Fortunate Weakling is Fortunate

So Friday night, I began coughing.  I took all my allergy meds and reasoned that perhaps they’re worse right now and I need to move to daily treatment. I didn’t sleep well. I coughed a lot and spent from about early Saturday from the bed to the bathroom to the bed again. I slept until about 10 and upon rising, felt poorly. Because, I thought, I had not slept well. I thought perhaps some exhaustion, some dehydration…

The Mister turned on the air conditioning and I almost froze to death (!!!) so I went out on the porch to warm my bones. (!!!)

Not being one to let feeling poorly stop me, I set out to work in my yard. Just one strip. Just a lil.
That went faster than expected, so I did a few more sections.  It was 88 degrees outside and I never did sweat. If you know me but at all, this was not a good sign.

Yeah. So a fever, chills, a sore throat — well it was only sore when I breathed — a wretched cough, some nausea, body aches… three days of that crap. Weekend plans? What? The coughing was the worst. Even now, it’s enough to stop me in my tracks, enough that people ask me, “Are you okay?” but over the weekend, it was body-wracking, muscle-spasm-ing, rib-cracking pulmonary violence.

Zero stars, would not recommend. Or, if you’re being annoyingly positive — Top Notch Virus, splendid in its replication.

I am not good at being sick. All I do is worry about what’s causing the sick and how long I’ll be sick. It’s bad for my anxiety. Bigtime.

I was a sick kid. Lots of pink penicillin and yellow sippy cups. In rebellion, I tried the “rub some dirt on it” method when I left home and this did not work out for me. It just didn’t. We don’t need to get into it. My mother was never wrong in taking me to the doctor, I simply wanted to live more freely, with less intervention, without all the special. I would make my own decisions, see? It was all very YOLO and shit. And I learned the hard way.

No doctor has ever said to me, about me, “It will run its course. Hydrate and rest.”
Doctors have said that to me about my children, but not about me. On the other hand, I have had many doctors tell me I waited too long, blah blah blah, take these horse pills, let’s re-evaluate in 90 days, we’ll be performing emergency surgery, blah blah blah.

I’ve gotten better about choosing to go, choosing to surrender. I’ve heard that’s more important as we age. I am not going to say I’m good at it. Yet. I still err on the side of ‘it’ll pass’. This one is passing.

I’m a weakling. Without modern medicine, I’da done died twenty times over. I’m freakin fortunate regardless. I may fall ill a lot, but I’m a speedy healer. Practice makes perfect!

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A Tiny Tale of Tuesday

The Mister is cooking dinner, which gives me time to blog without ‘missing’ anything. Well, he’s frying bacon and his eggs, cause that is so time-consuming, while cooking scrambled eggs and toast takes all of five whoppin minutes.

I don’t have much in the way of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) but I don’t like to miss out on my people. My friend Lola always laughs when anyone uses the phrase “my people,” but it’s like, the best phrase. Everyone has “their peoples” hm?
Introvert me, I’m very supportive of everyone else’s FOMO. yeah, you should totally go do that, but i can’t, i have to stay home and catch up on blogland.

Sassy is watching some supernatural show. I can’t keep them straight. They all watch them. Different ones. Young pretty people in nearly constant crises because leprechauns are preying on dogs so the werewolves are uniting to usurp the banshee queen who is bringing demons up from the underworld before the unicorn loses its virginity at midnight on the annual vampire’s ball and the amulet/sword/chalice is lost to humankind forever. I made up those plot lines, but trust me, I am not exaggerating. If I look up, out of context, they look ridiculous. They’re always fighting, fucking, or dramatically pausing. High drama. So addictive.


Clearly, I don’t judge them. I, too, enjoy make-believe and their shows give me time to read and write here without actually experiencing FOMO.

Moo is performing. Her concert, she said, “Is lame. Don’t come.” One of the songs, we saw at competition, is the same word over and over ad nauseam and just when you think it’s ending, it starts again, and then again, and then when you’ve given up thinking it will end, one more time. It’s lovely musically, for about 20 measures, then you start mentally making your grocery list. If you want to listen to something while you watch paint dry, I’d recommend it with four stars.

The weather, while nice today, has generally been shit. Like overall, groan-worthy.

In contrast to that, work has generally been good. Like overall, pleasantly productive. All last week was good, too. Within the next month, four of us will take vacation, overlapping here and there. I do not know what that will be like, but I am hopeful since things are feeling more efficient than they were a month ago. Also, if we don’t vacation, we may spontaneously combust or suffer a mental break and start watering the mail and answering the plants, mk?

