Ode to my Second Boyfriend

When I was way too young, I had a boyfriend, we'll call him "Scott." We dated for two years, from the time I was 14 until 16, at which point I dropped him like a well-built, soccer-playing, Nirvana-loving sack of bricks. I can't remember why right now, but he was NOT happy about it. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'll always be The One That Got Away, which is pretty awesome for my ego. High Five!

Coming out of my first major relationship, I met this dark, emo guy at an arts & crafts show (what? What teenagers don't hang out at arts & crafts shows?) We'll call him "Colin." We didn't last very long, he was actually kind of a dick to me, but after he found me about 13 years later on Facebook, he apologized. Apologies go a long way with me.

When Colin found out that I'd separated from my husband, about a year or so after we'd e-reconnected, he immediately called dibs on me - whatever that means. He had a girlfriend at the time, and I was still very man-shy, so I wrote it off as a joke.

A month or so later, my friend Jessica was in town and we were wine tasting on my birthday. I got a message from Colin to call him, so of course I did, given the facts that I was super drunk, and Jessica was wandering around, ignoring me, taking pictures of everything like a tourist.

Thus began my first post-marriage relationship.

Yes, Colin was my boyfriend after the TWO most significant relationships in my life. And this time he was older, wiser, funnier, had a reliable job and car, and had abs that I could see the definition of on a fuzzy cell phone photo.

Over the next two months or so, Colin and I exchanged about 25,000 texts, pictures, phone calls and emails. When I woke up each day I'd be greeted with something like "Good morning Sunshine Face!!!" and the texts would go on like that all day and into the night. I would come home to find packages at my doorstep - weird little gifts that he would send out of the blue - a Snuggie, llama slippers, the game Canoodle, a leaf blower. Yes, a leaf blower. I fell deeply and madly in love with him after that one. I'm not kidding.

The main problem with our relationship was that Colin lived really far away. As in, somewhere in the middle of the country. So technically, he was only my e-boyfriend. And I hearted him. And then he dumped me. For another woman.

If you think that being dumped by your husband of 10 years for another woman sucks, try then being dumped by your e-boyfriend of 2 months, for the same reason. This was his excuse: he went to some party, he looked SUPER hot (yes, photos were exchanged all day, every day, so I know that he was on fire that night), he ran into his ex-girlfriend (who had cheated on him while he was out of town, thus causing the breakup in the first place), she gave him some bullshit story that he fell for, and viola! I was single again.

It took a while to nurse the wounds from this, and to come to terms with the fact that no matter how cool a guy finds me, there will probably always be someone better than me out there. And he will find her. And he will dump me for her. But that's cool, I'm fine now. Ahahahaha, I'm fine! I'm fine!

I deleted all of the pictures he'd sent me, all of the texts (though now I wish I had them to use here, they were really creative and heart-warming and funny and - I'm fine! I'm fine!) I sent back all of the gifts (well, I let my son keep the llama slippers). I cried unreasonably. I got over it.

So now we're friends again, and he's still with this girlfriend-that-cheated-on-him-while-he-was-out-of-town. Now he's out of town again. Recently, over a matter of two days, we went from him desperately asking for my opinion on whether I think his girlfriend is sleeping with someone else based on a picture he saw on Facebook, to him buying her a house. Yes, I said Buying Her A House. It seems as though his girlfriend wants this house. And she can't afford it. And so she thinks they should buy it, "together." The last time I checked in, he said he needed to give her power of attorney since he's in another country and can't be there to sign the papers. To buy this house. That he's only seen pictures of. With the woman he thought was cheating on him a week before.

Can someone please explain to me why the full-package guys end up with the crazies? I mean, obviously he, too, has lost his mind, but seriously. I'm baffled. I'm also so glad that we didn't end up together. I mean, puh, who wants a boyfriend that loves you so much he'll buy you a fucking house? Am I right? Ladies?

I'm totally fine now.

Occupy, Bitches!

On the afternoon of October 15th I left work a little early and walked downtown to Santa Rosa's city hall, where the Occupy Santa Rosa rally was taking place. I'd spent the day before making signs (business has been sloooow), so I brought them to share with my fellow 99%. Turns out pretty much everyone there already had a sign...and they were way cooler than mine. Still, this wasn't a day to judge each other's lack of spacing and coloring skills, so no one gave me a hard time.

