The Trouble With Pests

Bugs and I have a love and hate relationship. They love me and I hate them. Just seeing some bugs or spiders will send me into a screaming frenzy. I've had terrible nightmares about bugs, spiders, and rodents. Remember those movies from the 70's with giant ants? Those are the kind of dreams I have. They have caused me to scream in my sleep. They have caused me to jump out of bed. As a kid, I even had screaming, sleep-running issues (as you can read from one of my earlier blog entries). I am not fascinated by bugs in any way, shape or form.

As a kid in the 70's, I spent a lot of time outdoors. Well, we all did. There wasn't much to do indoors. In Southern California, it was easy to be outside a lot, anyway. It was always sunny. We went to the beach, we played in our front yards, we ran down the street. I wasn't afraid of what was in the grass, it was just a place to lay down and roll around. Until I realized what was in there. WORMS!! Ewwwww! And sometimes, even a bee or wasp.

One day, I was playing around in the grass, probably near a planter somewhere. I stepped backward, right onto a wasp. While my dad went out to rid the world of a wasp nest, mom had me on the counter with my foot in the sink to take the sting out. Over the years, we dealt with more wasp nests than I could ever count. I avoided several areas of the outside of our house, including some of the backyard and in front of the garage, sometimes even the entry way of the house.

Dad, of course, did the yardwork. I remember him hosing down the wasps nests, and doing the cut backs on our bushes, and cutting the grass. At one point, he had to get up on a ladder to cut something back. Boy, did he piss off the bees. He was attacked by those big old black bees. Luckily, he was able to get down off the ladder safely. But he was stung about seven or eight times. This made me terrified to go in the front yard or near our plants for any reason.

But inside, that was a different story. Spiders, mosquitoes and ants, oh my! We even once had a mouse problem. We could hear them in the walls. It scared the crap out of me when I could hear them scratching their way through the walls. When I was young, like before the 80's, at the end of our street and behind our house were fields. We would take the dogs running there. But it also served as a lovely place for wildlife to live. When they started building houses behind us, the mice moved in. I saw one once. It ran across the hall and underneath our green wicker hamper. My mom was trying to chase it down with a broom. But that was the only time we SAW one. When we cleaned out my closets or drawers, we would often find mouse poop. Luckily, once the condos were built at the end of the street and there were no more fields the rodent issue seemed to disappear.

When it rains in California, it RAINS. It doesn't do this off and on drizzly crap that it does in the Pacific NW. When it rained, we would get ants. They would come in the power outlets and take over. Our house (other than my bedroom) was generally spotless. Dishes were done at the end of meals, there was no food stuffs (except my room) anywhere. The ants were never in my room, probably contrary to popular belief. There would be thousands of them in the kitchen. You could see the line of them from the power outlet to the butter dish and the sink. I think we threw away more butter because of that. But I would also find them in the bathroom for no apparent reason. They would be in the bathtub, they would be in the sink. There was no getting rid of them. Really.

Every year, you could always tell it was summer. You know how? My shoulders. They would be covered in bites. My mom used to say that I must have had sweet blood. I probably have some scarring on my shoulders from how much I scratched. The mosquitoes would eat me alive. I never saw them. I would just wake up one day, and start scratching. Maybe this was my alternative to never having the chicken pox. Instead of having those ten days of being covered in horrid itchy blobs, I got years and years of suffering through my shoulders.

Now we come to my two favorites: spiders and termites. Termites freak the crap out of me. Not that they did anything to me, but because they swarmed my room one day and sent me screaming from my room. I actually thought they were flying ants. As I ran screaming downstairs, my parents were understandably alarmed. They only laughed when they heard “flying ants” for about a second when they checked it out. My dad was pissed. Not at me, of course. But because we were getting infested by lovely house eating bugs. I ended up having to stay out of my room for several hours, while my dad sprayed. It was great going on vacation – every time, we had to set off those damn bug bombs. Ugh.

I have a very real aversion to spiders. I don't know where it came from. When I was really young, I went on a trip to the desert with some friends of my parents and their kids. Most of the trip was great. But they collected tarantulas and scorpions and put them into these plastic-y things. I swore that they were going to come alive, get out of that plastic stuff and get me while I slept. I still have nightmares about this sometimes. When I was an adult, I had to move home for a short period of time. I chose to sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor was not the best choice for one reason – I was eaten alive by baby spiders. I sure was pretty with all my spots!

