In which I relate the story of the holiday.
Wednesday night it was dead as hell at work, but nine o’clock eventually arrived. I closed up, set the alarm, and once in the parking lot jumped into my brother’s waiting truck.
We went to a bar. We went to another bar. We went to a third bar, where we sat in with the band and completely shredded a blues chart. Then we went home and hung out in my room, playing my guitar and being drunk. I finally went to bed around four-thirty, but Jay-rob Jethro stayed up all night.
When I got up around ten-thirty the next day, Sue & Blue and Kathy & Gale were all here. (Sue and Kathy are my aunts and were raised in this house.) At a quarter after one we headed over to Dave & Reva’s (Dave’s my uncle) for Thanksgiving dinner. The mashed potatoes were amazing; Reva used to own a catering business and can cook. (She also made a spinach salad just for me, the family’s only vegetarian.)
Eventually Jethro and I came home to Gramma’s house, where we both went to bed early. Well, he went to bed early; I had to eat more mashed potatoes first. Mmm, garlic.
Friday I had to work. Again, it was dead, and I was lucky if I took four calls an hour. Nine o’clock took forever to arrive, so to pass the time I not only upgraded WordPress (you may have noticed the ‘box was down for awhile last night) but got Jethro to buy himself a domain name so he can start blogging about beer. I can’t wait ’til he gets some content happenin’!
Since it was Friday night, after he picked me up we went to The Mill and had a couple of drinks. I also had a Gardenburger and fries. We stood outside near the fire. We talked about geek shit, working in call centers, and about being the support deities we are. Then we went to Safeway for a 6-pack, and then we returned to the house where we spent the next few hours in the front room messing around with Gramma’s computer.
First we put in a NIC card so she could use my DSL rather than the long-distance dial-up she’s been using. Then we downloaded drivers for the card off the ‘net onto the laptop, but I had to go find a floppy (I only had one – an old ’98 boot disk) to transfer the files. Gramma’s machine decided it wanted a Windows system disk before it would deign to install the NIC card drivers, but of course I have several of those.
Then we updated AVG but that was a nightmare; the thing has only has 32 mb of RAM and sounds like it’s grinding coffee because everything has to be written to disk. Even with 256k DSL connection it took an hour to download the virus app update; the thing simply doesn’t have enough memory to do anything.
Eventually Jethro decided he’d just move Gramma’s hard drive into my old rig (the one our dad sold me several years ago). I’d pulled the hard drive out two years ago (I use it in a USB enclosure as auxiliary storage for my laptop), so the rig was just sitting in the attic being full of Iowa dust. I went to bed at two-thirty and left him to it.
At four-thirty, the little bastard woke me up from a dead sleep to show me a photo he’d found of our grandfather. The image looked like it was of Jethro himself: he looks exactly like Grampa did in that picture. Pretty neat, but I didn’t get back to sleep until the sun was fully up. (Brothers? Are evil.)
At nine-thirty this morning, Gramma woke me to tell me she was headed off to the clinic and to the grocery store. Ten minutes after she left I finished waking up and thought, “Well, I’m a total shithead. The woman’s headed to the doctor on a Saturday, which means she’s not feeling well at all, and I didn’t even offer to drive.” When she got back she had groceries and a ten-day supply of antibiotics; apparently a little vein in her calf had ruptured and the area was infected. She says it feels like a deep bone bruise, and she’s taking Advil for the next ten days along with her anti-Bs.
We put the groceries away and I made broccoli-cheddar soup and she made a lunch meat sandwich and we sat and ate lunch together. Then I did dishes, started laundry, and broke down the cot in the stateroom and put away the bedding. I helped Gramma wrap a Christmas gift. I cleaned my room. I transferred laundry to the dryer. I went into the front room (where Jethro is still asleep) and retrieved my laptop. Did more laundry.
Now I’m thinking I’ll watch a DVD. I have four borrowed from Reva and one from Netflix that all need to be watched. Later, we’ll all have breakfast for dinner: eggs, hash browns, and sausage (veggie sausage for me, natch!) because that’s what Gramma has a hankerin’ for.
Jethro says he may hang around for a few days because Gramma needs X-mas lights hung and her gutters cleaned and he’s currently unemployed so doesn’t have to rush back to PDX. Yay! (Brothers? Are awesome.)
In which you sign up and we all exchange CDs and have lots of fun!
My woman-hed Deboka is looking for new music, so I’m building this playlist the other day. I think, “I’m gonna send her one song for each letter of the alphabet! How fun is that!” Then I spend an hour having fun sorting and digging through my library, trying to find songs that start with V or X or Z, adding artists and removing duplicates, trying to make the most excellent Alphalist evar.