The turnout was fantastic - at the last count I paid any attention to, it was announced that there were about 2700 people at the rally, which I found inspiring considering bigger, fancier cities weren't always getting those numbers. In fact, Santa Rosa had the 6th highest turnout in the nation, behind New York, LA, San Francisco, Portland and Seattle. Yes - cities with populations far and beyond that of our fair little city. Give yourselves a pat on the back if you were there, because that totally rocks.

I was planning on spending the night and, as you can see from the photos below, even went home at one point to get my sleeping bag and change into my jammies. But as usual, I'd forgotten to bring a lunch to work, immediately got wrapped up in Protest Stuff so didn't grab a much-needed burrito as intended, and kinda didn't eat enough, and kinda needed to go home to sleep off all of the fun events that resulted from that blood sugar neglect.

Before that, though, I got to stand on the street waving a couple of my signs. The one to the right says "Oh Rich People, We Are Coming, and We're Hungry. No really, we don't have any money and we're f@%*ing hungry!" I found this to be an especially appropriate sign to carry. I'm always hungry. Since I pay for everything with cash, I often have to pass over on buying groceries so that I can pay for gas to get to work. When my kids are with me I stock up on fresh produce and healthy whatnots, but when they're with their dad, I just survive off of whatever is left. More often than not, there isn't much (since Evie eats like she's a football quarterback). I've lost a good 20 pounds since getting separated, and its not just from The Divorce Diet. Its from being freaking broke!

My favorite part about the protest was the coming-together of a community. There were people from every cultural, social and economic demographic discussing the reasons they were there representing the 99%, and the stories all carried a common thread. As a business owner, I hear the assumption that I must have plenty of money voiced fairly regularly. This is completely false. It was comforting to talk to other small business owners who are also struggling on a daily basis to keep their doors open, sometimes based solely on our love for and desire to serve our neighborhoods. As the majority (aka, the 99%), I can't express strongly enough the importance of taking care of each other by supporting our communities. Keeping our money near by shopping local and breathing life into our smaller economies will help to make larger impact overall, and in a nutshell, will make a world of difference.

And a difference is what we're trying to make - right? Let's do it.

Mmmmmm....Boobies!

An acquaintance of mine (I use the term 'acquaintance' loosely, as I honestly have no idea how I know this guy, but we are somehow facebook friends) informed me that when he told his sister that I have a picture of myself breastfeeding my baby, she told him to unfriend me. First of all: that picture is from like three years ago, so this guy is obviously a stalker and spent a good hour going through my photos. Which is totally fine. Second of all: what the hell, Sister Of This Guy? Seriously?

Maybe having breastfed primarily in Northern California, I forget that there are women out there that hate their boobs. Hey ladies! These things are awesome! I mean, do I really need to go in to all of the health and cost benefits here? Aside from that, whipping them out in public is so much fun!

I recently had dinner with Mike, Erin, Liam and the new baby, Finn. Can I just tell you how impressive Erin's boobs are right now?! And guess what? She's using them to feed her baby! Its completely free...and healthy! I can see how people hate the idea of this. Its disgraceful. She even had the nerve to feed Finn at the dinner table! While we were eating our dinner! Gross! I seriously wish she'd had the decency to at least take him into the bathroom.

Psh.

(I'm assuming this was the offensive photo of me nourishing my wee babe)

I breastfed my babies in all kinds of public places, and never bothered with the whole cover-up thing. Why would I want to possibly suffocate them when they could enjoy the fine sunshine on their faces? I enjoyed exposing my glorious feedbags at any variety of venues - over sushi, at the brewery, at big-box stores while lounging in the patio furniture department, in the backseat of the car on road trips, my body awkwardly draped over the carseat with the plastic digging into my ribs as I dangled my gigantic breast over my son or daughter's screaming face until they smelled the sweet, sweet aroma of mama's milk and finally, enthusiastically, went to town on that stuff.

Here I am, feeding Evie in the Japanese Tea Gardens in San Francisco
...and in the South Korean Countryside

Did you know that breastmilk is also good for other things? Once my whole family got some crazy eye-goo infection, and all it took was a few rounds of me squirting them in the eyes with that magic medicine - viola! Let there be light! They were healed! I used to put it on cuts and scrapes, too. I know I may seem like a sophisticated, high-society kind of lady, but when it comes to breastmilk, I'm a bona fide hippie dipshit. I love that stuff. Its like duct tape - it can fix pretty much anything.

But what it all comes back around to is this: if you've never had the pleasure of being in close proximity to a lactating woman's breasts, you really don't know what you're missing out on. So if you want the full experience, get over your squeamish puritanical bullshit and give up your seat on the bus for that flustered mom and her crying little baby - you just might get a peek of her boob.