Now, I will see something shadowy in a corner, I jump, thinking it's a bug. I see something move out of the corner of my eye, I think it's a bug. I even freak out if I see a beetle on the wall at work, or a spider in the light fixture. I'm a mess. I hope I get over it one day... But probably not. Uck, even thinking about it right now, is giving me the twitchies....

My First Trauma - AKA Lady Adventure Time

Males may want to stay away from this post. It's about girly stuff. Sorry. I was inspired by Hyperbole and a Half. My story isn't half as funny as hers (although possibly just as traumatic). Remember, this also may be exaggerated. This is MY memory, although my mother disagrees with part of the story.

In fifth grade we had “the video” and the lecture when they sent all the boys out of the room. And in sixth grade, it was discussed a bit as part of health class that was taught by the lady that was also our P.E. teacher, Mrs. McGregor. Going through these classes, well I don't know about anyone else, but I always thought – that's not gonna happen to me! So, being immature, and of course young, I didn't pay much attention. The fact that I did this in all my classes makes no difference here.

I was barely a month into my eleventh year of life when I started my period. I found out in my second class of the day, P.E. I was horrified. I had been wearing a white mini-skirt with white shorts underneath. I had given an oral report to my first class of the day. I was changing for P.E. class and happened to look down while taking off my shorts. O. M. G! What the Hell is THAT? Aw, HELL NO. I may be a girl, but this is NOT happening to me. My mind moved further... how many people saw this in science, and how many people didn't say anything? How many people laughed at me? How many people made fun of me? I started crying. Uncontrollably.

One of the girls who was near me in the locker room – quite possibly a famous person, as her last name started with an E and mine an F – asked me if I was ok. I whispered, quite shakily, or at least tried to whisper (it may have come out as a shriek at this point, as my voice often does when I'm crying), “I think I started my period, can you get Mrs. McGregor?” That got some sudden attention of what seemed like everyone in the locker room – the sixth, seventh and eighth graders. Again, I was horrified. Mrs. McGregor came running over, crying. Not because she was horrified, quite the contrary, she was EXCITED. If no one else in the locker room knew.... they did now. She fucking announced it. I don't think I have ever been more embarrassed at that point, or even possibly ever again as I was that second. She didn't seem to notice. She immediately sent me to the bathroom with the old fashioned pads. The kind with the belt that you have to safety pin into your underwear. How in the hell did these things work? I am pretty sure I made a huge mess of myself.

I finally made her understand that this “womanhood” was all over my WHITE clothes that I had to wear the rest of the day. My mom was luckily home that day with... you guessed it – cramps! I felt safe in calling her for help. The women of the P.E. Department led me into their office to use their phone. I picked it up and dialed home. I heard the phone pick up on the other end. NO. This can not be happening. Here is what I remember the conversation going:

“Hello?”

(still sobbing) “Dad, please let me talk to mom.”

“Jenny, what's wrong?”

“Please, just let me talk to mom.”

“Not until you tell me what's wrong.” (he wasn't being mean, he was just worried)

“I stttttttarteddddd my perioooooooooooood!”

“Oh, honey, let me get your mom.”

I was hoping that I would never have to tell my father that I was, in fact, a girl. Well, too late, apparently. Mom took over the call and told me she would bring clothes for me to change into. My teacher called the school nurse, who walked me to the office. My mom came to bring me clothes. When she did, I think she understood how traumatized I was. Somehow she convinced the school (“we usually don't let girls go home for this”) nurse to let me go home.

My class was running the “Cross Country” that day, and I could picture them all seeing me while I was climbing into the car, seeing my stained shorts and laughing at me. I could not stop thinking about that once I got home and put on my pajamas.

Once school got out, my best friend's mom called because she found out. She apologized to me. That made me feel better. Not really. I also found out that one of the reasons that my teacher was so excited was because I was the first girl in my class to get my period. Lucky ME! I also became the center of all period related jokes. I seemed to be the only one that ended up getting the dreaded “pants spots.” Sometimes to the point of having to call my mom often to bring me fresh clothes, or bringing a jacket or sweatshirt to tie around my waist. Oh girls, don't tell me YOU never did that!!

My best friend started hers less than a month later. She didn’t tell me for a while, but at least she was lucky. She started hers at home and it was much less traumatic for her. One day, she just told me all matter of factly. Having gotten my period so early gave me so many more traumatic experiences for me to live through.

Oh, the event of “Becoming a woman.” What fun.