Oh look, dinner!


Off I go. — I’ll eat while I try to catch up, but I can’t type AND eat, not with these hands.

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SoCS — Fall From the Sky

Lately, what falls from the sky is rain. Rain, rain, rain. I love rain. It’s the best. Except when there’s too much of it as there has been in previous years and thusly I do concern myself that this May will be too rainy as in previous years. Then I don’t get my things planted and if I’m not up to my ears with basil and over my head with sunflowers by August, I do feel a bit sad.

The other day when the sky was falling, I tried to be like Dan and take pictures of pretty reflections in puddles. I am no Dan.
I will practice and one day, I will get a good one, I just know it.

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The rain is pretty on my tulips. This is one of my few remaining Queen of the Night tulips, the very dark purple people call black – surely a delicacy for squirrels. I’ve lost so many I don’t plant them anymore. When they’re gone, they’re gone.

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Went out to collect a few of my pinks — these are Darwin hybrids, some French name with too many vowels for me to remember. It’s right up there with oreilles, but like, even moooore vowels.

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While I was out there, I saw my patio is fully of whirlygigs,  helicopters, maple propellers, whathaveyou. Those are also falling from the sky, sky being trees.

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The other day, I was pulling out of my driveway and saw a big black bird hunting a squirrel. I have spent a lot of time staring at my trees, but THAT I had never seen. I told Moo about it and I said crow, but she said, “Uh huh, raven.” If Moo says it was a raven, then it was probably a raven. Well I was scared for my squirrel, but he climbed into a knothole and PHEW! Watch out for big black birds swooping in from the sky!

We’re a bit behind where we usually are seasonally. It’s usually been warmer by now. I’m wearing a sweatshirt and socks and it’s too cold to have the windows open. I’m not complaining, it’s not like summer won’t come, and I’m no fan of the hot. Hot also falls from the sky, heavy and blinding and dangerous to my skins. Ugh.

If it’s still not hot here, I’ll be hot on vacation. Vacation does not fall from the sky. You have to earn vacation. When I was interviewing for my job I told them this summer, I would need to take vacation when my husband takes his vacation and the kids are out of school, so that we can all vacation together, as a FAMILY which my previous boss struggled with. Apparently.

Yay Vacation! Yay My Mommy! My mother still lives in The South. I know, it’s very sad how I’ll be so hot. I haven’t seen my mother in years. Years.

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And there’s a beach there. And also oysters. Oysters do not fall from the sky. If they did, I would lie down, my mouth wide open, like Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. I never saw the movie, just love the book. When I was little, that book cracked me up!

I think I’ve run out of steam – stream? on things that fall from the sky. How bout more of what comes up from the ground?

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘fall from the sky’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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SoCS – Exposed

It’s been eight-and-a-half years since I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder. In all the time I’ve been aware of having anxiety disorder, I have been a careful student of its manifestations. What I know is that when I tell myself some physical symptom is just anxiety often enough and long enough, my anxiety stops bothering me about that particular and switches to another.

It’s been thirteen years and a month since I was diagnosed with OCD. I’ve long since gotten the promotion to OCD tendencies. I’m still super good at obsessing, but less with interference into my daily life. When I was a youth, people called it dwelling. Dwelling sounds nicer, reminiscent of thatched roofs and chipped paned windows, but it’s more like being locked in. Stuck.

I have stopped obsessively cleaning. I stopped that in 2012. As far as I’m concerned that’s one of my greatest accomplishments. There’s a whole mess, haha mess, of words there, but that’s not where we’re going.

Motherhood keeps me leaning over the hole looking in. Also not where we’re going, but worth mentioning.

I know, as well as any of you, that the thoughts in my head are irrational, but that isn’t enough to stop me from having them, although most often it’s enough to stop me from acting on them.

Car crashes do happen every day.
People do get abducted.
Houses do burn down.

If I never leave the house and never let my kids leave the house and none of us ever ride in a car, how much life can we live? So like, we buy insurance and give the kids phones and don’t leave hot things plugged in after use.  Space heater, iron, hot tools. I don’t run the dryer when I’m not home. I don’t bake stuff in my oven all day while I’m gone. Crock pot? Hell no.

I have never failed to secure the hot things in my home. Not once. I’ve turned around more times than I can count and I’ve never failed. I’ve driven back to work to make sure I unplugged my space heater. I’ve even texted my boss to ask her to check! I’ve driven back home to assure myself that no one left any hot danger. Not once have I found hot danger. It’s irrational.

