't she?"

And he is wonderful. And he is wise enough to think I am, too. ;) It was a good idea that became an even better reality.

So, my dear friends out there in cyber space, when you read this in some novel at some point, you can grin and remember exactly where the research for those pages came from. And know it's not fiction.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

P.S. ...

And for those of you who aren't quite so mushy and romantic to have missed this part of the story...

I chose to drive my own car so that I could leave at any time. I had enough money with me to get my own hotel room if something didn't feel right. And I had a safe word with the Divine M. She knew what to listen for so that if she heard that word, regardless of what else I was saying or my tone of voice, she was to call long distance 911 and get the cops there NOW. Plus, I am So NOT above running out into a hall screaming and naked if the occassion demands it.

So safety was considered and thankfully, not needed. I may be crazy; I ain't stupid. ;)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Glitch in the Plan

So, I may end up without computer access for the next few days. If that is the case, I will add that many days to my posting challenge. It's the best I can do.

Some things I'm grateful for in the interim:

* the basement and everything inherent therein;
* an early morning phone call;
* the four women I am in still in touch with from high school or earlier and the fact that they are not just my friends but my family;
* a certain pilot;
* the blessings I found by moving to Worcester when all I expected was to save money;
* being one of four people invited to sit at the chef's table;
* all my family, be they family by choice or biology, have two legs or four.

I am truly a blessed woman.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Holy Humbling Numbers, Batman!

10,000 HITS!


Wow. And thanks. Seriously.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

NEXT! On Fox...

When Dachshunds EXPLODE!!!!

Arriving home this evening, I discovered Lionel and Daisy had gotten into the trash. In a big way.

Man...that's a lot of poop. And throw up. And poop.

Dude...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

But I'm Really...

Apparently, the package I actually come in doesn't really fit me. See, I'm a little white woman. However, throughout my life, I have been paid the compliment of being informed I'm really not that. According to other people, I'm really:

* a misplaced Puerto Rican;
* a sister who's passing;
* one of the guys;
* a gang member;
* a large black man;
* a drag queen in really good makeup

I claim these as compliments not because there is anything wrong with being a little white woman but because they were meant as compliments. And who am I to turn down a compliment? Seriously.

For me, I'm simply the Pobble. As the Grill Master would say, "I do what I do. I am who I am." Last night, I was sweating on the dance floor in PVC. Tonight, I'll be dining at the chef's table in silk. Yep, once again, it's thigh highs and etiquette. And it's all good.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Anniversary

First, thanks for telling me about your favorite teachers. What great stories. What great men and women.

Now... Today is my anniversary. As of today, I have been officially, legally divorced for one whole year. And damn it's good. Bolger and I had already planned to go out before I realized what the date was. What better way to celebrate than by dancing the night away with a good friend.

Those are (rushed-I-have-to-go-get-ready)Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee but I'd really appreciate it if you'd lift a glass of anything in my honor. :D:D:D:D

*THAT* Teacher

Who were those teachers for you? You know the ones I mean. The men and women who taught you so much more than their subjects, so much more than they were paid to teach you. I can't tell you who won the best actor Oscar last year or the World Series ten years ago. I can tell you these names:

Molly Gardner. Third grade math. She wouldn't give up on me. Taught me not to give up on myself. To this day, whenever I want to quit something, I remember her. Realizing I made a foolish mistake and cutting my losses? Acceptable. Realizing I'm in over my head and need help? More than acceptable. Quitting? Nope. That I won't do. Because of Miss Gardner.

Anne Spencer. 4th and 5th grade math (and history, I seem to recall). I was attending a special school for gifted kids (this is where I met Nemeria!) and deserved to be there...for anything that dealt with words. Math and science ~ not so much. I received my first ever C in her class. Cried all day. Cried all night. Not even Daddy could make this one better. The next day, she pulled me aside. She was prouder of that C than any of the As and Bs she gave out because she knew how hard I had worked for it. That day I learned that my best, my true best, is always good enough, no matter what anybody else says.

Terry Wilson. Eighth grade science. I was Different in a town that didn't like different, let alone Different. I was smart and lonely and Different. He found little ways to make me feel okay about all of those things, eventhough I was really, really bad in science.