Ten Years Ago, March First

I can't believe it's been ten years. I still remember the day he told us. I had just come back from my first week at work, after being out for 6 months because I had my own cancer to deal with. He had been sick for almost that whole length of time. First, he had breathing problems, which the doctors said was just pneumonia. Then he got puffy. Very puffy, like he was on steroids. After all this time, the problems still didn't go away. Finally, he was sent in for more tests. I came home that day to find him sitting in his usual spot. I knew he had been in for the results of tests that day, in fact, he had probably just got home. My mom wasn't quite home from work yet, but I knew she would be there soon.

I asked him what the results were. He kind of looked at me in that “dad” sort of way – halfway between – I may be joking and I may not be. And said, it's over. I didn't know whether or not to take him seriously. I started to crack a smile, thinking he must be joking. Then mom walked in. She was stressed, very obviously, and very rightly so. She hadn't even put her stuff down, and she asked what the results were. He looked at the table, then at her. They said it's lung cancer. He was serious this time. I watched the color drain from my mother's face, she turned a sickly gray color. I thought it was only in books that these things happened. She actually aged before my eyes. She steadied herself with the closest chair and sat down.

At this point, I really don't remember much else. This wasn't supposed to happen. Parents are supposed to be infallible. Parents aren't supposed to get sick, not before they are old enough to walk you down the aisle and spoil your children. I was supposed to be old and gray before i had to bury them. I felt like he had just begun to live. He was just getting his life back after I had been sick for so long. They both had. This scared me. And yes, I was selfish about it. I just got MY life back, too. I was finally allowed to live in my 20's. And not I had to deal with something I should have to deal with until I had a husband to help me along the way. Yes it was selfish. And I'm sorry that I was selfish. But I think, at least I tried to make up for it.

There are things that you may not know about my dad. Most people saw him as this awesome guy with passion. He was funny, hysterically so. He had anger, and everyone knew when he was mad. He had opinions, and everyone knew what those were. If you were lucky enough, he would teach you why those were important to him, and very possibly change your mind to match his own. He was a great father figure to many, many of my friends. Unless they were trying to do something sinister to eventually take advantage of me in some way, he welcomed them all into the fold and they loved him. He was very genuine of heart. He wasn't a good actor. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

As his only child, I got to see some things that no one else did. I know what he thought of everything and everyone. And why. But much of this was told in confidence, which most of you know, isn't easy for me to do. I am a gossip of the worst kind. Guess where I learned that from? But, for the most part, I was able to keep my mouth shut about things that were said in our house. No one made me laugh like my dad did. We were so similar in so many ways, that jokes to us carried for years. There are still jokes that even my mom doesn't get. We had such fun together.

One thing that he did for me, he always made me feel safe from outside sources. I remember the first time I saw him scared, however remotely. The year that The Night Stalker came to town. Dad slept with a baseball bat next to his bed. That was the only way he let on that he was worried. A year later was the first time I ever saw him cry. It was when my mom's grandfather passed away. He was eating dinner, and suddenly, he broke down in tears over his mashed potatoes. It was over as fast as it began. Those two events scared and scarred me. But I never felt unsafe, no matter what.

Oh, I could be terrified of his wrath – which always just included a lot of yelling and probably a lecture and being cut off of something. But never of anyone or anything else. I always felt he'd be there to stick up for me or pull me out of a bad situation. And until the day he died, he was. Even when this close [] to never coming out of bed again, he still scared the hell out of my first roommate.

My first roommate and I were great friend when we moved in together. Then he got into some ugliness and became not such a great friend anymore. The last straw for us all was the night he hit me over the head with a beer bottle. Dad arrived with two of his burly, ex-con buddies and moved me out that weekend. About three months before dad passed, we took him to Disneyland and took an adorable picture of him, all tiny and looking like a little old sickly man. He was all bundled up, and had the purest smile of joy. I showed that picture to the old roommate about a month later (mind you, this was about 8 years after living together). He told me “that man” still scared the crap out of him, even looking like that. Oh, the kind of fear that my father instilled in the men in my life.

He also stuck up for me in so many ways. Any time I had issues with companies or people harassing me, my dad was on the phone, harassing them back. No one was going to mess with his kid. No one was going to sell her a crappy car, or make her pay for something she didn't have the money for, or even continue calling when she was sick. Even though he was sick, could hardly breathe or walk, he still came up to my bathroom to kill a spider for me that was in the shower.

