Dreaming

This about sums up my life right now.


Dreaming - Loudon Wainwright III
Copyright ©1996 Snowden Music, Inc.

I'd rather be dreaming than living
Living's just too hard to do
It's chances not choices, noises not voices
A day's just a thing to get through
Living's just too hard to do

I'd rather be dreaming than talking
There's nothing to hear or to say
With ears covered mouth closed the world is opposed
Nothing gets in or away
There's nothing to hear or to say

I'd rather be dreaming than thinking
Thoughts are small comfort to me
Dreams might be pretend but at least dreams end
And I just can't stop thinking you see
Thoughts are small comfort to me

I'd rather be dreaming than sleeping
Just sleeping you're just as well dead
In dreams I can fly, in dreams I don't die
That's why I lie here in this bed
Just sleeping you're just as well dead

I'd rather be dreaming

Change is not always a good thing...

Cause fuckitall!! They went and changed blogger on me. And now I am having to go, "wait, what?" Hopefully this posts correctly...and honestly, does it really matter if it doesn't? I really doubt the 2 people that actually check this place on a weekly basis are going to care that it is correct so much as that it's a new posting since I haven't been here since May.

I spent 4th of July in the hospital again. Pneumonia. Lost 20lbs in 4 days. I look like a skin bag. I'm a fluffy girl normally, but there are bones and hangy skin going on. It's not pretty.

Damn. That all sounded depressing. Sorry about that.

Wait, I think there is one more nugget of joy that I need to squeeze out.

Most of my friends have jumped ship and either deserted me, or betrayed me.

Kinda gives you that nice warm and fuzzy feeling, huh? Yeah, me too. All over. Unfortunately, I just can't seem to muster more than a tear, a meh, and an occasional desire to hunt some of them down and boink them upside the head with a cast-iron skillet.

I get that no one likes death and dying and those depressing and terminal people that just won't croak when they are supposed to. Pisses me off, too, that I have to live every day in the state that I am in. Getting out of bed takes effort. Remembering to hydrate and nourish myself takes effort. Dying without the support of people who supposedly give a shit about me takes effort.

I'm grateful to the ONE friend that has stuck by me in her own way. More so than she will probably ever know. And for that reason, I have been trying to update my recipe book like a mad woman so that she will have a spiffy reward for not bailing like everyone else.

Sorry about the bitter. It's kinda eating at me and sitting in my chest like that Alien thing.

And going up to look at this I realize that I have apologized for my feelings which I shouldn't have done, because they are mine and I have the right to feel them. Been in hiding mostly because I don't want to cause anyone anymore pain or distress due to my condition and also because I am not sure who I can trust to not hurt me and kick me while I am down.

Punx is growing and thriving and singing and laughing and homeschooling and playing and being a great big bundle of joy and amusement for me. She really is my reason for staying and for fighting to get out of bed everyday. Even Fat Cranky Bastard is being a decent human being for once. It's nice not to have to deal with  strife in my own home. Came up with a new word, Dramoil. Drama + turmoil = Dramoil.

Avoiding that shit like it's the plague. Or the zombie apocalypse.

Gah! I'm a lazy bitch. Sorry.

Someone should still be reading this.

I hope.

So here is what has been happening in a nutshell. I have been busy as fuck, but in a lazy way. I do an art show once a month, so I work on stuff constantly for that in between hospital stays, hospital visits, sister popping out kids (happening today), my child breaking both of her arms, random trips to Disney and entertaining the masses with my wit and snark on Facebook. See? Lots to do. And all while I am dying.

Wait! What? Dying?

Yup.

I have been given 3-6 months to live by the cardiologial know-it-alls. My cardiologist was speaking to me in past tenses during my last appointment all while wearing a look of frustrated disappointment. That sucked. They want to put me on anti-rejections and get the whole transplant process started. Pfffft. Fuck that. I am upright and breathing most days, and can be a mother to my child, where as the drugs will make me practically comatose.

I can't live like that.

So here I am. Alive today. Blogging today. About to become an aunt today for the 8th time. Each day is precious at this point, but I am not going to let dying interfere with my living. Period.

Now, on a lighter note! I have a fucking hangover. From one drink last night. Sonofabitch.

I'm a pansy-assed lightweight I guess. But a pansy-assed lightweight that was feeling just un-lazy enough to blog again.

Pfffffft.

Really with the spam comments?

Thanks to all those new readers I have. I appreciate you and welcome! To all the spammers: fuck off, already!

I just got back from a week at Disney. It was loads of fun, and I lost 10 lbs! Woot! It seems now I have managed to contract an "oh fuck-nuggets, I'm sick again" plague that has rendered me feeling all blegh and stabby towards spammers...

At a frenzied snail's pace.