Duane Rutkowski. Mr. R. 10th grade history. At a performing arts high school, academics aren't all that important. Oh, they pretend otherwise but so long as you are getting the show up, that's what is going to matter in the long run. At least that's how it used to be. But I was smart. I cared. So did he. I used to sit with my feet propped up on his desk throughout class. One day, another student tried it and got chastised for it. When he said "But she does it" and pointed to me, Mr. R. replied "That's different." His was the only class I wouldn't blow off to get a show up.

Wally Sherwood. College criminal justice professor. He is the only instructor I ever had that I really, really wanted to impress. I was the only student he had the years I was with him that got As. He taught me I didn't want to be an attorney. He taught me the Constitution is as beautiful a thing as I always suspected it was. He taught me it is more important to be just than to be fair.

But the one who is the reason for this post... That's Betty Witt. 6th and 8th grade English. Retired last year after 35 years teaching. She was a stickler for grammar and punctuation. "Not bad" was high praise. Students would regularly cry in her class because she could be so biting if an assignment wasn't as well written as she believed you could deliver. She didn't make us read Youth Literature but allowed us to read "real" books. 1984. Watership Down. She introduced me to Hesse and Vonnegut. "A lot" is indeed two words, not one. If you pick up a copy of Test Words next time you're in a Borders, read the acknowledgements. She's there. Because she helped instill in me the love of words I carry with me to this day. I have been trying to track her down since the book came out. Yesterday, I came home to a message from her. She had called me when she found out I was looking for her. Tonight, I called her back.

Pobble: Betty, it's Boston Pobble.
Betty: Girl, what have you done?
Pobble: Well, I write books.
Betty: And what took you so long?

And if that isn't the greatest compliment a writer can be paid, I don't know what is.

So I ask again ~ who were your those teachers?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

HIPAA Laws

The federal confidentiality laws that govern doctors, human services, any organization or entity that deals with personal health information (PHI to those of us in the field) are known as HIPAA. It stands for something. I don't know what. Maybe DonDon or Nancy do. You'll have to ask them.

So instead of telling you why I am not posting until 11:00 pm or why I just worked a 12.25 hour shift, I will tell you about something else entirely.

When I was 17 and in the hospital, I remember wishing someone would just hold out their hand to me. Literally. Just leave it there while I dealt with...whatever...until I got to the point where I wanted to and was willing to take it. When the case managers and clinicians would, if I didn't want to take it immediately, they would withdraw it, leaving me the choice of really having to reach out for them or to sit without contact. Neither of which I did well.

Tonight, I learned that technique actually works. Sometimes, if you just sit with your hand out long enough, someone takes it and holds on. And that it worth a 12.25 hour shift. Any damn day.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Learning to Remember

In every relationship, sooner or later, needs are going to collide. Something has to give. In a strong relationship, there is back and forth. Not tit for tat or owing the other but honest compromise. Both parties can trust that, if their need is the one subjugated in this moment, at some other time, the other person will make the sacrifice. It's normal. It's healthy. It's good.

During my marriage, this exchange rarely took place. The SGM's needs trumped mine the vast (vast) majority of the time. When it was happening, it seemed reasonable. My needs tended to be very personal ones. His had wider implications. Nothing bad would happen if I didn't move back to Boston. If he left Denver before this one project was complete, it could have global-political repercussions. Seriously. No shit. If I didn't have my best friend and partner with me just after my dad's death, that only affected me. If he didn't lead this certain deployment, the odds were good some of our friends would die. Seriously. No shit.

But here's the thing ~ no one is actually indispensible in any work place. They are in a marriage. And not all his needs were this noble. Want to know the truth? The truth is, even with the noble ones, after a while, I stopped caring about the bigger picture and just wanted to stop being the thing that was worth sacrificing. Because I was, almost always, the thing that was worth sacrificing, even when the other needs weren't so noble. And that gets old.