And you will never be the same.

This post is part of the 2011 Love Your Body Day Blog Carnival" linking to: http://www.now.org/news/blogs/index.php/sayit/2011/10/19/lybd-blog-carnival-posts

Hooptie!!

This is such a cliche but I don't care, we got a minivan, and I have named him Fred.  My father-in-law Bruce found one for us.  "Found" makes it sound like I'm talking about some discarded heap abandoned on the side of the road...and I am.  Erin gets her bad-assedness from Bruce who does things like spending his free time in scrap yards hunting for parts for his race car (so cool).  While there this past weekend he unearthed a scrapped 1996 Plymouth POS that he says he can turn into a car for 2000 bucks!  "2000 dollars?" you say "where will you scratch together that kind of cash, tap into the savings?"  "HA!" I say.  I spent my savings last Friday on a 20 ounce Modelo Especial, no this small fortune will come from the sale of our gorgeous 2009 Honda Accord.  One of our more ridiculous purchases.  Don't get me wrong it's a lovely car.  Erin drives it a half-mile to work and back every week day and it hasn't let her down once!  We think that with the 83 miles we've put on it, and the fact that it's still on its first tank of gas, it should have retained it's value pretty nicely.  Good riddance to it! (and to the payments)  Its replacement is gonna be AWE-SOME.  Sure it's got "issues", like where did its last occupant go to the bathroom?  But I have total faith in Bruce and the magic of Febreze.  Gas mileage and reliability are important to be sure, but with sliding doors on either side and removable seats I'll compromise in exchange for the obvious awesomeness potential.  The first of the boys to successfully jump their bike in one side and out the other, while it's moving, gets to drive it.

Brother's Keeper

When you first break the news that you're "expecting" people LOVE to try and bring you down.  Why has "you'll NEVER sleep again!!" become an acceptable form of congratulations?  I heard this so much that I vowed to counter this negativism by insisting that it's all a lie, children don't equal sleeplessness, it just takes a little work and some common sense to figure out ways to make it work.  But after Finn came into the world last week I've had to hang up my smuggy-pants, at least for now.  I'm pretty fucking tired.  I think it's the toddler/newborn ONE-TWO punch that's kicking the crap out of me.  Plus the fact that it's harvest season in the wine world doesn't help.  So yeah, I'll nibble on my words a bit, because right now my greatest desire in life is a quiet bedroom for a good eight hours.  What I wouldn't give...

Exacerbating my frayed nerves is an unexpected and disturbing issue that has cropped up over the course of this fun-filled week....I'm pretty sure Liam is trying to kill his new brother.  I'd hoped that the moment we presented our precious Liam his new sib his face would light up and his heart would swell with adoration.  Instead he regarded the baby like a pile of cat sick.  "You better clean that up before someone steps in it"....he seemed to say.

A friend suggested we try giving Liam a gift "from Finn" so we picked up the "Cars" DVD and tucked the box into Finn's bouncer.  "Liam, look what Finn got for you!!" we coaxed, pointing to the shiny box peering out from behind his baby brother.  Liam eased over with an expectant smirk on his sweet little face, slipped the box out from behind Finn, and clobbered him in the fontanelle. 

We've taken a more defensive tactic since then but so far Liam has still managed a few glancing blows with some well aimed toys.  Luckily the barrage has already started to ease up and over the weekend I'd thought that Liam had shown signs of warming up to Finn considerably.  Yesterday we let Liam get in close to Finn to see what would happen.  Liam bent over him for what looked like a sincere moment of brotherly love.  I was so touched I grabbed my phone and snapped this shot:

 

You'll notice Finn is looking a little red.  Liam was putting all of his weight on Finn, squeezing all the air out of his week-old lungs.  Cunning little psycho..

In truth Liam did plant a kiss on his brother.  He wasn't really trying to kill him, he's just inherited his dad's tendency for overbearing affection.  Just ask his mother whose safety word for me is "easy Lenny".  As for the hitting, it's toned down already and frankly I couldn't blame him for wanting to take a swing for one second.  The poor guy!  He's been the center of his parents world for his entire life and suddenly he's sharing the spotlight?!  Who wouldn't act out?  And the kicker is it's all my fault.  Erin obviously has her hands full so it's up to me.  What does that mean?  It means that maybe instead of staying up late finishing off a bottle of wine I should go to bed, get well rested (quit my goddamn whining), and get up early so I'll have the time and energy to show my son that I love him more than life itself.  Right?! Right!!

