Only Nola

Life Changes

Well, it's early (as you can see by the timestamp... you're observant, my reader!), and here I sit, trying to unclog my brain and get some motivation to tackle the work ahead of me today.

I'm moving.

I thought I wouldn't move again, as we all know, after I bought this house, but things happen and life changes and before you know it you're packing boxes and cursing truck rental companies.

Mark and I bought a house together, so that's where I'm moving.  It's a construction zone at the minute, as we're doing pretty much a complete remodel on it.  The plan had been to have it done before I moved in (or the majority of it), but that didn't quite work out, so I'll be getting situated in a living space that is still a bit (as in 'The Titanic sank a bit') upside down.  I'm hoping we'll have most of the work done in the next month or so, but if you've ever done a remodel, you know that a) it runs on time about as much as your average airline, and b) it always costs more than you think it's going to.  Tough to say at this point which one of those two things is more responsible for me pulling out all my hair by the roots.  I think I'm going to go for the latter, just because who doesn't love hocking their soul to Home Depot?  Don't get me started on the fuckwit that sold us flooring... seriously.  I could still shoot him...

My eyes are still hit and miss, but at least haven't gotten significantly worse.  (For those that didn't read previous posts, I have begun showing the signs of the Lebers Hereditary Optic Neuropathy that is in the family gene pool.  Good times.)  I can still drive and all that, just try to avoid driving in certain situations that are harder on my vision.  My eyes get tired more easily, and focus can be an issue (like reading... my computer default font setting is now jacked up to roughly large enough to be read from the house across the street), but I'm not Stevie Wonder yet, so I'm not complaining.  Much.  I mean, really, would I be me if I didn't complain at all?

I've been working on packing for the last week or so.  I hate packing with the passion of a thousand burning suns.  I don't hate UNpacking, mind you... if you need help unpacking and getting settled in, I'm your girl!  But packing?  I'd rather be trampled by epileptic elephants.  I'm just too type-A to pack... I get caught up in EACH and EVERY box, trying to pack exactly the right things together, in EXACTLY the right way, and before you know it the process is moving at roughly the speed of syrup rolling uphill.  But I've gotten a lot done, in spite of my packing disorder, so I think it'll all be okay.

On the plus side, I just realized I may have picked up some poison ivy this weekend at Daddy's lake house.  Have I ever mentioned how allergic to poison ivy I am?  As in I-have-to-get-shots-and-am-left-with-scars kind of allergic?  I so hope I'm wrong...

Well, guess this takes care of my little update.  I know it's been awhile, but life's been insane.  I'd say I'll be doing better from now on, but I think my record on sticking to that is pretty ugly, and I don't want to tempt the universe (or any readers) into striking me with lightning, so I'll just say that hopefully it won't be so long till the next posting.

I hear boxes calling my name.  Bastards.

I Think in Songs

It's true. When a mood takes me, for good or for ill (usually the latter, sometimes the former), music calls me and rolls through my mind. I've always been very musically connected, and it draws such strong emotional responses from me. It's either a sign of sensitivity or that I should be sharing a room with someone named Sybil... Crapshoot!

As I sit here now on my couch, I have a variety of songs playing over and over through my head. 'Everybody Hurts' by REM, 'Call Me when You're Sober' by Evanescence, 'Give Me a Reason (to love you)' by Portishead, 'Fog' by Trampled Under Foot, 'At Last' by Etta James, 'Into the Mystic' by Van Morrison, 'Cool Change' by Little River Band... it's a busy place, my head. I should install traffic signals. Or Valium dispensers...

Oh, and on a side-note? I'm on day three of successfully taking steps to quitting smoking. For the past three days I have smoked less than half, or thereabouts, my normal amount! I figure it's a good way to start, and I'm glad I'm making progress as it stands right now. Here's hoping it helps me in the ways it needs to.

What a week...

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Ah

Oh, test results just came in, btw. Positive.
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And so it goes...

There's a song that says 'I thought I knew what love was... what did I know?' (Two points to anyone who can name the song and artist without the aid of the all-powerful internet)

There are as many theories and assertions as to the nature of love, positive or negative, as there are grains of sand on any given beach. Maybe they're all right, and all wrong. My opinion on that changes moment to moment, kind of like my desire to cut my hair off. I don't think there's much about love that is certain, but I think I've figured out a few things to ponder, anyway. Maybe they'll ring true... or maybe I should go back to making snarky remarks about the asshat in the truck that cut me off on my way to the post office.

Love avoids injury. Not because it HAS to, not out of a resented obligation or a sense of being controlled or restrained, but because it WANTS to. This doesn't mean at the expense of one side's well-being or at any cost, but simply that when it's doable without inflicting undue damage on oneself, one tries to protect that which one loves.

Love comforts. If love sees pain, love wants to reassure, to communicate that love is, in fact, still there, still a haven. One doesn't have to agree with the point of view of the hurting party to simply embrace them and say, 'I am here to see this through WITH you.' I'm coming off as too idealistic, aren't I? Bear with me...

Love is accountable. When hurts aren't avoided, whether on purpose or by accident, love takes responsibility for its actions and works to make amends. Love understands that it may take awhile to repair the damage, but that the process starts with 'this is the wrong that I did', and goes from there.

Love listens.

Love doesn't leave you alone.