The result of this is I have spent the last several years and my past two relationships with an ENORMOUS chip on my shoulder. My needs will be met, dammit. If the man I was with couldn't do it, that was just fine because I was perfectly capable of meeting them my damn self. Just don't ever expect me to go out of my way or sacrifice one damn thing in order to help you meet yours.

Now, several years out, I am remembering. Remembering I can be respectful and caring and sensitive and still be respected. That being willing to compromise doesn't equal being a doormat. That give and take is a healthy part of a relationship. That there are men out there who can do it. It's nice to be remembering. And to be reminded.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

And Away We Go...

Tah-Dah! The first post of the 30 Day Post Challenge. And I cannot think of a damn thing to write. Don't it figure?

The visit with my mother was good. Probably the best visit we've had in a very long time, honestly. Over the last few years, I have (kicking and screaming) accepted the shifts in our relationship and the limitations therein. She hadn't quite gotten it yet. There continued to be issues forced and asides that made it very clear she was upset with the fact that there had actually been consequences to her actions.

That changed this visit. This visit, she seemed as accepting of the new dynamic as I have been able to become. So, when she said that I would probably not ever come to Tahoe for the holidays, it was a statement of fact that was appropriate to the conversation ~ not a dig trying to make me feel guilty.

It's nice to be finding our way again. It's also nice to have my apartment to myself again. Think I'll go take my bath. :)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Why Not...

Over at Rose's, she has accepted a challenge to post every day for the month of November. It's a cool challenge and I am enjoying her being around regularly. It also got me to thinking about my own stuck-ness (which is a word now, even if it wasn't before.) Seems like a good way to alleviate that particular problem.

Here are the things:

1. It's already the 9th so I'm behind and
2. My mother is coming into town this afternoon. She doesn't exactly know about this blog (which is probably a good thing considering some of what I write here.)

SO! On November 12, my goal is to write every day for 30 days straight. They may not be long. They may not be interesting. They should get me unstuck. We'll see if I can do it.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

While He's Lost His Own Voice

A friend of mine is usually very political. He cares deeply and doesn't care who knows it. I, on the other hand, care deeply, don't care who knows it...and don't get into the political arena very often. I write about other things. However, he is having a hard time writing these days. This post is for him. While it will be a very different one than he would write, it is, nonetheless, a trip into the political that I probably wouldn't have taken had someone not needed to speak for him for a little while. I love you. :*

The past two nights, I have had the pleasure of Nerd conversations. There's nothing that makes me quite so happy as discovering a fellow Nerd in someone I already know and like. But I digress...

Both conversations dealt with the (then upcoming) elections here in the US. My partner in the first one is a resident alien living here in the States. He's been here nearly 20 years and has chosen to be bound by laws he has no say in influencing. Personally, I find this very brave. (digressing...) The point is, he doesn't understand voter apathy in this country. He even floated the Australian (I think) idea that people who don't vote be fined. While I understand this and even think it has merits, it didn't sit well with me. Again, in my opinion, this would remove a vital if amorphous and undefinable piece of what the country was founded on. It plays into the freedom thing somehow and, if you've read this blog for very long at all, you know how I feel about the freedom thing. Still, I can't help but wonder if it wouldn't get more votes for our government than for American Idol. We are very, very fond of our bank accounts around these parts.

The second conversation also dealt with voter apathy (and history, John Adams, the Constitution, and, and, and digressing...) but focused more on the cause rather than the solution. What was batted around was this: Here in the US, certain groups have a historical memory of not being able to vote. In our grandmothers' lifetimes, they were not allowed to vote. In black adults' lifetimes, their parents were not allowed to vote. But white men? Here in the States, in large part because of the way the country was founded, there is no united, generalized historical memory of not being able to vote, of having a right denied them. And that is what trickles down, even into some of the previously mentioned groups.

Now, both of these concepts are far more intricate, nuanced and complicated than can be summed up in one or two conversations, let alone one blog post. I can't even say how I feel about either of the concepts without thinking on them and mulling them over more. Still, they are worthy discussions to have and to consider and made for delightful bones to gnaw on as I waited to vote this afternoon.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Not So Gentle Reminder

...to my US readers:

VOTE!

If you are pleased with the way the government is being run and the current makeup of the Congress, this is an important election because there are a lot of people who aren't and who will be voting to change it out.

