caerula's Diaryland Diary

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some happy things and some icky things

Ok, eww. Didn't really need to start off the day with a google hit for "pictures of my parents in bed shagging." I don't think he meant the dance, either. Ewww

And "moms fat jeans seats"? No, I don't even want to know. You know, I'm starting to think about emulating Natalieeee and just ungoogling this journal, because my most recent hits are just icky."Girlfriend too fat"; "fat people are lazy"; "gotta go pee bad"; "girls that gotta go pee"; and the ever-present variations on English lesbi@ns. But then, you know, I get interesting things too, like "effect of tv dinners on society" and "weird ankle xrays", and those actually looking for information, whether it's about quilting, a certain type of medicine, panic attacks, PCOS or dealing with infertility. They just might find something here to help them. Because, you know, I've made the choice to be very honest here, and I shouldn't not use certain words or talk about certain things just because there's a bunch of pervy idjits who want to see people p** on each other, or their parents going at it, or find prejudicial stuff about fat people. Or whatever. I write this for me, you know. Not for them. So I'm torn. What do you think?

Here's a question. When the title of a work starts with "A poem on�" (on the reel I'm cataloging, they're all poems on "the happy restoration and return of His Sacred Majesty Charles the Second"), do you really need to add a note in the note field that says "in verse"? I think not. Stupid pseudo-catalogers. I'm so tired of fixing other people's mistakes, and not actually doing any cataloging of my own.

I am drinking, completely at random, Dole Pineapple Passion Mango ("A Taste of the Tropics!") DPPM seems to have an awful lot of apple in it considering it's supposed to be tropical and all. But I was out of shakes this morning (Note: Target run tonight) and was hungry when I stopped at the Gas and Groceries ("Petrol and Pantry!") so I got that to balance out my Hostess cupcakes. I am a bad girl. But you know what? One of those orangey goodness cuppycakes is only 7 grams of fat. Now I agree, that's a little much for one creme-filled treat, but I only ate one of them, and am saving the other for my afternoon snacky. So there.

I had my counseling appointment with Mary Poppins yesterday after work. The appointment went well; she let me sit there and spill all the angst and sadness and anger with just the occasional comment or suggestion, and did present me with an interesting theory: maybe Blue's problems now, the timing of then, are in part due to the fact that I AM becoming more like the old me, the person he fell in love with � confident and outgoing and pretty damn sure of myself. The Paxil, which, bad me, I had stopped taking for too long � is finally kicking back in, and I've learned the lesson that I will probably have to stay on it for a long long time. It doesn't change me, it just lets me face up to and stamp down the anxiety, so the person I am can't hide behind it. Therefore, for so long, Blue felt like he was taking care of me � letting me cry on his shoulder, talking me through panic attacks, then fetching and carrying for me while I was in the cast. And while that may have gotten on his nerves at times, it also allowed him some sort of dominant role, and now he may feel threatened. I know that's psycho-babble, but it also makes a lot of sense. His dad is very domineering, and his mom, afaik, has never been bothered by that. He pretty much tells her what to do, and she does, and compensates by over-spending and having whole rooms full of clothes. And Blue's also had a lot of people in his life telling him he's not good enough � first his dad, then schoolteachers ("he's just not working up to his potential") and then the Army (he wanted to sign up out of high school, but his eyesight wasn't good enough). And so he tried college, and it was the same thing all over again � doesn't concentrate, not trying hard enough, etc. And then it was YMB's mom and grandparents � you aren't focused, you aren't good enough to raise this child, you're too irresponsible, etc. etc. There's only so many times you can hear that stuff before you internalize it, and I think Blue really has, to a degree even I had not realized. Even knowing now that he has ADHD, and it's not that he's lazy and stupid, it's just some crossed wires in his brain, can't overcome years of that kind of negative reinforcement. It's not an excuse, but it does explain it somewhat, and it gives him somewhere to go from here. If he's been so angry and miserable lately because he feels threatened somehow by me, than we need to figure out together how to change that. I certainly don't want to be the domineering wife who runs everything, but I don't want to be the little shadowy background woman either. We need to find a middle place where we can stand equally.

So Mary Poppins helped me a lot yesterday. And I went home and planted all of the rest of my flowers, which I picked up on Tuesday � more dahlias, dahlings, and a yellow daisy bushy thing, and some low-to-the ground spreading geraniums, which I never knew existed but look gorgeous, and some moss roses for edging. That's what we had at the first house I remember when I was little, and I've always loved them because of that. And they'll do well in our hideous clayey soil. And some tall purple things � spirea, maybe? I'm not sure. It was gorgeous and sunny and I could walk, and I chit-chatted with some of the neighbors, and Sophie lay on the ground next to me and soaked in the sun, and I felt so damn productive. Tonight I will take some more pictures so my progress will be evident, and Swwoop or Herworship can tell me if I'm right about the tall purple flowers being spirea.

Oh, and then a good surprise (for once) in the mail � apparently our last house payment to the old mortgage company and the payoff from the new mortgage company crossed in the mail, so old mortgage company sent us a nice fat check back. Stackable washer and dryer, here we come!

And the Wings won � just barely! Nick Lindstrom pulled it out in the last minutes, and then Draper added another one just for a little oomph. And how can you not love our Mitch Albom, a sports writer who references Poe?

In the scary news department, this morning on the radio they were talking to a couple whose last name is Arena, sadly, and they yesterday named their newborn son Joseph Louis. And here's this woman on the radio blithely going on about how no, she doesn't think it will really affect his life. These people live 45 minutes from Detroit. It WILL affect him, poor kid. He'll have to grow up and move somewhere where no one cares a whit about hockey. Texas, maybe? Sigh. People are idjits.

11:40 a.m. - June 07, 2002

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