He was a kid at heart. He loved stuffed animals and had great pride in buying them or winning them for himself, my mom and me. He was so excited the day I came home with a rubber band six shooter for him. He loved shopping. He loved going to Disneyland. One time, we went, just me and him. It was one of the best times I had ever had. That night, he told me that it doesn't matter how old you get, always keep the kid inside you. It'll keep you young. He loved a good joke. He was the guy that bought me my first Mickey Mouse, instilling in me a forever love of Disney. He loved to teach. Especially sports or music. I have a hard time watching basketball now, because he was my Laker game partner. We would watch the games and yell together.

Once he found out that he was sick, he basically retired from his gardening business. He could never wait until I got home from work to tell me some juicy piece of gossip. And every day when I did get home, from work or school, he would make me sit down and tell him all the gossip from work, or what we did in class. He joined the football pool at my work. He met all my friends. He had them over for parties. It was weird for me, that the role he took when I was in high school or just out, he continued with my adult friends. And they flocked to him. And he loved every minute of it.

When I was sick, he took me aside one day and chatted with me about how scared he was. He told me that he should have been careful what he wished for. He didn't want this to happen to me, and he wished that he could have taken it away if he could. He started to cry. It made me uncomfortable, because I couldn't stand to see him cry. I told him he had to stop it because he looked like Grandma when he made that face. It made him laugh and the tension was broken (see what I mean about the weird private jokes?). Unfortunately, he did get what he “wished” for. He took my cancer away from me. And took it upon himself. And look where that got us.

Watching my father die was one of the most horrible, amazing, wonderful and heartbreaking things I've ever had to do. Yeah, those are weird adjectives to use, but the circle of life is weird like that. I'm glad that I was able to hold his hand while he took his last breaths. I would like to think that was a comfort to him. I hope he was able to find peace. I tried in those last few months to show him how much he meant to me. I hope he was able to see it. And although we had our ups and downs, as families always do, I did love him, and I still do. He was a great dad, and friend... once we were able to get to that point. I'll always miss him, and wonder what life would have been like if he had been able to meet my husband, etc. But I'm comforted in knowing that he would have loved him, and quite possibly the life I live. True, no one will ever understand those private jokes and the strange things that we used to talk about and the things that he taught me. But I guess that's what makes relationships?

I've said it before and I'll say it again: My dad was the coolest guy. Anyone who knew him knows how true that is, and those of you who didn't, you missed a great experience. I miss you dad, and I will always love you. Keep a space up there warm for me! 

Holding Back

The other night, I was watching My Sister's Keeper with my husband. About 15 minutes into the movie, I started crying. As the next 30 minutes, my crying got worse and worse, until my husband had to turn it off and hold me while I sobbed into his chest. Yes, the movie is sad. It has sad content... It's about a family that is dealing with their oldest daughter having Leukemia, and their youngest daughter was constructed and born to be the donor for her older sister. The younger wants medical emancipation - the ability to make her own decisions about letting them take parts from her body, etc. The story is basically about the turmoil that happens once the suit is filed against the parents. It also includes many flashbacks of the illness of the older girl.

I don't know exactly what made me start crying. The book, which I read months ago, didn't have this effect on me. But once I started, I just couldn't stop. I ended up having nightmares that night that were so disturbing that my husband had to wake me up because I was crying and hitting him in my sleep. I vaguely remember the dreams, but I have no idea why I was hitting him.

I thought about it the next day. There were several things that struck me in this movie. The girl with cancer refused to get out of bed one day. She was depressed, she said. She was ugly. And everyone stared at her. I think this is the point that made me cry. The more I thought about it, the more I think I was catching up with the crying that I didn't do when I was sick.

I understand how this little girl felt, even though I was not young when it happened to me, the cancer that I had was not incurable or even unfixable. But, I had my moments when it was everything I could do NOT to lock myself in a room and sob myself to sleep. I really didn't feel that I had that option. I felt, for many reasons, that I needed to put on a brave face, both for my family and for my friends. I was not going to be "the face of cancer." I was not going to be weak, and bedridden. I was not going to be sick. I was going to laugh and enjoy life like I was doing before I was diagnosed.

I felt I expected to be in good cheer, and happy all the time. So, I did what was expected of me. I would go out, I would go to the place I worked and I would visit people and "be happy." I cried maybe twice. But usually it had nothing to do with being sick. I had a fight with a friend, or one with my dad. Some teenage girls made fun of the way I looked, and I was so upset, but I never cried about that. Most of the time, I kept my thoughts to myself. I was lucky in that first round, though. It seemed that I had a million friends. People seemed so happy to see me, I got cards from work almost every week. The one time I was hospitalized, my room was never empty. It was almost like people were vying for my attention.