I have been sitting here all day. I should be getting ready for my art show in two days. I'm not. I should be visiting my friend Chris who is dying of cancer in the hospital. But, I'm not. I should be exercising, playing with my child, cleaning my house, making jewelry, shopping for my daughter's winter clothes or making a gourmet meal for my family. But, I'm not.

Because for the last few days I haven't felt like doing much. Call it depression, lazy, or feeling like I have been kicked repeatedly by a very large horse, I just haven't had the motivation to do more than tinker a little with some jump rings and play Facebook games.

Oh yeah, and go to a completely depressing New Year's Eve party where I had no one to talk to, nothing to do, and no one to kiss at midnight. I am just a giant ball of MEH. And a squishy one at that.

I need to be smaller. Happier. Livelier. Funnier. Better.

Now I just need to figure out how...

Happy New Year!!

Wishing anyone who still comes here a very happy new year! I am alive, not hospitalized, recovering from a stomach flu, and have made a resolution to start blogging again. I miss my funny. I need to find it. I'll write until I do or someone puts me out of my misery. Punx is fine and growing and thriving. FCB is still a cranky old bastard. I have been dating unsuccessfully, but have come to the conclusion that I am not the craziest person I know. I have a couple of dear friends who are reaching the end of this journey called life and I am sure the outpouring of words will come when the time comes. Oh yeah, I had a heart attack in October. Still here. Suck on that Modern Medicine!! Hope y'alls new year is safe and soberish and happy!!

Pick me.

Inside of every one of us there is an insecure little child, standing on a kickball field, terrified that they are going to be the last one chosen. Or not chosen at all.

I was the one that wasn't chosen.

They would make excuses like they needed someone to be the cheerleader, or the "assistant" referee. Or having one extra on the team wouldn't be fair to the other team. If I had a dollar for all the excuses, I would have had enough money to hire a hit man to give all my enemies the wedgies and noogies and cooties they all deserved.

What does this little anecdotal story have to do with anything, let alone the fact that I haven't blogged in a damn coon's age? Not a damn thing.

Or everything.

Cause my life, as of late, has just been downright complicated, yo!

Lately? I have been battling friends, friends issues, friends relationships, family issues, car shopping for my mom, tonsillitis for the Punx, trying to get my business off the ground, health issues, heart issues, matter of the heart issues, friend's matter of the heart issues, friend's heart issues, friend's health issues, whole muthafucking subscriptions, and a vacation to the Florida Keys.

Plus I have been trying to teach myself how to play a harmonica. And when I get that down pat I am going to complicate it by trying to play a ukulele at the same time...as soon as I also teach myself to play the ukulele.

I'm suffering from Disney withdrawals. BAD. To the point that I may even be typing this all while wearing a princess costume. Maybe. Possibly. Probably. OK...I am.

I've had many new friends come into my life, and with them all of their drama and stuff. I have had old friends grow so distant that it took me 45 minutes this morning to remember one of their names.

Life changes. And it gets busy and complicated and sticky and yucky and sad and lonely and if I don't get a visit to tropical island with my very own sex slave soon, I am going to erupt. Or explode. Just call me Mt. Lakanuki.

And of course, it never fails. Whenever I actually sit down to write a blog, even if no one has bothered me for 4 hours, I end up with 16 interruptions, 4 phone calls a couple of text messages and spilled coffee on my keyboard. I guess it serves me right for drinking coffee at 5 in the afternoon.

So that is what has been going on. If I break it down it would be about 100 blog posts. But most of them would make you cry. Or need medication. Or alcohol.

I'm trying to find the humor and the snark in my everyday and it just seems to be a little lacking, lately. Sorry about that. No one can be happy or perky all of the time. I know people that would punch me if I tried.

Punx is going through medical stuff. FCB is miserable and hating his job, but glad he at least still has one. I am up to my ears in chainmaille trying to get ready for a festival in October. I am debating homeschooling because my daughter is not normal enough to be Stepford-Stamped-Approved and not special enough to wear a bedazzled helmet and lick windows. (That wasn't meant to offend anyone, and if you are offended, then I suggest you turn off your Internet, TV, radio and lights and hide in a dark closet for the rest of your life because I'm going to let you in on a secret: The World is a mean and nasty place that will eat you alive and shit you out before it crushes you under its heal.) (And no, I am not bitter. Much.)

Where was I?

Homeschool. We seem to be doing well at it. I send Punx to the little red building for socialization. She cries before she has to go and is excited when she comes home and has had a lot of fun. Then she will do school work at home all on her own without prompting, and then cry herself to sleep because she doesn't want to go to school the next day. I hope and pray every day that she will find a friend. So far that hasn't happened.

I also hope that kickball has been abolished.

So far that hasn't happened.