Here’s a sample of my Alphalist:
- Ah! Leah!, by Donny Iris
- Balamouk, by Les Yeux Noirs
- Come Get To This, by Marvin Gaye
- Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough, by Michael Jackson
- Everybody’s Talkin’, by Harry Nilsson
- …and so on.
After I created this bitchin’ playlist, I discovered that I really dig listening to it. And I want more! I want one from YOU! So I’m setting up a CD exchange for my beloved goblinboxers.
Here’s what you do:
- Make an A-Z playlist consisting of one song beginning with each letter of the alphabet. (If you don’t have a song in your library beginning with a particular letter – say Q or Z – double up on the letter before or the letter after.)
- Burn this bitchin’ playlist to CD.
- Send a copy to me.
- Send a copy to the other people who sign up (this part is optional).
- Check your mail! Get a CD from me! Maybe get CDs from the others!
Doesn’t it sound wicked fun to get all kinds of new stuff for your MP3 library? Especially from people you may not even know?! OF COURSE IT DOES!
So if you wanna play, leave a comment. Then email me your snailmail address and tell me if you want to exchange CDs only with me or with everyone else who signs up too. I’ll send the appropriate mailing addresses out to those who want to participate.
Come on, it’ll be fun!
In which I finally get around to it. Sort of.
Last summer I started writing a post about seeing Amma, my guru, and I promised to finish it and publish it. I never did. I think I still have a draft saved, but it’s one of those things that must be written immediately – before the feeling’s gone.
Embedded below is the trailer for a movie about Amma’s 50th birthday celebration, which was celebrated by two million devotees in southern India a few years ago. (Mother hugged nearly fifty thousand people in a marathon 21-hour sitting.) I suppose the trailer says well enough what I would have said in that never-finished post, things about love, compassion, stillness of mind, and the existence of suffering.
I bring Mother up because She will be back in the States in just four days, stopping first at Her ashram in Cali and then going to Michigan; it’s Her usual North American winter tour. I’ve had the grace to see Her in Michigan in November once or twice, but generally I only manage to see Her once a year.
I wish that I could see Her next week, but of course I haven’t got the money to travel, take time off from work. I’ll have to wait until the summer tour, wait until I can see Her in Seattle next year. I suppose the longing is good for me.
I met Her for the first time in Seattle, actually. She’ll probably raise Her eyebrows at me and grin, when I show up for darshan in Seattle instead of Iowa or Chicago. Last summer, She pulled me back into Her lap a couple of times and kissed me. I love Her so.
Someday I’ll have to get down to San Ramon. Even when I lived in nearby San Francisco, I never did make it to the ashram. If they allowed dogs I’d probably live there right now, and then I’d be getting to see my Mother next week!
om amriteswaryenamaha
In which I make book recommendations.
For Varenya, who asked what she could read that might prove to be as engaging as McCaffrey’s dragon books, I recommend
- Temeraire: In the Service of the King, a yummy trilogy by Naomi Novik,
…or one (or all!) of these Robin Hobbs trilogies:
- the Farseer trilogy,
- the Tawny Man trilogy (this one’s my favorite, I’ve read it through twice),
- or the Liveship Traders trilogy.
For Deboka, who wanted a list of ten books from me, here are (in no particular order) ten books (mostly sci-fi, a little fantasy, and a couple on philosophy/religion) I happen to love (which may or may not appeal to her in any way) that I think were good reads:
- Tigana, by Guy Gavriel Kay
- The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula K. Le Guin
- Otherland, by Tad Williams
- Daughter of Fire: A Diary of a Spiritual Training with a Sufi Master, by Irina Tweedie
- Distress, by Greg Egan
- The Myth of Male Power, by Warren Farrell
- Eon, by Greg Bear
- The Smoke Ring, by Larry Niven
- Catch 22, by Joseph Heller
- The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, by Ramakrishna
If anyone should want to know what I’ve been reading lately, they could look here or here.
In which my old girl from high school sent me this file for no apparent reason whatsoever!
That’s me! On the right! In the sweater! Wearing the glasses!
CAN YOU STAND IT?!??!?! *roflmao*
In which you already know way too much about it anyway, so this is my last post on the topic, I swear to God!
Tuesday morning I went to see my doctor for a post-op follow-up visit. He told me I could resume normal activities (which I interpreted to mean I could resume drinking cocktails). He said I may expect to be quite fatigued for the next couple of weeks while my body re-absorbs the endometrial tissue deliberately damaged during the ablation. He reminded me – yet again – that, while I am for all intents and purposes now sterile, ablation is not considered a birth control method and I’d better not get myself knocked up. And no “visitors” for another three weeks, either.