If you are displeased with the way the government is being run and the current makeup of Congress, this is an important election because you have a chance to change it out.

Whichever side you choose, VOTE. And if you don't vote, please keep your damn mouth shut when you don't like the way it all falls out in the end.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. The right to vote cost a hell of a lot more.

When All Else Fails...

...update your template.

Over there with the links are four new blog listings:

Dagoth who I found through the amazing trinity of SpiderGirl, Tai and Kimber the Wolfgirl and who always manages to bring a little peace to my world. There's something gentle about his writings that you don't always find here in cyberspace.

Nancy who came to me through...DonDon009 or the Blog Whore, I forget which (sorry!). I find myself rooting for her family and her kids as they continue to beat the odds and are, actually, healthy, sane and as well-balanced as any family can be these days.

Two Dollar Productions who just showed up in my comments one day and has stuck around for which I am HUGELY grateful. His dry wit has brought me to tears of laughter on more than one occasion.

And finally, my friend out here in real life as well as cyber, Graziella. If you're ever curious about the conversations I have over my weekends, while sitting on one or the other's couch, here's your link.

Those are Pobble Thoughts ~ that will hopefully lead you to the really cool thoughts of others. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Stuck

I'm stuck with my blogging.

I want to write about some of my favorite belongings, as GoodNightGirl has suggested we do. But I am arguing with my camera right now and its winning and I don't want to post it without pictures and, and, and...

I want to write about work but I have to be very careful because of confidentiality laws and I think there is actually something in our contracts that says we can't and it doesn't matter that much to me anyway and, and, and...

I want to write about Lithus but it's still too new and very private (even for here) and I don't know what to actually say and I don't want to jinx it and, and, and...

I want to write about writing but it's pretty dull to write about because I'm just, well, writing, and that doesn't translate into exciting posts and while I don't have to be interesting, it's just not that compelling, even to me, and, and, and...

I want to write about life but it's just sorta keeping on keeping on these days and there's nothing much to tell (as odd as that seems) and even the Pobble just lives life and does laundry and watches dvds sometimes and that's not what I particularly want to write about and, and, and...

I don't want to have to write about RJ and, while I talk to my Dear One every day, I'm just as grateful to not post again about RJ and wouldn't mind falling silent there for a while and, and, and...

So. I'm stuck. It's me so something blog-worthy is going to happen sooner rather than later. Guaranteed. Death, taxes ~ and the Pobble will have a story sooner or later. Those are the three things you can count on. But for now...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

"Cancer Patient" Shouldn't Be a Costume

As many of you probably remember, back last spring, my Dear One's cousin, RJ, was diagnosed with cancer. He was given 3 weeks to live. (For those of you newer than that to this blog, RJ is only 12.) The reason you haven't heard more about is he is still around. Take that, doctors!

Yesterday, my Dear One called me. It's coming and it's coming soon. The doctors are now saying we are anywhere from days to hours. Being Southerners, the family is gathering. My Dear One has taken a couple days off from work. There is lots of making each other crazy, laughing, crying, arguing and watching RJ sleep. As my Dear One puts it "When he is awake, he's just waiting to go back to sleep."

Until tonight. When this amazingly strong young man decided he wanted to go trick or treating. So they piled him into the RV that the hospital has provided and are taking him trick or treating. No costume. No makeup. No plan. Just him. I hope he gets more candy than a dozen healthy children with long lives ahead of them could possibly eat. So does he.

I'll keep you posted. In just a few minutes, I'm going into ritual for Samhain and will let Daddy know RJ is probably on his way. Usually, I consider Samhain a night to simply honor my dead. I ask nothing of them. I treat them as the guests of honor at their very own party. But even sometimes, at their very own parties, you have to pull the honored guest aside and say "Hey, I need to talk to you about something..." So tonight, I will do just that with my Daddy. He'd sigh at me and give me a very long lecture if I didn't so I might as well.