Do not use your logic to remind me there’s electricity running through every wall in my house or that there are flames in the furnace and the water heater, or that I live in a wooded area or that lightning can start a fire, cause I know, okay, but I don’t obsess about any of that.

what if moo left the kettle on? or her oatmeal pot? did she have the iron out this morning? did i unplug my straightening iron? omg, did sassy straighten her hair in the main bath? think, joey, was her hair straight this morning? well you’re going to have to go back. well that’s just stupid, isn’t it? do you really want to make that merge onto the ramp AGAIN? have you ever found anything on, ever? no. then why must you check? because obsessing. must relieve obsession. anxiety paralyzing. could happen. is possible. 


So, like Rachel and the crazy fire/flood/baby/bird story, I recently did a very good job at checking all the hot things in the house (supportive ritual occurs one time) and felt confident in my departure. And then I drove for about five minutes and began to wonder if I had replaced the batteries in the charger.

Anxiety couldn’t fucking let me win one, could it? No. I said NO. I said to myself if the kitten has batted loose batteries off the counter and they then ran into errant silverware on the floor and started a fucking fire, well so be it, because i never liked that tile anyway.

I mean — What are the odds? Isn’t that right up there with fire/flood/baby/bird? I think so.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘exp’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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#ThursdayDoors — Good Intentions

If I only had a door…

Okay, I have a lot of doors. I may even have hordes of doors, as I have been hoarding them, because

If I only had the time…

Well I just don’t. I mean, we all get the same amount of time in each day, but I’ve been working over a lot, some because work is crazed and some because I have been out for appointments, and if you can imagine, while I’m off seeing doctors or hauling kids to doctors, no one does my work.

Every day, Moo tells me stories and Sassy spills the tea. Can’t miss that stuff.
I must affectionate my beloved, the children, and the animals.

Bitches gotta eat, and sometimes they gotta cook. If there’s enough goin on, a bitch may even have to do dishes. Sometimes a bitch does a random chore a day. Sometimes people come to our house. Sometimes they just drop by, like a bitch ain’t even tryina chill on her sofa with some grilled cheese and a crime drama. I sometimes choose to read. Sometimes choose to read blogs.

I try to squeeze in some exercise, with fresh air if I can, because tryina stay baby hippopotamus size so I may live longer, as livin longer will increase the opportunity to consume more ice cream.

Then there are things I want to do, like paint my nails or write a letter to a friend. Prolly just leave nail polish on my side table for two weeks and carry the pretty card around in my bag for a month.
*has a whole drawer of fings for Orb*
*has a fing on the bookshelf for Benson*
*has a card in her bag for True*
Will she mail them? Will she?

My friends and extended family don’t get my attention much. I mailed my mother a note in a pretty card, put a photo of her granddaughter it, and when she got it, she was so happy, she acted like I had given her another grandchild. Clearly I have neglected my mother.

I see memes on social media about how we’re never too busy to make time for the people who are truly important and I think oh shit, that might be about me and then I think I don’t even make enough time for myself, so if it’s about me, they gonna hafta let it go, like I test the stretch of my green trousers because pad Thai is better than yoga, like I let my right eyebrow grow under my hair like a psychotic centipede, like how I am overdue for my blood panel.

Unfortunately, adult responsibilities enter the time zone as well. No one wants to do things or or deal with things or make phone calls about things but there’s important shit ya just gotta do. For me, it’s about 95% first world problems, 4% actual problems, and 1% whiny bitch wishes she was a more powerful witch who could replicate herself so that at least one of her could just enjoy one fucking moment of peace.

There must always be Om.

People be all, Jesus Take The Wheel, and I’m over here like, “ANYONE, take the list!” Fortunately, The Mister does sometimes take the list. Heart-heart-gush-gush.

It seems I can only do two to three, maybe four of the non-essential things per evening. Except on Friday. On Friday, I can do most things? Fridays are magical.

Many nights, I just want my comfies, my bed, my husband, and some tv. My happy place is rubbing my feet across the quilt while I rest in the crook of The Mister’s arm, my head on his chest. Cue the sleep. Mmm, sleeeeeeeep. Have I mentioned I’m a much better sleeper these days?

I cannot seem to get up earlier to link a blog post. I can get up early on the weekend, which I do NOT understand, and which I recognize may signify I’ve reached adulthood, but there is nothin, I mean nothin that can get me out of bed one moment earlier. One day, I got ready faster and I was pissed, because I could have stayed in my bed another seven minutes.

This month has been so busy, that when I saw Earth Day in my social media feeds, I was all, they must do it earlier in europe… and then I realized …yeah, five to seven hours earlier, holy crap it’s almost may!