Love looks across the table and sees a partner, not an opponent. Love knows that winning isn't everything, and sometimes isn't a victory at all.

Love thinks ahead.

Well, just a few of my thoughts. It's all subjective.

How 'bout that weather?

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Conspiracy

Valentine's Day sucks. Hard. Hallmark should be shot, along with every florist and jewelry company conspirator, for turning into this big goddamned deal, because where does that leave those of us that DON'T get flowers or long mushy phone calls or candlight dinners or whatever? I'll tell you where...

Raiding the spork drawer.

Just sayin'.

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Bah Humbug

Or words to that effect, anyway.

I've only got a minute, so this, like the last one, will be brief.  Big surprise, right?  You know where the complaint box is... ---->>>>>>

Anyway.  My eyes... well, they're still functional, if a bit challenged now.  I don't drive often at night anymore, though can/will if I really have to.  I have blurring issues here and there, and trouble focusing on details that I could easily focus on just three or four months ago.  Reading, one of my favorite things, is a bit harder now (sometimes flat out impossible).  It all fluctuates, as this lovely genetic disease hasn't quite decided on how it's going to progress or how far it's going to go.  I have a moderately large occlusion in my left eye... not like a solid block, but a grey/blurry area.  I can see through it, but it's distorted, like there's mist covering that spot in my eye.  The disease is called LHON (Leber's Hereditary Optic Neuropathy), or Leber's Optic Atrophy.  As of now, I'm waiting on DNA testing to confirm the diagnosis, but Mom has it, and women always pass it on to their children, whereas men NEVER pass it on to their children.  Nice, right?  Anyway.  Just having the gene doesn't mean one will go blind, as some people simply carry it in a dormant state, never having any effect on their vision.  My sister and my niece, for example.  But then there's the VERY small part of the gene-bearing population that the gene chooses to go active in.  It appears that I'll be one of those, although the specialists I've seen are still reluctant to commit to that.  They give me lots of 'Well, we're PRETTY sure that's what you've got', and 'Well, we've eliminated all the other possibilities with the tests we just did', but they still dance away from committing to 'This IS what is wrong with your eyes.'  Typical men... allergic to commitment.  So overall, it's a giant basket of WOOT! 

*insert 'you've got to be fucking kidding me' face here*

Anyway.  I'm alive, still functional, and trying to figure everything out.  Maybe the eye thing won't get any worse.  Maybe it will render me completely blind.  I have no way of knowing, and neither do the doctors.  I do love uncertainties.  Either way, I'll probably remain the smartass that we all know and love.  The world would probably fall right off its axis if I tried to be anything else.  Natural order of things, you know. 

And now I get to go fight the unwashed masses for last minute Christmas shopping needs.  I know, I know... should have done it earlier, blah blah blah.  Bite me.  I'm going to go staple some spikes on my boots, grab a sock with a few rolls of quarters dropped down in it, and head to the mall.  It's really the only way to handle this situation.  You have a better idea?

Ho ho ho.

So...

Well, there is news. Kind of. It looks like I'm going blind. Hereditary thing. Still waiting for DNA test results, but doctor says it's likely.

I'm processing.
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Carpe Diem

Well, it's been awhile again, but I was on a roll for a little bit, anyway. Life's been messy. Imagine that *insert eye roll here*

Let's see... to catch you up: Mark and I hit a rough patch, but are doing well now. I'm thankful for that. Praline, the calico kitten that adopted us in January, had to be taken to the Humane Society. It was just two weeks after I had to take the kitten I rescued, so it was a shitty month. It couldn't be helped. I tried and tried to get her to adapt to being part of our household, but she wouldn't stop fighting with the other three cats, and then a few months ago started peeing all over the carpet. REGULARLY. I can't live like that. The smell was HORRIBLE, and she would. not. STOP. I tried everything, and she just refused to curb her enthusiasm for urinating on the floor, to the point of saturating carpet, padding, and SUBFLOORING. *sighs* So off she went. Some cats just can't shake the feral...

Connor is doing pretty well in school so far this year, and he's also growing like a weed. He'll be taller than me within a year, I have no doubt. He's only a couple of inches off, as it stands now. He's entirely too excited about that. I had to break it to him that no matter how big he gets, I'm still Mom, and he'll never be THAT big. Hate to disillusion him, but the Mom card trumps EVERYTHING.

There are some looming medical issues I am having to investigate. May be something, may turn out to be nothing. I'll keep y'all posted when I know more.

I'll try and write more later. Gotta go into an appointment now. Meh.

And I still need to find that winning lottery ticket...

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God

Shittiest day. Just dropped kitten off at the Humane Society. Can't stop crying.
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Feels Like...

... a Monday. I know it's not, but it feels like it. I've got a raging case of the blues, my heart is cracked, I'm tired, underweight, have a fever, etc. Ugh. I think I need a vacation, but short of winning the lottery, I'm not liable to be taking one. Maybe someone will just adopt me. Anyone looking to take on a 40 year old brunette with a 12 year old son, 3 cats? That both thinks AND talks too much and has various and sundry entertaining mood swings? The brunette, not the 12 year old or the cats. Well, sometimes them, too... just to keep you on your toes.

I swear, if my life got easier, my head would probably implode from the inability to process.

Meh.

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