Blessed Be.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Catching Up

The entire time I've been living under a rock, I was also blogging. In my head. I have been witty, insightful and sometimes even thought-provoking. Here are some snippets from some of the blogs I have written for myself. They probably aren't witty, insightful or terribly thought-provoking because they are, afterall, snippets. But trust me, they were really good originally.

The book...
...is Business Words You Should Know by Dr. H. Dean McKay and P.T. Shank. Its scheduled release date is summer of '07. It is done and my life is my own again. Now, it is time to get back to my novel. Which carries a deadline of January 3rd. And start the new project with the FAEE. Hmmm...maybe my life isn't my own again...

The new job...
Imagine if you will, a house...Occupied by eight teenage girls. Sharing two bathrooms. Now ~ imagine they all come to the house with criminal records. And most of them have been in the system since they were about 12. It's interesting. Tiddly pom, tiddly pom...I stay in my secretarial bubble.

My driving speed...
...is directly proportionate to the speed of the music playing on the radio, my general mood...and the height of my heels???? The first two are pretty typical. The last one, I confess, was a startling realization.

The weddings...
...are over. Everybody's married off. Some thoughts though ~

• models tend to be about 5'8" and a size 2. What looks stunningly beautiful on them very well might make your Girlfriends look like short, fat, burgundy cows in dyed to match shoes.
• dyed to match shoes are never a good idea.
• the final fitting of a dress should not occur in the bathroom of a bar. Ever.
• if your maid of honor can carry gum, her lipstick and your lipgloss in the cleavage of her bodice, the dress does not fit. This is why final fittings should not take place in the bathroom of a bar. Ever.
• we love Nemeria. Even more than we have for the last 28 years.

And finally...

Just so you don't think it's been all bad, the (stone cold sober) Pobble at bachelorette parties:

As Angry Girlfriend's sister said "Having Pobble around is like having lots of friends!"



Drag show. 'Nuff said.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Tra-La-La

Done, Done, Done...I am Done, Done, Done

Tra-La-La-La

I'm DONE! Six months of hell and I'm DONE!

Here's my acknowledgements page:

Many people helped me, P.T. Shank, make this book happen. Specifically, I would like to thank H. Dean McKay for his business acumen; the Grill Master and the Divine M, as always; Graziella for laundry, dinners, flowers and generally being an amazing friend; P.C. for his patience, humor and being awake long after most people have gone to bed; the FAEE, who saw me through the beginning of it; Lithus, who saw me through the end of it; and all my friends – both real and cyber – who understood and still love me.

In case you missed it, ya'll are those cyber friends I mentioned. ;)

I'm done.

Tra-La-La...

Those would be Pobble Thoughts if I could think any longer... That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Really Great Feelings

I realized I have used the blog as a way to vent some crap recently and haven't exactly been upbeat. So be it. It's my blog and I'll write what the hell I want. That being said, it hasn't been all bad and stressful. Therefore, I thought I would take a moment and share just a handful of the good stuff, too. Goddess knows y'all deserve to hear this stuff, too.

1. Remembering you have cookie dough in your refrigerator.

2. Finding a twenty dollar bill in your pocket.

3. Hearing the phrases "Of course you've been out of touch. Don't worry about it. I'll be here when the book is written."

4. Splurging on half and half instead of milk in your coffee.

5. Realizing your size 14 clothes really are just too big.

6. Getting a message from a friend in Florida just because he wanted to hear your voice.

7. Having a great time at bachelorette parties stone cold sober.

8. Sending your emergency contact the name and phone number of someone who deserves to know if something bad happens.

9. Being the woman/friend the player can relax and be himself around.

10. Knowing your place in the Universe and being comfortable there.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Uh-Oh...

"I don't want any plastics and I don't want any ground floors..."

I could be in trouble here.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Lovely and Scary, Both

Um...if you haven't read the post previous to this one, do so. Otherwise, this will make no sense at all. Go ahead. I'll wait.

You back?

I spent an hour on the phone with Lithus. The firefighting pilot. Because when he IMed me earlier tonight asking how I was, I asked if he wanted the truth or me to say "fine, thanks." And he wanted the truth. So I told him. His response? "Give me your phone number so I don't have to look for it. I'm calling you."