After I started getting better, suddenly no one wanted to talk to me. People were cruel behind my back. Friends started dropping like flies. I went back to work and was treated somewhat unfairly. At the same time, my father found out he was dying of lung cancer. I truly felt I had no one to talk to. I couldn't go home and voice my fears or my sadness. Again, I had to remain upbeat, because we didn't want to upset my dad. And I didn't want to upset my mom, either. She had enough to deal with. When my dad died, I got apologies about the treatment I had received. Some people came back to be my friend, others never came around. But again, I never got to truly grieve in my own way. No one ever asked me how I was doing. My friends were more worried about my mom (and rightfully so), and so was I. I had to take care of her the first couple of months, our roles had become reversed. I made that promise to my dad.

Within two years of my dad's passing, I was diagnosed again with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. This time was different. The chemo that they gave me obviously didn't work the first time, and my body had already received the maximum amounts of those drugs in my system. they had to try something different. The day after I was diagnosed, I was formally let go from my job. I wasn't even given a chance to say goodbye. My car - that I picked out with my dad - died, so with the inheritance that I had, I had to buy a new one. I felt like my life was falling apart. Things had finally been going right. I cried about silly things. But never really faced the big picture.

The new treatment I was on required me to be in the hospital for 6 days at a time, every three weeks. So, I was alone. My mom tried to visit as often as she could, but she was still working. Friends stopped by once in a while, but I don't know if it was hard for them, or they just couldn't come by. I had one friend that came by, but as soon as she got there, her husband called and demanded that she come home. It broke my heart. I was in about my third treatment, when I realized something was wrong. I didn't feel right, and my head hurt. I was suddenly vomiting all over the place, which was something that didn't happen before that. The nurses had been treating me like a child, trying to help me use the restroom, and teasing me about things that rather annoyed me. But when I passed out and was scared and vomiting, they wouldn't come. A doctor came and signed my release papers without even looking at me. I went home. I looked awful.

Well, there is cancer awful, and there is this awful. This awful was when I went home that night and had no idea who I was when I looked in the mirror. My head faded into my chest and shoulders. I could barely move, and it caused so much pain just to do that. I finally had to go to bed. I couldn't sleep. My head just hurt so bad. I sat up in bed and called out to my mom. I told her it was time to call the ambulance. I tried to stand up, fell on the floor, narrowly missing the bottom of my dresser, and vomited. I was somehow in the state of mind to remember to turn my head so I didn't choke, and also to remind my mom that she needed to open the gate. I really only remember being lifted over the stairway, and then trying to pee while hoisted up on a gurney. The next few days were a blur.

I was terrified. I was alone, the doctors and nurses weren't nice to me. They put me in positions for extended periods of time where I had trouble breathing. They had me covered in suction cups to monitor my vitals, and every time I'd move, it would set off alarms. I am a side sleeper, and I had to stay perfectly still on my back. I was warned not to move. When they did an ultrasound on my chest area, they found that I had a myocardial infarction - heart attack. There were blood clots all between my wrists. It was caused by a staph infection at the site of my Hickman Catheter (chest tube). So my catheter had to be removed. Oh, and I had a sinus infection. That was why my head hurt. They told me that if I moved too much, one of the blood clots could break free and kill me. Yeah, I wasn't scared. At all.

After everything was said and done and I was in the ICU, people tried to visit. Ok, just two. My grandma flew down to help my mom. My best friend's Kevin and Heidi both came in. Two of my former coworkers tried to visit, but I was unable to accept any more visitors. My coworkers had dropped off a video tape for me. It was many of my old coworkers telling me to get well. A few of them were crying. I couldn't watch the whole thing the first time around because I would start crying and it was dangerous for me to get too emotional. I had to wait and watch it when I was a little bit more functional.

When I finally got moved into a regular ward after the ICU, the nurse I had the first night told me that I could very easily die in my sleep. Or something like that. Upon being released from the hospital a week or two later, this nurse tried to hug me. I vomited on her. This was a glimpse of happiness for me. After I returned home, strange things affected me. Too much noise made me sick. Sudden laughter or crying made me sick. My antibiotic made me sick every time I had to take it. My mom was gone once a week for three weeks, because she wanted to take a class on computers so she would get a free laptop for me. Grandma was around for a while, but had to go home. I was told not to come into work to visit, because it might upset my former co-workers. I couldn't drive myself anywhere because I was confined to a wheel chair. I went to visit another friend and he could barely even look at me. I was told that I was bad for business. Another friend took advantage of me while I was sick and vulnerable. I had very few visits from friends.