But just to be safe I'm still not leaving those two alone...

I Love Men! (as friends...deal with it)

Okay people, I give you good cheer pretty much every time I post on this blog of ours. I think I deserve to bitch and mope a bit, don't you? Because if not, then I need a little time before I can be funny again. I'm just not feelin' it.

Why, you ask? Well. I'll tell you.

Its old news that I got dumped by my husband of 10 years. Not so old news that I got dumped by my e-boyfriend (blog post forthcoming). Then someone adored me, but I wasn't ready for adoration, so I dumped him (for the record, that was really hard to do, and I still feel terrible about it). Then I took a deep breath, dove in, and adored someone, and he dumped me. So, as you can see, my track record is not so fabulous right now.

The Husband of my Friend recently asked me if I was beginning to think it was something about me, and not the guys. I hadn't exactly 'gone there' yet, but since he brought it up, I had to admit that yes, I do wonder what the heck is wrong with me. I mean, when I get enough sleep and wear makeup and clean clothes that fit, I look okay, I think. I don't take myself too seriously. I have a bawdy sense of humor. I have a job, at which I am my own boss. After 34 years I finally discovered that bedroom stuff is fantastic. I read a lot. I don't think I'm crazy (save the week or so of PMS, woooo! watch out). I can handle my own in social situations. I can easily entertain myself. I belong to a book club full of wonderful women with a variety of personalities, and I like them all. I get along well with men.

Oh. Wait. There it is: I get along with men.

Right, riiiiggggght. This is not always okay. Sometimes I forget that men and women are so terribly different - from different planets, in fact - we are actually not all just flailing human beings with the same or similar insecurities, hopes, agendas and grand schemes and dreams, and should therefore avoid socializing platonically with each other and only hang out when we intend to make out and/or procreate. I forgot that deeply ingrained rule. I'll admit that sometimes I am absentminded.

This sucks because I actually like a lot of men. Some of my oldest friends are men, in fact, and I'll be sad to let them go just so I can get a boyfriend to accept me for who I am. Or, who I will be, as soon as I dump my friends. Sorry Frank (friends since 2nd grade - shown, left), and Nayt (friends since 6th grade - shown, bottom right), Tony (friends since high school) and Adam, Jagen, Rich, Chris, Paul, etc etc etc etc (and lets not forget Mike). Sorry guys, but I didn't realize that its not okay to have you as friends. I've really appreciated your insight and perspectives over the years. I've survived off of your support when things got shitty, and loved all of the healing, gut-splitting laughter when things were really shitty. You thankfully taught me that there are some really, really good men in this world. You guys were the best, I mean it. You helped develop my soul and the person that I am today.

I'll miss you. But I know you understand, right? Because it was a guy who dumped me for having too many guys for friends...so, as guys yourselves, you're okay being dumped for being the guys that are my friends...right?

Oh, wait again. I may have done some pre-blog Feeling Sorry For Myself via email to a friend of mine. He has an amazing knack for reminding me of who I am, and how I got here. This is what he had to say today: get off your ass and stop moping. Think about how positive you have been lately. That wasn't because of someone else, that was because of you and what you have accomplished. You don't need anyone else to make you feel good about yourself. Besides, you've got a mirror, a divorce-diet body, and a hitachi... what else does a girl need?

Indeed.

So yeah...you know what? I think I'll keep my friends. All of them. The girl ones, the boy ones. The new ones, the old ones. These people are part of me, of who I am, and fuck if I'm going to ditch them for some dude. Okay?

Okay. Just so we're clear.

The Tale of 'Shotgun' Finn

Last Sunday, Oct 2nd, at 5:30 a.m. my son was born in the front seat of my 2003 Toyota Corolla.  True story.

At 3:15 that morning Erin gently woke me up to tell me, "I've been having some pretty regular cramps...and I'm hungry".  This meant "get up".  I got it.  She had been having some 'cramping' here and there for a good week and a half and the day before she'd had some pretty steady cramping throughout the day.  Nothing unusual...not labor, just some good old pre-labor body getting ready for the big show.  That Friday, just two days earlier, she'd seen the doctor who'd informed her that she was 2.5 cm dilated, effacing, softening, etc. so this news of "regular cramps" was good news.  It was what we'd been waiting for and we were ready.  I got up and made her a plain breakfast.  She got a few things together that we hadn't packed yet.  We talked a bit about what she was feeling and it seemed like this was probably the real deal.  Awesome.  Now we wait...