Damned if he didn't just listen. Damned if he didn't just let me be not okay and just sat there with me while I wasn't completely okay and perky and happy and typically Pobblish. Okay, yeah. This is me. Which means I didn't just break down and weep. (Intimacy issues!!!!) I didn't let him hear all the tired and built up pain. But I let him hear some of it. Hell, I even teared up and didn't try (too hard) to hide it. And you know what? He listened. No pep talks. No telling me how tired he was. And only a quick attempt at fixing. An hour later, I'm feeling better.

Don't fool yourself ~ that scares the shit out of me. But you knew that already, didn't you? ;) roflmao

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Just Listen

First, I am really, really okay. Seriously. I am also so tired and overwhelmed I want to weep. These two things are not mutually exclusive. But my friends act as if they are sometimes. And I feel so damn ungrateful for even thinking this, let alone writing it here. As you know, my friends are the greatest ever. They are my family. Yet ~

If I say this to some of my friends, I'll get a pep talk. I don't need a pep talk. I know I'm strong. I know everything will be okay. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and do realize it's not a train.

If I say this to other friends, they will launch into how they understand because of how tired and overwhelmed they are. You want the God's honest truth? I really don't care. I only have the energy for my own tired and overwhelmed-ness right now. Tomorrow I will care again. Today, not so much.

If I say this to other friends, they will try to fix it. Unless you have a Ministry of Magic approved Time Turner (Harry Potter reference, for the uninitiated), there is no fix. All I can do is slog through until the 21st and get it all done. And I'm okay with that. Listening to people suggest things that aren't going to be helpful as they try to fix ~ not so okay with that.

It is, however, very difficult to find someone willing to just listen, just sit with the tired and overwhelmed for a few moments. Because it's been a bitch of a three months and a not particularly fun six months total. The book I abhor and am stressing over; the ever lovely biofamily; anniversaries; new jobs; old memories; three weddings...and always the stress of a book I have no business being involved with hanging over my head. Not a lot of fun. So I am tired enough to want to weep. To want to turn it over to someone else for an evening. I promise, I'll take it back after I get a little break. Just a little one.

However, since that person doesn't exist right now, I'll take you just listening instead. Because I really, really am really, really okay. It's just been a long three months and I don't mean to be ungrateful.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Especially for Pharmyard, So She'll Know

If there is a happier song than this one, one that makes it easier to laugh, smile, roll your eyes and, unexplicably, suddenly find yourself dancing, I don't know what it is and can't even imagine it.

Three versions followed by the actual O-Zone video.

Enjoy.






The eyebrow has to be the best part. Nemeria, you were right to point that out to me back when you first sent this!






This one is my favorite although I can't quite tell you why. I know I've seen "performers" who don't lip sync this well.





The guy who just hangs out in the background. Yeah, that would be me.




And the gentlemen who started it all. You should be hotter some how...


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

When Thank You Isn't Enough

What do you do when simply saying "Thank you" isn't enough? Well, if you're me, you write about it and say:







as loudly and as publicly as possible.

See, last night Graziella did three loads of my laundry. And know what? The truth is I think she would have done more had I given her more ~ but I couldn't quite bring myself to do that. Know what else? Last night was the most productive night I've had in a long time. I was even out of my bath by 11:30 instead of just climbing into it. Honestly, I think it is largely because I wasn't distracted by wondering when the hell I was going to get everything else done. Because at least one thing was being done. Actually, three loads were being done. And simply saying "Thank You" isn't enough for that.

Those are grateful Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Yeah, I'm Still Pretty Fucked Up...

...but I'm also CPR recertified. Thanks for the support, everybody.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Ramblings So You Know I'm Alive

1. With thanks and apologies both, to Spider Girl. The other day, I was driving, doing my typical 80 MPH down the Pike when I reached for my coffee. What my hand touched, however, was a spider that had taken refuge in the jeep at some point. Now, my friends who have known me for any length of time know this should have resulted in a multi-car pile up and possibly an obituary or two, almost definitely my own. Instead, I thought to myself "Stay calm like SpiderGirl. She actually likes these fuckers. What would she do?" Now, here's where the apology part comes in. I am guessing, as I did at the time, that Spider Girl would have lifted it up to her shoulder and let it ride the rest of the way, exchanging life stories and singing along with the radio. I couldn't bring myself to do that. Instead, I found a napkin and crushed him to death. Okay, not exactly the fairy tale ending for the spider, I admit it. However, I was able to stay on the road, not kill any humans and didn't even need to pull over to have a nervous breakdown. Which is where the thanks come in because for me, that's huge. Even if the spider didn't do so well in the deal.