How we got here, I dunno. I feel like there was a lotta typin and drivin? Non? Two months without doors. I swear, I’ve had the BEST of intentions.


park shed


dr’s office


tipsy trolley

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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Until the Time of Drill

I kinda wanna nap. I figured I might blog since The Mister is watching Aquaman, which, as far as I can tell, has a run time of eight hours and endless minutes. The war will never end. And while unending war may be realistic, the part where Aquaman stops fighting to kiss the girl with the crimson hair is ridiculous. Men don’t stop to kiss during war. They don’t even stop to kiss during sporting events. Everyone knows men like most to kiss women while we are cooking or all dressed up, ready to walk out the door.

I got up before nine, which is stupid and probably why I wanna nap. We got coffee and my prescription (cause coffee don’t cure everything) and went to hardware store and then to Target to get our Bunneh on and then to get my other prescription (I’m okay, I promise) and then we went home to start the chili and then I seared us up some chicken thighs and mushrooms and made cheesy quinoa and warmed bread. OH, yeah, I might also want a nap because I’m full. Hm.

Anyway, the girls wanted their chicken removed from the bone. I don’t know why this is a thing. Do I seeeeeem like the kinda mom who will remove chicken from the bone for her teenagers? Someone else has raised the chicken, butchered the chicken, cleaned the chicken, delivered the chicken to the store, then I done bought it and cooked it, you would think eating it should be the easy part, but no.

Halfway through linner, Moo got up to get a soda (I already had a soda, Duh) and The Mister asked her for a soda and Sassy asked her for a soda, and verily, Moo came back with three cans of soda. The Mister made a sad face at Moo.

“You have to pour his into a glass with ice. He’s a pussy,” I said.
“Then he’ll have to take my chicken off the bone. We’ll be pussies together,” Moo said.
And thusly, her daddy did take her chicken off the bone.

It’s cold and rainy and windy here today. I like it. It’s doing a bit too much wind for the tender white tulips, but it’s fine for me.


Also, wanna see what my picked tulip’s up to?


Yes, that is a spider up there on the petal. I wasn’t wearing my specs when I took the shot. I bet that spider saw me just fine, what with his six eyes or whatever.

The Mister is doing hardware things. I hear a drill. I have to help. I always help.

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It Is Good

I picked my first tulip yesterday. And then I photographed it. And I posted it for the prompt of the day was pink. And it was GOOD.

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I know, right? Even I put my link on the stem. So proud. S’mine. I did that.

You know what else I did this week? Worked my ass off. (Ass photo unavailable)

I do like this: I get out of bed ever-so-reluctantly, I wrangle the octopus on my head, put on cute shoes, and sing all the way to work.

What I’m listening to this week:

Over and over. I need my spleen to rattle. Also, there’s some deep shit in there. It is good.

Then I get out of my car and I give myself this pep talk, like I am a supastah


k joey, go in there and do your very best to work the work and you will get the work done

And I do, indeed, get the work done. Not all at once and new post-its replace the old post-its and it is good. I’m thinkin bout gettin some cutesy patterned stickies. Fun is good. Take it and make it when and where you can.

The Mister gets today off because Wall Street and Jesus. It is a Good Friday for him.

Because Love of Joey, he will do two loads of laundry and go to the goddamned grocery store. Also good.

Tell you what is not good?
What the hell for?
Y’all got enough of that, yeah?

Shh, put your headphones in and let yo spleen rattle.

Happy Friday Everyone! Make it good!

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SoCS — Lip Tulip

This is the time of year when I pull into my driveway all smiley because the tulips are coming up.

Although, the other day, I pulled in and my daughter’s boyfriend was parked in the drive which distracted me from my tulips. Apparently he was mortified, while I tee-hee-hee’d. He couldn’t back his tiny car out of our enormous drive with me alongside him so I had to completely back out and turn into the street in front of my neighbor’s house so that he could get out. He should maybe bring her home more often — he can get more practice backing out, they can have lip-to-lip time, and I can avoid the carline — it’d be good for everyone, see?

Anyway, off lips to tulips:

Most of them aren’t open yet, but the white ones have been up and open about a week now. By the time we clear the brown and gray from the lawn, all the colors will have opened and they’ll be at the height of their blooms.

I love tulips so very much. I plant more every year. They are my favorite flower.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘lip’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Yeah, I Lift, Bro. I Lift People Up.