Around November, I got some happier news. I had been approved for Italian Greyhound Rescue Adoption. They found a dog that would suit me perfectly. I went to meet him and he loved me. I was unable to pick him up until after I finished my treatment, so they agreed to take care of him.

I finally had come to the bad place in my treatment. I was shipped off to Beverly Hills and Cedar's Sinai Hospital Cancer Center for a stem cell transplant. This may have been the hardest time for me. I was in what was called reverse isolation. Which is basically isolation without people having to wear clean suits. My mom tried to visit as often as she could. But it was over a 2 hour drive. I was there for about a month and a half. Mom was able to bring friends of mine with her a couple of times. My aunt and uncle visited once, but I was feeling so horrible, I could barely pay attention to them. I was lonely and wanted people around, but I didn't because I felt so awful. I had the laptop, so I was able to get some emails once in a while, but mostly I just slept and bought things with my debit card online.

Most of the nursing staff was very nice. And of course, being who I am, I endlessly polite, smiling and non-complaining, unless it was really bad. Then I would just ask for medication. It was loud at night (who actually can sleep in a hospital?), and one night i had to have a blood transfusion. The rule is: two nurses must come in to change the blood bags - one to read off the number and check the blood type - the second to verify that it's correct. One man came in, by himself and changed the bag. I reported him the next day. I worried all night that I would die or have an allergic reaction. Cedar's is a learning hospital, so often, I was pulled out of bed by doctors that were teaching so they could do strange examinations on me. I had a very hard time concentrating on the things they had me do. Then there was the nurse outbreak of chicken pox. Every person in the ward had to have a shot so they wouldn't get that or shingles. I was examined every day by a resident nurse, including between my butt cheeks. I had to have my "output" measured every day. And, as I wasn't expecting this to happen, my period started while I was there, and I had nothing. And none of the nurses would get anything for me. So I just bled for two days until my mom could get up there and bring me something. The whole experience was very humiliating, but I smiled through it all.

When it finally came down to having my stem cell transplant, I was given a Benadryl, and told to sit back, but let the nurse know if it started to hurt. My nurse had to stay in there with me for the entire time, to make sure everything flowed smoothly, and I guess to make sure I didn't have an allergic reaction or die. It was not comfortable. It wasn't painful, but it made me feel like I needed to get out of my skin. I wanted to sleep while it was happening, but I didn't want to bore that nurse, so I tried to stay awake and talk to her and be cheerful. I figured I could sleep when she left. I was fairly sick and weak, understandably, for the next couple of days. Within a couple of weeks, my white count was up enough and I was strong enough to leave the hospital and go home.

On the way home, my mom told me a friend needed to talk to me about something important. I called her and found out that her boyfriend died, suddenly, and in her arms. She was broken-hearted. And I was for her. I tried my best to comfort her, but I don't know how effective it was.

I got to pick up my new dog, and go home.

This time is a long time to hold back tears. Tears of anger, tears of fear, tears of loneliness and tears of sadness. I put on as much of a brave face as I could. Partly because it was encouraged - "It's all about attitude" "You have such a great sense of humor" and "What an amazing attitude you have." It was hard to be myself. It was impossible to show how I really felt. I was extremely hard on myself, and I still am, about that period of time. It felt so much, the second time around, like people I had never met, cared more about me than my friends did. It was like I lost my support system once my dad died. it killed me inside to think about these people that I saw all the time when I was well, that wouldn't even hardly talk to me when I wasn't. And if they saw me, they'd shoo me away. I don't know if this is a good reason for me to cry so hard and so long at a movie, or why I may feel resentment toward people that have been nasty to me for no apparent reason. But it's happening. And I can't control it. Not anymore.

Glory Days

 

December 1989

 

 December 2009

They say that the best times of your life happen when you're in high school. If I believed that, then I should have just given up on life after graduation. Because then I would have known that my life would be nothing but miserable afterward.

Yes, high school had it's moments. I loved being in band, performing, being in competitions. I made some of the best friends I'll ever have. I fell in love for the first time. I was part of a group.

But then, there was the rest. I was miserable. I hated everything. I felt like everyone was always picking on me. I got terrible grades, which meant being grounded. All the time. I wasn't popular. I didn't even feel well liked. I was terribly insecure. I wanted constant attention, but not for the things I ended up getting it for. I was angry, I was sad. I fought with everyone. I was smart. I was talented. But I wasn't smart or talented enough. I was mediocre. And I hated that about myself. I was lazy, and overweight. But no matter how much I dieted, or exercised, I was never happy with how I looked. I didn't wear the clothes that were “In style.” I didn't have the right hair. I just wasn't right. I was depressed, I was suicidal. I was violent. It was not a good way to be.