This was our second baby.  Two years earlier Liam's birth had taken the better part of two days.  Erin began labor on a Wednesday and Liam was born early the following Friday morning.  I'd had the utmost confidence in my abilities as Erin's birthing coach going into that first birth having taken classes and written up a detailed birth plan.  We'd originally thought about using a Doula but Erin felt that it would have been a waste of money because I'd clearly shown signs of being a kick-ass birthing coach.  Surprisingly, though Erin will mercifully tell you I did "fine", the sight of her in pain turned me into a big weepy puddle of uselessness begging for drugs.  Go me.

This time I had a much simpler plan.  No major coaching or guided meditation, instead I would just be "calm and confident".  My one assignment from Erin was to discourage her from getting an epidural (the opposite of encourage).  This was good.  Erin and I had both reined in our expectations of me and simplified my role.  My new "calm and confident" mantra was first put to the test that Sunday morning about an hour after we'd woken up.  Erin had ignored her breakfast and things had seemed to intensify pretty quickly so we started timing contractions...well, not so much timing as noting that they were happening one on top of the other.  Again this was 4:15, just one hour after Erin had woken up from a "cramp".

We both knew there was absolutely no reason for concern.  Sure it was odd how fast things were progressing, but good odd.  Erin wanted this birth to be faster than the last one and she was definitely getting her wish.  But to be safe I called Erin's parents to come watch Liam and hastily packed the car while Erin stepped out onto the back deck for some air.  Once the car was packed I went to check on Erin and found her in the back yard, bent over, clutching the back of a chair.  "My water just broke".  Whoa, indeed it did.  "This is great" I calmly and confidently assured her.  "This means things are going to go fast!" (GRIN!)

I hadn't given Erin's parents any indication that they needed to hurry the fuck up but after Erin's water broke I wished I had.  Things started happening fast.  Her contractions intensified and only let up long enough for her to take two steps at a time toward the car.  She eventually made it to the front seat exhausted, legs shaking, writhing in pain, but hardly making little more noise than the occasional soft moan.  I started the engine, pulled the car into the street and waited.  It was 5:00 a.m..  Erin had been awake for less than two hours.

My in-laws live on Rockpile Road just above the Dry Creek Valley which is a good half an hour away.  I had called 45 minutes earlier and was now staring down a dark street willing headlights to appear and gripping the hand of the world's most unbelievably bad-ass woman.  She was not having a good time.  I took this opportunity to offer up more sincere reassurance.  "Erin, you were asleep just two hours ago.  I know it feels intense and things are going fast but you're not having the baby yet.  It's just not possible".  Meanwhile at that exact moment the baby was giving me the side-eye as it was most likely crowning.

15 minutes later the headlights appeared and I hit the gas.  "Drive carefully" Erin said.  I did drive carefully, just really really fast.  Erin's contractions were coming in huge waves now, peaking with her soft moans and never dying down completely.  The hospital was a good half an hour away.  I kept on the with the calm and confident reassurance that really should have earned me a punch in the wiener but Erin was miles away.  "I think the baby is a lot closer than you think" she calmly told me.  "Oh no" I thought "she must be getting nervous because that's ridiculous".  Suddenly the tension that was filling the car vanished as Erin noticeably relaxed.  Then she said something I'll never forget.  "I feel better suddenly....I feel a lot better.....I think the head is out".  I didn't have time to mentally roll my eyes at this statement because I reached over to the front of her pajama pants and felt what was most certainly, undeniably, a baby's head.

Finn's Birthplace

 People have asked me what went through my head at that moment and it was simply this, "move your foot from the gas to the brake".  This took every ounce of will I could muster.  There was no moment of "hmm, well how about that!  I wonder what I should do next?"  The decision had already been made for me and I just needed a quick mental kick in the pants to realize that.  I skidded into the dust on the side of the road and jumped out of the car.  As I rounded the front of the car there was a small voice in my head, waaaaaay in the background, that was terrified for the safety of my child and my wife.  But in the foreground I really felt everything was going to be fine.  I had watched Liam's birth so I knew what to expect and I'd actually had some training in childbirth from my EMT days.  I kind of knew what to do.  I opened Erin's door, dropped Erin's pants, and there was the back of my baby's head.  Holy shit.

It literally took less than a minute.  I cleared the mouth, helped turn the baby a bit to get the shoulders in a good position, and waited for the next contraction.  Seconds later he was out.  A "HE!!".  "It's a boy!!" I shouted.  I gave him a few quick rubs, his color was good, and then came the cry.  Heaven.  I unwrapped his cord from around his body (no I didn't cut it) and placed him up on Erin's chest where Erin took hold of him and said, "okay, let's go to the hospital".  Seriously?  Fucking bad-ass.