2. I'm intrigued by how many people read my previous post as my relationships with military and military-type men as being negative, bad or mistakes. While I stated this in the comments section, I'll reiterate it here: these were/are good guys. None of them were bad boys or mistakes. I was simply intrigued by my ability to find them over and over and over again. For the record, the worst relationship I've ever been in wasn't even on the list. A total civilian.

3. Milk thistle supplements are good for liver damage. The babies now get one every evening with their dinners. Thus ends the PSA for this post.

4. I'm working part-time as an admin assistant. Although I hate (abhor, detest, loathe) the fact that I have to have a job aside from writing, at least I'm back working with L Blackbelt and like several other of the staff. And it's part-time so... Making jokes during suicide prevention training is really important if you're gonna stay sane.

5. Monday I will recertify my CPR training. The one and only time I have ever had to perform CPR was on my father ~ and we all know how it turned out. Everytime I have to recertify, I sob. I get the job done ~ and I sob. I'm back on the porch, it's December 26, 1997 about 11:00pm. Regardless of where I actually am. So, I make arrangements to recertify one-on-one rather than in the group. Feel free to send warm, happy thoughts my way Monday morning, about 11:00 a.m.

6. The book is gonna get written. I make no guarantees about how good it's going to be. I'm too close to it and have too many of my own biases about it to know. And it's going to get written. At this point, that's all I care about. I am really looking forward to writing another one that I actually care about. Many, many thanks to Burnight and P. C.

7. Along those lines, I will pay $50 for someone to come do my laundry. Another $50 to whomever is willing to do my dishes.

8. I finally saw Test Words You Should Know by PT Shank in a national chain bookstore. How fucking cool was that, people??????????? I love Borders. Until now, I've been a Barnes and Noble girl. Now, I love Borders.

9. The fire fighting is going well. Snow in the higher elevations is helping control the flames if making visiblity crappy. It is, however, lending itself to poker games.

10. Reno, here's a 10-List for you. ;)

Those are living, breathing, if stressed and overworked, Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

I Swear I Don't Do It On Purpose

I have some kind of radar. Men in military-type professions flock to me.

My first boyfriend? Marine JrROTC. Joined up the day after graduation. The One Who Got Away ~ Army. The first guy I ever shared a bed with in a romantic way ~ Marine. First one-night stand ~ Army. Last boyfriend before getting married? ROTC. Joined up after graduation and was in Ranger school by year's end. The SGM. Former Ranger, current Green Beret. First relationship after the marriage went kaplooey ~ former Navy.

So, I decided to swear off those guys. No More! And the joy of online dating is there is this section entitled "Occupation." That thing reads military or government or police/fire, I am outta there. Hell, I don't even respond!

Enter Butterfly Boy. He's an accountant. How much safer can you get than an accountant? Except he's an accountant with a tour in the Navy under his belt who is still in inactive reserve (which really doesn't mean much but come on!) He was even an officer for God's sake.

Then I end up in touch with Lithus. Lithus was never in the military. Lithus is a pilot. Now this I can groove on. So we chat a few times, exchange a few nice, flirty emails. When he tells me he's got to head back to work and will be gone for two weeks. Great. No problem. Only where is he flying? He's flying over this...

The man flies helicopters for the US Fire Service. And in case you have missed it, this is the worst fire season in fifty years.

One of these days, I'm going to meet a lawyer or a baseball player or even a tour guide or a teacher. But don't hold your breath.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

YOPP!

“But who are you? Where?”
He looked and he looked. He could see nothing there


“I say!” murmured Horton. “I’ve never heard tell
Of a small speck of dust that is able to yell.
So you know what I think?…Why, I think that there must
Be someone on top of that small speck of dust!