Some things don't change. Some things do. I have some great memories of high school. I have some horrid feelings from high school. I won't go into specifics, but I was made fun of and singled out in a not-so-good way.... a lot. It wasn't a good feeling. I didn't know at the time, but I was manic depressive.

I didn't go to my Grad Night after graduation because I never felt like I even knew the people in my class. I had no reason to say goodbye to most of them. And most of them, I haven't seen since then. And that doesn't bother me. I had no real ties to the people I grew up with, other than the classes that we shared since first grade.

I moved on, made new friends, got different jobs, and dated other people. I got cancer, and lived. I went on through my dad's cancer. During that period, I went to my 10 year reunion. I was amazed to find out that people remembered me. People thought highly of me. People said I was sweet, and that they just loved me in high school. Really? But they didn't give me the time of day then, why now? I was in the rest room, reapplying my lipstick and someone said something that made me laugh. One person said my name. After all these years, she still recognized my laugh. I probably hadn't talked to her in almost 15 years, because we ran in completely different circles in high school. It was surreal. I ran into people that knew me, and I knew, but we could not figure out HOW.

After that, I began to hang out with and correspond with some of the people at the reunion via email. I'm glad that I've been able to keep in touch with many of them. The second time that I got cancer, I was thrilled to have so much support from them. I also reconnected with some of my band friends which really made me happy. They were my dysfunctional family in high school.

Then there was the miracle of the internet. And social networking. I went on Facebook after joining a wedding board that didn't want every private thing on a public board. For about 6 months, the only friends I had on there, were people from that wedding board. Then, the friend requests started pouring in. I now have over 450 friends on there. Probably 90% of those friends are people that I know, personally from school, work, family, or through friends of friends.

It was after I started getting all these friend requests that I realized how weird it was to be talking to some of these people. Many of these friends from school never gave me the time of day back then. Or they had one class with me back in freshman year. How? Why? What made these people add me? And they TALK to me! I mean, a lot of it is “hope you feel well soon,” or “I'm glad that you had a good day.” But then I will get emails on Facebook, or just general things where we talk about our lives, offer advice or support to each other. Many of us have lost a parent, some have had cancer, most have had kids. Via the internet, I feel like I've gotten close to some of these people from my past. But some of them, I am really confused about.

There is a Bruce Springsteen song called Glory Days. Some of the things I see posted – in pictures, mostly – make me think of this song. Were the high school years the peak of their lives? Is this their claim to fame? What happened? I come from southern California – the land of perfect bodies, which I never fit in because of – it amazes me how some people have AGED terribly, and some look exactly the same, if not better than in high school. I see these pictures and the comments and the captions under them and I wonder.... What happened? I don't even remember some of these events! (not that I remember MUCH, mind you) But how can this be that important to you? I guess because I was only in band, I don't get the big draw of sports or prom, or whatever. I remember few things from band. I remember the friends that I had. I remember some of the songs we played. But not much else. I guess some people are lucky to have these memories.

I'm glad that I made it past all these things. I'm very glad that I still have friends that remember me well enough to add me as a friend. I'm glad that I grew up. I'm also glad that those weren't the best years of my life. My life is so much better now than it ever has been. I have really never been happier. I am more satisfied than I have ever been with who I am. I have an amazing, loving husband. I have the best family. I have a great job, and fantastic co-workers. I have a sweet cuddle bug of a dog. I have wonderful, supportive friends. I have a comfortable life. It's not everything, I don't have a house, we only have one car, we don't have all the things that we want, and I have some health issues. But it doesn't keep us down. I am happy. And that, makes these the best years of my life.

Glory Days – Bruce Springsteen

I had a friend was a big baseball player
back in high school
He could throw that speedball by you
Make you look like a fool boy
Saw him the other night at this roadside bar
I was walking in, he was walking out
We went back inside sat down had a few drinks
but all he kept talking about was

Chorus:
Glory days well they'll pass you by
Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye
Glory days, glory days

Well there's a girl that lives up the block
back in school she could turn all the boy's heads
Sometimes on a Friday I'll stop by
and have a few drinks after she put her kids to bed
Her and her husband Bobby well they split up
I guess it's two years gone by now
We just sit around talking about the old times,
she says when she feels like crying
she starts laughing thinking about