I can't really remember what happened after that.  I was high.  I felt like I'd just won the lottery while skydiving.  I was shouting hysterically "I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT JUST HAPPENED, AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"  Erin, meanwhile was the picture of pure relief.  Neither of us had any fear that our son might not be okay.  He looked perfect, he was moving around, and he was cooing just enough to let Erin know he was fine.  I pulled up to the darkened front door of the maternity ward at which point Erin gently suggested I try the ER (idiot).  I circled around to the ER and calmly (and way too smugly) told them my wife had just delivered our son in our car.  They looked at me as if to say "well, what should we do?"  About 7 or 8 people descended upon my wife and bumbled around for a bit pooling their medical expertise to try and discern their assholes from their elbows.  Their greatest challenge was trying to figure out what to do with the seat belt which was looped through the baby's umbilical cord.  "Let's cut the seat belt!" they decided, while Erin gently handed the baby to a nurse, undid her seat belt, and took the baby back.

We managed to make our way up to the maternity ward where the doctors let me cut the cord so that I would feel involved in the birth.  They quickly determined the baby was totally fine but insisted we stick around for at least 12 hours for observation.  This gave us plenty of time to come up with a name which we hadn't done because we had never found out the sex.  Erin didn't want to learn the sex of the baby because she wanted to be surprised.  So let's recap Erin's wish list, she wanted it to be fast and surprising. Check and check.  She had talked about 'Finley' for months and I was sold as soon as I saw him.  So Finley Michael Bairdsmith it is.  8 lb 9 oz, 22 inches, and all natural (almost too natural)

And he's perfect....

Single + Sick = So So

Life sometimes likes to show off its sense of humor, and so yesterday morning I woke up with the flu. I somehow made a hot breakfast for the kids, then promptly crawled back into bed where I deliriously texted friends and neighbors for help. I found a ride to school for Jonah who, before he left, lectured Evie in a panicked whisper about how it was now her job to take care of mom, to which Evie simply said "no." Jonah then asked, his voice rising, "then who's gonna take care of mom? She's sick, Evie, siiiiiiiick!"

Evie shouted "NOBODY!!"

It's good to know that girl's got my back.

I eventually managed to get myself into the shower, and then sleepdrove that kid to school as well. I found myself at work, on time. The only thing that propelled me through the day was knowing that I would be taking the kids to their dad's house that night, after which I could finally collapse into my bed. In this way, being sick and single is a good thing. I actually got to sleep after a day of running kids, checking homework, and putting in a full day at work - all while feeling like hell. Bliss!

I found some other pros and cons, too.

Luckily being sick and single isn't all that much different from my experiences of being sick and married. I still wish that someone would just know to bring me Vernors and Hot & Sour soup. I still lay in bed, slowly blinking at the ceiling as my room gets darker and darker, feeling sorry for myself. I still stare at the laptop over on the desk and wish I had the energy to move it to the bed so I could stream 30 Rock until I pass out. Granted, having internet service would have made this fantasy more realistic - but I was feverish, let me have my crazy cracked-out dreams...dreams in which I can afford internet.

The nice thing about being sick and single is that I don't even have anyone to ask for help, and therefore don't have to see that person dramatically roll their eyes and then heave a huge, inconvenienced sigh before slowly turning and shuffling to get whatever it is I'd summoned up the energy to ask for. I'm from the Midwest, where we don't ask for help unless its a life-or-death situation. We especially don't like to annoy people with our selfish needs, so I can honestly say that I avoid asking for help at almost all costs. Sometimes a girl just needs a barf bucket, though, what can I say?

The bad thing about being sick and single is that there isn't anyone to get that barf bucket, or water, or Vernors. But, see the afore-mentioned paragraph in which I express the fact that I'm used to it, so whatever. Also, sometimes thoughts like the following enter that feverish cracked-out brain: "What if I die in my sleep tonight? How long will it take for people to realize I'm not just ignoring their texts? That'll be a long time! Shit!" Then: "oh my god. No one has even texted me in like 5 hours...no one will ever know I'm dead until my kids show up in a few days. They'll be banging on the door! They'll be scared and crying. They'll have to ask a neighbor to break down the door! Then they'll find me here, dead! Oh jesus...I'm so tired."

So, being single and sick - pros and cons, I guess. Pros and cons. Either way, I'm rockin' it.