Luckily, I have no plans in that direction anyway. I mean, hello: I live in my grandmother’s attic. I don’t have a car, and I don’t even have a local tavern to frequent, so it’s not like I’m meeting any candidates (even if I was interested, which, after years of being nagged for sex, I am not). I think the sanctity of my sacristy will remain safely unsullied far beyond the proscribed (prescribed?) probationary period.
Did that last sentence totally amuse the hell out of you, too, or is it just me?
I’ll probably need to use panty liners for the next couple of weeks, he said, but after that there’s a likelihood that I’ll never have to buy feminine hygiene products again. I’m so fucking INTO that concept! I’ve bought enough Kotex in the past couple of years that I shouldn’t have to buy any more until at least 2010, I swear.
The uterus monster was a prolapsed polyp a bit bigger than his thumb, he said. It bled like a bitch when he cut it out, but he reports he did a good job removing its base during the ablation. (I take this to mean he’s hopeful that it won’t come back. God knows I don’t really want to undergo a hysterectomy; the recovery time for that shit is measured in weeks, not days.) Furthermore, he said, my endometrium was very, very thick. Which is why I bled a lot and all the time, and which is why having the roller ball ablation was a fantastic solution for me. I’m 39 and wasn’t planning on having kids anyway. Maybe five years ago, but certainly not now. Child-bearing is for the young and energetic and married; I’m entirely too set in my ways. Zero population growth and all that.
Overall, I feel totally kick-ass. My period is supposed to start on the 17th, but I doubt that it will. I’m not yet having the PMS symptoms I’m usually having by this time of the month (except for some random anxiety attacks), and my uterus is still healing. I bet I get a free pass this month.
Hopefully the next time I discuss the peachfish here on the ‘box, it will be to tell you that I found a nice friend who does interesting things in its vicinity, and NOT to tell you about any icky growths or disturbing gushes of fountaining blood! Can I get a hell yeah three times, my babies?
Update: I got a letter from the hospital today. They reviewed my charity application, and gave me 100% off! All I have to pay is the surgeon, the clinic, two labs, an assistant surgeon, and the anesthesiologist. I owe the hospital nothing! That’s five thousand dollars I don’t have to pay! OMG, I AM SO GRATEFUL.
In which I’m a geek with NEW CLOTHES!
Yesterday I went to my aunt & uncle’s to fix their network. They have cable DSL with a wireless modem. Basically all I did was run a couple of speed tests, call Charter and get their speed turned up to what they’re actually paying for, and change the outgoing mail server name on one of their two email accounts. Oh, and I deleted a bunch of junk they didn’t need, updated their security software, and installed Norman on the Vista machine. Easy peasy.
My aunt fed me a plate full of gourmet cheeses (OMG, the fucking goat’s milk brie! OMG!) and gave me three bags of clothes. My wardrobe literally doubled in one swell foop! I have tons of stuff to wear now! I have jeans! I have sun dresses! I have fancy stuff to wear to Christmas parties! It’s totally kick-ass!
I also don’t have enough room to put it all away. I have two laundry baskets full of clothes that won’t fit anywhere. Oh, the joys of overabundance. Hurumph.
When their network was happy, my aunt made pasta and we came over here to eat it and play pinochle with Gramma. I haven’t played pinochle in years. We even played double-deck, which was so fun I can’t even STAND myself.
I have a scrip for Darvocet that says I can take one every four hours. That’s six a day; I’ve only been taking two a day. But last night during pinochle the meds wore out, and damn if it didn’t suck, big time. I felt achy and sore all over like I’d been hit by very big, very soft bus. I didn’t dig it at all.
Yesterday morning, I suddenly had bruises in my calves from the stirrups… isn’t it weird how it took so long? (The day before, a muscle in my right foot spasmed non-stop for about ten hours… talk about annoying.) The body is so clever; it waits out the trauma to do the little stuff like have bruises.
The day after my surgery, an old friend of mine had a pacemaker installed. He and I, both high on Darvocet, spent a few hours texting each other jokes and cell phone pictures. (I am telling you, Darvo is a laff riot! Go get you some!)
Anyway, my aunt & uncle, they also loaned me four DVDs. So I’m going to finish integrating my new clothes into my room, make my bed, get a snack, and pop a vid into the laptop. I think my dog will probably be willing to cuddle with me while I watch a movie this afternoon. Dogs so totally rock.
In which I tell you all about it!
The alarm went off at ten of five. I got up, grabbed the clothes I’d laid out the night before, and went to take a shower. I took an antibiotic on my way through the kitchen.
Gramma drove me over to the hospital. I found Admitting, checked in, and was led by a volunteer to a room decorated with jungle wallpaper.
The nurse showed me around, said, “Oh, Dr. T will want a UA,” and then left so I could get into my backless gown and pee in a cup. When she returned, she covered me in heated blankets.