Chorus

My old man worked 20 years on the line
and they let him go
Now everywhere he goes out looking for work
they just tell him that he's too old
I was 9 nine years old and he was working at the
Metuchen Ford plant assembly line
Now he just sits on a stool down at the Legion hall
but I can tell what's on his mind

Glory days yeah goin' back
Glory days aw he ain't never had
Glory days, glory days

Now I think I'm going down to the well tonight
and I'm going to drink till I get my fill
And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it
but I probably will
Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture
a little of the glory of, well time slips away
and leaves you with nothing mister but
boring stories of glory days

Chorus (repeat twice) 

 

My goals for 2010

Every year I do this. I get asked if I have any resolutions, and I don’t. I try not to have them, because if I don’t end up following them, I feel guilty. And then I try and fail again and again, especially by the end of the year. And then, inevitably, I start the vicious cycle all over again the following year.

So, within the last couple of years, I have to tried to come up with realistic goals to set for myself. This way, I don’t feel this overwhelming set of guilt for myself if I don’t end up doing them all. And they are easily transferrable to the following year.

So, these are my goals for 2010 (not in any particular order):

• Finish sanding, priming, sanding again, and painting the hutch in our dining area. And then fill it up with all the stuff that we got for wedding gifts and our bar stuff.
• Start work on my craft table. This should be a fun job.
• Reorganize the craft closet – instead of piling everything on top of itself, actually get a drawer system in there so I can get things out easily.
• Finish setting up our kitchen pantry cart. We’re about halfway there, but we just need to actually take some time and finish it up.
• Make some “green bags” for produce and bulk items to take to the store with us.
• Make a really nice blanket for Mario.
• Write a lot more.
• Start work on the office.
• Actually work on the Wii Fit
• Try to get my blood sugar even more in control.
• Learn how to play that Bass that I got for Christmas last year. I no longer have an excuse.
• Get rid of stuff that I haven’t used in over 6 months (this does not count clothing, as I am a girl. The seasons change almost daily here, and so does my size).

I think that is a good starting list, and if I really concentrate and stop being lazy, I might actually get most, if not all of it done this year. I will be utilizing the husband, but I don’t think he’ll mind. He’s a good helper. There are, of course, the minor things that need to be done, but they are normal every day things, that just require build up as habits.

My Top Ten Lists of The Last Decade 2000-2009

Several of my friends on Facebook have challenged me to write what I consider my favorites from the last decade (they know me too damn well, and know that I love to write lists). The categories included: music, movies, TV shows and comic books. Well, I don't read comic books, so, I decided to go with video games, since they are played often at my house. I hope that you enjoy my lists, and maybe it will inspire you to write your own!


In music (I did not add anything that was a live release, a re-release, a soundtrack, or a cover CD. I only picked CD's that I would actually buy instead of download, that if they were records, they would have been worn down by now.):

1. Coldplay – Parachutes
2. Muse – Black Holes and Revelations
3. Tenacious D – Tenacious D
4. Eminem – The Eminem Show
5. Green Day – American Idiot
6. They Might Be Giants – No!
7. The White Stripes – Icky Thump
8. Weezer – Make Believe
9. Blink-182 – Blink-182
10. The Offspring – Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace

In TV (these are shows that I couldn’t stay away from, unless I missed an episode, or something and couldn’t find it anywhere. This happened with Californication, and I am STILL trying to catch up. Oh, and I know I missed some damn good shows, but I probably just haven't seen them yet. Remember – these are MY favorites):

1. United States of Tara
2. Lie To Me
3. Heroes
4. Being Erica
5. Arrested Development
6. Scrubs
7. House
8. Flight of the Conchords
9. Californication
10. Kitchen Nightmares (BBC Version)

On film (not counting holiday movies, animated movies and documentaries. In this category, I again, probably missed a lot, but I haven't seen a lot, either. And honestly? This was probably the hardest list to narrow down.) :

1. High Fidelity
2. O Brother, Where Art Thou?
3. Donnie Darko
4. Kill Bill
5. Harry Potter Franchise
6. Finding Neverland
7. The Producers
8. Stranger Than Fiction
9. Juno
10. Burn After Reading
    

Video games:

(These are games I'll actually play and enjoy, both console and PC games)

1. The Sims
2. Kingdom Hearts
3. Guitar Hero
4. Rock Band
5. Wii Fit
6. Wii Sports
7. Wario Ware
8. Evidence: The Last Ritual
9. Singstar
10. American McGee's Alice

Feel free to leave comments or ask questions. I had a lot of fun writing these lists.