I live with people who lift. They say things like…

I don’t fuckin know what they say. Some of them don’t parle croissant or habla taco, and I don’t speak lift.
“Say things about weightlifting.”
“Like what?”
“Say the words I don’t know because I don’t know and I can’t think of any.”
“Today I power cleaned and hang cleaned and strict pressed and benched and did kettle bell rows.”
“I dead lifted and did shoulder rows.”
“Yesterday we did Russian twists and shoulder shrugs.”
“And close-grip lat pull downs.”
“I did supine pull-ups.”

And I’m like “Kettle? These salt and vinegar kettle chips are so crunchy!” Oh yeah, sometimes while they lift, I swim or walk on the treadmill, and sometimes I’ll even use the nautilus equipment cause I am a little middle-aged white woman who wants to keep her original bones, but then I go home and seriously, I try NOT to lift things. I like to feel light and buoyant.

Is the crushing weight of the world not heavy enough?
I have heard the lifters say they have to lift more because they didn’t feel any pain.
Who the fuck are these people?


For those of you who know me, I would rather run than lift weights. And for those who do not know me, I only run when it’s imperative, like chasing and tackling a toddler before she reaches the street, like running and sliding into the back door to prevent the kitten escaping. Occasionally, I find I am running on accident, because I’m having fun playing, but all these times are rare and short.

I also live with runners. They say, “I ran X kilometers,” and since I don’t understand running or kilometers, I say, “I typed about that long.”

I walk fast. If I need to get there faster than I walk, I drive, okay?

Running makes my heart beat too fast, triggering anxiety. It makes me sweat and my rosacea flares and my boobs hit one another and there’s chaffing and I get thirsty and then I have to wash my hair. No, thank you.


Furthermore, I drink Gatorade only when I am ill.

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Remember when you were a kid and your mom took you somewhere to get something special and you asked, “How many can I get?”
Yeah. My kids, Gatorade, every time we go.

I recently got a damn tetanus shot. The Tdap. Yay, cause don’t nobody want diseases that kill us, but also, boo, cause those damn things hurt. I don’t mean the tiny poke of ow with the injection, but the hard, tender bump after. Oh that doesn’t happen to you? How nice. In case you have not, as of yet, figured out how special I am, IF THERE IS A REACTION TO A THING, I WILL HAVE IT.

Living in my body be like this:
For Other People “May cause…”
For Me “You gonna have…”

I’m just glad I’m not in the group that can’t have the vaccine.

It didn’t hurt right away, which made me think they maybe make kinder shots now. The following day, the tenderness inflamed and I made Mentor feel my bump. Then I made my kids feel it. All three ladies gently slid their hands over the bump and made the same surprised-sad face when they felt it.

When The Mister got home, I made him feel my bump and HE PRESSED INTO IT and said he felt nothing.
It should be noted that Moo and I could actually see the bump through my cardigan, but The Mister couldn’t feel it.

So later, when the lifters were showing off their big muscles, I slid my hand across The Mister’s bicep and I said, “I don’t feel anything.”
Happy Friday Everyone! 

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I Could Never Be a Breck Girl

Oh that was such a Tuesday. Good mercy.

This weather though! Windows open at night, warm sun on my face in the day! Ooher! Slept like a baby last night, 8 solid hours. Woke up tired. How tired? I drank a cup of actual caffeinated coffee.

Work just be mayhem. People quietly clicking and typing and getting papercuts like whoa.

Been tough times on my upper extremities lately. Overextended my right thumb trying to open a box, got two papercuts, tore a cuticle on a cutting board, slept wrong and got a crick in my right shoulder — then some Paul Bunyan-lookin mofo came into the office and shook my hand like he was so pleased to meet me, he’d planned to take my arm with him when he left! When all that was healed, the doctor gave me a tetanus shot in the left.

Today my hair is somethin you’d see in a shampoo commercial from the 70s and I’m the Before girl who can’t get a job or a date or whatever, because is it straight? is it wavy? is it curly? kinky? big? flat? frizzy? Yes, all.

I picked up my kid at six and said, “Ya know what I like?”
And I did not pass go and I did not go to the gym or the park and you couldn’t convince me to, either. Even if you have big brown eyes and fluffy ears and you have indeed been a very good girl all day. Mama no walkies. Mama sit.


Now, SHE could be a Breck Girl.

I had to go home and put on my pajamas and read blogs and wait for my husband to bring me a foods. Three waffles, three eggs scrambled, three bacons, and four strawberries. Yes, you read that right. (Okay, so I gave Sadie the floppy bacon bits, but don’t tell The Mister. He cooks on Tuesdays now, and we don’t wanna muck that up!)

How’s your weather? Whatcha been eatin? What’s up with your hair? How’s work?

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