Gramma and I chatted for awhile about nothing, and I tried not to have a panic attack. (Having developed the stupid condition, I guess I’m stuck with it. Sometimes I get into a neurochemical feedback loop and have a hard time getting back out.) My nurse put in my IV. It hurt, so I said “Ow!” rather loudly. She took it out, talked with an adorable little student mini-nurse about how the needle had caught in the device somehow, and put in another. “You’ll probably have a bruise here,” she said, and taped my hand up.
I looked at the IV. “Eewh,” I said. “This grosses me out!” and put my hand under the blanket so I couldn’t see it any more. The tape was so tight my pinky went to sleep, so I loosened it without looking at it. I don’t mind looking at your IV, but the sight of a needle puncturing MY skin makes me feel all weird.
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In which I check in.
Apparently, making it to 39 without having ever been under makes me a statistical anomaly. Okay, I’m fine with that. I’m also greatly comforted by all your stories of not dying under anesthetic; thank you, guys.
My surgery prep sheet instructed me to take a laxative today. (Gah!) I had to go and buy some, because there weren’t any in the house. Really looking forward to that kicking in here during the next few hours… not.
This afternoon, a nurse called to say my lab work results indicate a bladder infection, so I had to walk over to the drug store and pick up some Cipro.
All these pills! Sheesh!
(I don’t think it’s a bladder infection, I think it’s the monster. Regardless, I’m on antibiotics.)
The hospital called too, to tell me how much I can expect their portion of the bill to be. You know what they said? FIVE. THOUSAND. DOLLARS. That’s just the hospital portion, and doesn’t include the SURGEON, ASSISTANT SURGEON, OR THE ANESTHESIOLOGIST. I hope they give me a steep goddamned discount.
In other news, I ordered DSL today. It’s only 256k but it’ll be in on Friday so I can spend the weekend in bed with my boyfriend, the Internet. My employer let me buy a used wireless modem for $20, too, which was way cool of them. Yay DSL!
In which suddenly I’m taking half the week off from work.
This morning I had a follow-up consultation with my doctor at 8:30.
My surgery is scheduled for the day after tomorrow! Ack!
I can’t eat anything after five on Tuesday, nor drink anything after midnight. I report to the hospital at six o’clock in the morning, for an 8 o’clock surgery to remove the tumor and do an ablation. They’re going to put me all the way under. Barring complications, I should be home in my own bed by two in the afternoon.
When all is said and done, I may find myself in debt to the tune six or eight grand… or maybe less. [You almost win, dad. Thank God I didn’t take you up on your bet.] I have applications – from both the doctor’s office and the hospital – that may give me a 40% discount from the former and up to 100% off of the latter’s invoices if I can prove myself to be poor enough. (I imagine I’ll be paying the anesthesiologist whatever s/he charges, because that bill will come from yet a third entity and I haven’t had anyone tell me to talk to that financial advisor.) Three bills for one procedure.
Most frustrating is that they can’t even tell me in advance exactly what it will cost. Until I get all my paperwork in, they can’t tell me what they’ll be charging me because the fees slide based on income. It’s all terribly vague, but apparently they’ll let me make payments. And the surgery has to be done, so one plunges onward in spite of obstacles.
I had to give blood and pee in a cup this morning. They poked me in the arm with a needle before I was even completely awake, which while necessary was rather rude of them, I thought. I also had to read a lot of forms and sign things and see two different financial counselors in two buildings. All before my eggs and toast with tea and milk.
I’m stoked about the ablation, because it means my periods will be lighter, or, perhaps, if I’m lucky, non-existent. Non-existent! Can you imagine?!? NO BLEEDING AT ALL!!! {cue: snoopy dance}
Let me tell you, the idea makes me positively giddy. No more eight or nine day-long periods. No more hideous flooding when I stand up after sitting for awhile. No more clotting! No more panic attacks from the fear of bleeding to death! I realize it sounds strange, but I really couldn’t be more excited about getting the lining of my uterus sanded out! (Fuck menstruation! It sucks.)
Okay, so they don’t really sandblast the uterine lining, they cauterize it with hot water. Whatever. Point is, relief from the hell I’ve been going though! Hurrah! {cue: ticker tape parade and dancing in the streets}
The idea of going under anesthesia freaks me out, of course, because someone has to be a member of that statistically significant set who never wakes up… though I suppose I won’t know if I don’t wake up, so maybe it’s no big deal. Also, it’s totally gross to think of one’s body as a non-conscious piece of meat in surgery, lying there all flaccid and inert while strangers do weird things to it. (Eewh! I’ve just grossed myself out. Heh.) I’ve decided not to think about it any more.
Long story short, I’ll be lying around in bed all day on Thursday and Friday, waiting for my liver to clear the drugs out of my blood. Y’all should call me and tell me jokes! I like jokes.
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4 random books from my Library!