“Mr. Mayor! Mr. Mayor!” Horton called. “Mr. Mayor!
You’ve got to prove that you really are there!
So call a big meeting. Get everyone out.
Make every Who holler! Make every Who shout!

When they got to the top,
The lad cleared his throat and he shouted out, “YOPP!”
And that Yopp…That one small, extra Yopp put it over!
Finally, at last! From that speck on that clover
Their voices were heard!



Horton Hears A Who, Dr. Seuss

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Only the Pobble

So, my landlord, Bolger, and I went out tonight. The vodka was flowing quite freely (you've been warned) and the dance music was great. I met D and T. D is great. T is great, too, but pretends to be straight, even though he was hanging out on a Friday night at a gay club. You do the math.

Before we ordered our first drink, I asked Bolger if I was there as a female friend or a fag hag (with thanks to Hikaru for helping me explain the difference) and we established that I was there as a hag. We were set; we each knew our place; and the evening was on!

Anyway ~ I managed to attract the only straight man in the whole place. Admittedly, my defenses were down. I don't usually have to keep my guard up when I go to gay clubs. I can flirt and dance and grind with the best of them and it rapidly becomes obvious that I know exactly where I am and that I just want to dance. So, I was doing so.

It was cool while he was biting my shoulder. This so doesn't phase me. It was even cool when he kissed me. I broke the kiss and went back to dancing with Bolger. Truth be told, it was even cool when he cupped my breasts. This happens sometimes. I simply moved his hands away. Then Bolger went to the restroom. At which point, CreepyBoy grabbed at my crotch ~ yeah. Not so cool anymore. So I grabbed onto D and we danced like we were having sex right there on the floor ~ while he shot dirty looks over my shoulder at CreepyBoy that practically screamed "She's my bitch so back the hell off."

As we staggered back to my place we laughed our asses off. Poor CreepyBoy. Next time maybe he'll realize he's in the wrong place.

This doesn't happen to other hags. Really. It doesn't. At least, not that they've ever told me.

Those are (drunken) Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee, but I recommend water at this point.

Dammit!

1. I've been casually dating this guy. It was more "on" before I went to California but it certainly hasn't been "off" since my return. Tonight, we were chatting when I asked what his plans for the long weekend were. His response was "What did you have in mind?"

Dammit! I already have plans and was just making small talk. He's gone to pour himself some wine and I'm writing this post. I feel bad I might have hurt his feelings.

2. Lionel and Daisy had their regular, semi-annual check up today. Their livers are starting to fail.

Dammit! Now, we've changed their diets and have a plan. It's early stages yet and the vet is hopeful. As they put it, we're "giving their little livers a break."

3. P. C. and his chica broke up.

Dammit! Now he's talking about how he trusts too easily (which he does) and how he needs to be more guarded (which he doesn't.)

I'm going back to my book now.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Just Nasty

Ewwww...I smoked yesterday. And it was just nasty. I'm still tasting it. Now, this is not the first time I've smoked since I quit. I'll be honest. It is, however, the first time I've smoked since I quit and found it really, really disgusting.

Hard to believe I used to do that all the time. And it's equally hard to believe I should be feeling that way about it. It's good ~ just...weird.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Weekend Ramblings

1. Smell that? That's autumn coming. And I have had a post on autumn rolling around in the back of my brain but couldn't quite get it written. When I stopped by Dagoth's Domain earlier today, I realized I wasn't the only one. But he's got pictures! Bottom line is, autumn is coming. It feels like it; it smells like it; it even looks like it. This summer has felt miserably long. I'm ready for autumn.

2. My blogging will be sporadic over the next month or so. I have an October 1 deadline. Wish us luck.

3. I don't like being as busy as I've been recently because it hasn't been a fun busy. It's been an enforced busy. I feel like everything that is of value to me ~ my relationships, my blogging, my personal time, my fiction, everything ~ is suffering for it. Making that October 1 deadline will help immensely. That's what has me so crazy I'm not enjoying life.

4. Now it's back to work. What'd I tell you? :/

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.